Song in the car.
It’s delightful as delicious as richness.
Didn’t sleep for a while.
Roomy.
Sitting.
But it’s more.
Some songs are like stop signs.
They get hit by people who don’t pay attention.
Song in the car.
Makes me slumber.
Next to the house, got back after work.
Makes me want to be the engine.
At rest.
Revving.
Song in the car,
You don’t care that I have to do the dishes.
You just make me sing as if I’m driving.
Home is stillness.
Sluggish.
Whining inside.
So I slept in the car with the song on.
And the engine singing.
Two houses sit side by side on a quiet residential street.
In one, lives a man with an unlatched gate,
always ready to pause his lawnmower
to ask how your mother is doing,
offering a spare hand when it appears one is needed,
or leaving a basket of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers on the porch step
just because the harvest was good.
In the other lives a shade-peeker, a shadow behind pulled blinds,
who measures his property line down to the inch,
grumbling heavily under his breath when an autumn leaf crosses the boundary,
starting his car engine, revving with an intentional roar,
building a higher fence
out of a quiet, lingering spite.
For years, the coldness attempts to stake its claim,
trying to choke out the light with petty grievances
and silent, harsh glances.
Yet bitterness only locks a person inside their own small fortress,
leaving them alone with the echoes of their own noise,
and barring the door from the inside.
When the real storms roll through,
it isn't the tall fence or the sharp words that hold fast.
The stubborn, simple kindness wins out every time,
outlasting the cold
and leaving a light on in the dark.
It curdled.
The landscape.
Goop.
The notion the I might get that degree?
Whoosh.
Revving up to a wasteland.
And live in downed wires.
I really might have graduated.
If my organs didn’t curdle.
People look at me like I have eyes that care.
Or gratitude.
So I wailed at notions and old sticky notes.
And my soul that didn’t study enough.
Engines revving
Pushing back
White mustang,
Black mustang
Horseman
Drive by
I'm revving up my engine
this year I'm going
to do my rounds
in record time.
I promised the wife
to be home early
so we could have
quality time together.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
In the hush of daydreams, I whisper your name,
Not love, I won’t claim, just a crush, it’s the game.
Yet in this soft heart, you’ve ignited a spark,
No one else makes my world light up from the dark.
You’ve got my heart racing, a rhythm so sweet,
Each glance is a jolt, like a burst of heartbeat.
Oh, how I wish to be sleek as the night,
A jaguar in motion, where passion takes flight.
You at the wheel, with a knowing, sly smile,
Revving my spirit, let’s ride for a mile.
In this fleeting moment, I feel so alive,
With each breath, every heartbeat, with you I could thrive.
You’re a masterpiece, a wonder, so rare,
A canvas of dreams spun from silken air.
I’m the painter lost in hues rich and bold,
Capturing magic of your spell that is yet to unfold.
So here in this crush, let’s dance through our days,
With colors that shimmer in marvelous ways.
You may not be love, yet my heart knows what’s true,
There’s nobody else, oh dear, quite like you.
In loving memory of our Mark,
Better known to most as Skip,
Reunited with Clegg up in paradise now,
Best friends back joined at the hip.
From thrashing about on his motorbikes,
Revving the **** out them in crickmere park,
To his mams house bouncing with hardcore,
As skip raved away to M.C's and afterdark.
He absolutely loved to spend time with family,
Travelling to raves and cutting shapes on the dance floor,
In fact if he was made to choose just one,
Wouldn't be sure what he said he loved more.
All the stories that so many have to share,
In the days ahead filled with both joy and pain,
Means his legacy shall forever live on,
Precious memories will always remain.
