Short Chromed Poems

Marc Quinn's 'Nurseries of El Dorado'*
bronzed still life chromed patina show...

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slow it down
pull it up
boldly rival
wind whipped 
leather wrapped
beetle bright
coiled spring
chromed out 
in your face
visors down
rev it up
Go!
Go!
Go!...

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Chromed blade promptly
With adroit, raw incisions
Separates toxic, mounting mass

Unsterilized weeping fears
Tourniquet burnt
By caring eyes separated

Self-victimization 
Flooding the dark room
With febrile infectious tears

Incessant wakened hours pass
The phantom poison 
Remains flowing...

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the 1957 Chevy Bel Air was fine in every way
Full of chrome, her sassiness gave her enormous sway
Some people like red autos, but turquoise was so fine
At the age of eight, I wished this car was mine!

I understood cars like the boys did in town
This beauty pranced and danced, she was heaven bound
I still love this car to this very day
I wish all cars were built and chromed this way...

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Oh my yes, I do have two walkers and a chromed wheelchair.
Procured them years ago when I tore my ACL one day.
Twas a mis-adventure of missing a chair high in the air.
When I take a painful arthritic step I do not delay.
Get out my arsenal of aids and travel without a care.
Helped friends who unexpectedly could not walk along the way.
Crazily handy to have these items that I love to share....

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I saw you again today
There you are now
It must be after five
For you are passing through my streets
In your nice big ride 
And chromed out wheels

I see you

You pretend not to notice me

There you are
Looking for trouble
Your blue and white Crown Victoria
Dark shades separate you from me

I see you

You, one of the few, looking for me

Day after day
Week by week
I sit
I watch
But no one sees me...

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I met you once,
  in dreams of youth;
flushed with curves,    
  wide open in summer's sun;
toothy smiles,
  innocent wiles;
laid out patches,
  of perfume and gasoline;
blazed across the endless miles,
  of then...and now;
years burned down,
  chromed dull in faded glory;
yellowed hollow,
  seasons past;
of governed throttle,
  clogging choke;
the boy,
  like you;
left back now,
  far behind;
dusty,
  in a poem....

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Slowly pulsing through glittered haze
Under cloudscape, her locks blow wild
Misty the blushed roses, ablaze
Moon of summer, warmth of hayrides
Enchanting peach fragrance of the night
Reveal your glory, dear chromed fay,

My eyes chase a Selene’s delight
Over hills wrapped in flamed crochet.
Oh, sleep denies a lullaby
No matter how you beam, goodbye!



Francine Roberts' Summer Acrostic Contest
by nette onclaud...

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