We feel you all around us buoy,
Your spirit will never ever be gone,
You never could call it a night,
May your soul forever rave on.
when it gets dark
it remains humid and warm
the stars are obscured
by a heavy haze
the trees are so still
as if two-dimensional
a thick silence
broken only by boy racers
revving up Willett Way
night’s muggy cloak
stills the birdsong
open windows bring
no refreshing breeze
my clammy body sags
my brain slows to a standstill
my eyes can hardly keep open
my bones feel my age
my spirit feels even older
I yearn for days
cold and wet, while
realising that our selfishness
short-sightedness and greed
mean that future summers
will be much worse
while I’ll be even
less able to cope.
Sighs of susurration sunder the silence ~
The neem tree swaying in the wind
An old lady yapping like a non-stop chatterbox
The roar of the road hero's motorcycle revving past
And a radio playing romantic songs nearby
An occasional vendor selling village vegetables
The honking horn of the ice-cream man
Children running by after a busy school day
Household hens clucking to announce their presence
Crickets croon in crazy chorus
Then, there's the train whistling past thrice a day ~
Soulful sounds sweeten the symphony
My heart is a drum, it's beating fast
A rhythm of rage, a pulse that will last
It's pounding in my chest, it's burning my soul
I'm fueled by the fire, I'm in control
I'm a storm that's brewing, a tempest in sight
A whirlwind of fury, a force that's out of sight
I'm a machine that's pumping, a engine that's revving
I'm a force that's unstoppable, I'm not giving in
My voice is a scream, it's echoing through the night
A cry of defiance, a challenge to the fight
I'm a rebel without a cause, I'm a renegade on the run
I'm a force that's unstoppable, I'm having fun
I'm a warrior with a sword, I'm fighting for what's right
I'm a hero with a heart, I'm fighting for what's tight
I'm a warrior with a shield, I'm defending what's mine
I'm a hero with a sword, I'm fighting for what's divine
So listen up, you haters and foes
I'm rising up, I'm taking back what's mine to know
I'm beating down the doors, I'm burning down the walls
I'm taking back what's mine, I'm standing tall.
The bike rolls up mountains,
thunders forward on the revving edge
of orgasmic storms.
Trip-taking is boring,
flying nowhere on a Harley,
like urgent sex,
is hard core
also the way a dandelion seeds
on the breath of the wind
is hard to the core.
The bike gets lighter
as the biker funnels through
narrow tunnels of speed -
danger-pleasure -
verge riding.
Leather and oil
mixing it up,
fumes
gulping daylight
down
into the cast-iron engine
of a throbbing moment.
middle aged and middle class
driving way too fast
on country lanes
drop the kid at school
group yoga then the pool
prosecco and wealth envy over lunch
on to a manicure and then hair
(you won’t believe who I saw there)
send conspiratorial text or two; update facebook
get some vino, and the kid - shoot back home
knock back another glass of wine;
have a gossip on the phone
revving engine on the driveway: dinner’s bell
pour a cobra; grab a takeout menu
domestic bliss? suburban hell?
I love the smell of gasoline,
my senses set off with a match;
Instability ends in explosion,
the aroma lingers all over you;
My senses set off with a match
Revving up my engine hard
the aroma lingers all of you;
Scrubbed you inhale your hands;
Revving up my engine hard;
Instability ends in explosion,
scrubbed you inhale your hands;
I love the smell of gasoline.
I hear the children laughing as they go
Down the path to the waiting warm seat
Motor revving to keep warm in the snow
I hear the children laughing as they go
Brings memories, swell times, although
Not the same, no, not that I would repeat
I hear the children laughing as they go
Down the path to the waiting warm seat.
Written October 29, 2022
It was a short drive,
Spring came and passed,
then Summer, Autumn, and Winter.
Five windows for this travelling vehicle
into each window a woman peers.
One once had the name of ‘love’,
another looks inward fearfully still.
‘Loathing’ shows her rigidly masked face,
then next, the soft glow of ‘sorrow,’
seeks to see who is driving me.
Lastly there is Mavis, she who loved fast cars,
roads and journeys.
She who sleeps with older men,
to comfort them
when the loud revving engine of death
keeps them up all night.
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