Short Revving Poems

30-10-2021

My car
Fast and noisy
Revving hooting spinning
A powerful engine out there 
Mustang...

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At the Track
At the starting line
Engines revving vroom, vroom, vroom
Burning rubber - GO
Flags are waving zoom, zoom, zoom
Better stop now for new tires...

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With horses revving under the hood,
speed cameras will not treat me good,
and the copper said ‘hey,
for you I waited all day’ ...
well I got there as quick as I could....

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Spaceship in the sky
Shepherd’s pie caught my eye
Bumble bees with yellow knees
Morning temperatures freeze 

Half-moon full moon 
Tide in tide out
In a forest calling 
Waiting at the stop sign

Engine revving be on time
Kittle on brewing tea
Biscuits on my knee
Side lamp last to be...

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There is a collective revving
of chutzpah and pluck.
The flock takes flight.
One robin jumps late,
takes off alone
behind the bunch.
It struggles to catch up,
then segues in mid-air,
as if to say: ...k it.
The bird lands alone
on a bare branch.
It doesn’t care;
robins are not starlings....

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Floating in with a tune
Striking a melodious tone 
Stirring, revving 
A once scenery mind
Into a hat full 
Of harvested choice

With each sounding pitch 
Awaits a sure response 
From the riding of feet 
To a rising note
Crowned with a crested call
Running from a fastened passion 
Echoing our own desires...

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I hope to view it all today,
Each planet’s just a whoosh away;
Revving engines, whams and bams,
Spaceships stuck in traffic jams;
Writing postcards seems so strange,
Waiting for the lights to change;
I hope to view it all today,
Each planet’s just a whoosh away…

Jack Horne for Nette’s Stardust in an Octelle contest, 5th July...

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Gasoline lips fueled our adenosine kisses
filling up on whiskey and cigarette wishes
your rubber met my asphalt, land mines
dodging, heaving blame on both fault lines
worn the tread off our poor tired hearts
trading each other for cheap spare parts
Revving my engines under a new hood
Stick shift ready,I'll grind his gears good...

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Quietly toasting my skin in early morning sun
Sounds of Malta ringing in my ears
Hearts beating rhythmically within
Like engines revving
Cranes swinging
And stones dropping into place
Six storeys high
Birds wings heard fluttering around, trilling quietly
As noon brings peace, and noise withdraws
And people rest in the siesta....

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Guitar on fire
Blasting us with jazziness
Opening our horizons
Dragging us down in flames
Then revving us up and holding us in the air
Hostage to your strings

Guitar on fire
Showing the truth of our feelings
Dancing on the edge of the world
Showing our hearts your wild
Clarifying feelings we can show in no other way
We begin to dance
Hostage to your strings...

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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...

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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....

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I love the Scottish nights
Where the cold nuzzles
face and soul
Not silence in its deadest form
But in murmuring demise
An an an echoed lovers small talk
A revving engine rainbows overhead
An breath hangs in cold cut
A mist mirror that uncovers
ethereal truth
Soft the night
blur the light
I love the Scottish nights
Soft the nights
blur the lights
I love the Scottish night...

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not revving
but remming
her skateboard
rimming railsliding
catching some air
before the extension
she tucked kneed wanting
trick transition tweak topsheet
i tail grab switch tools stoked stall
i no comply nose grind i'm mongo
manual local lipslide k-grind on 
an impossible invert Indy 
grab then hip heel flip
method pump pulls
flick trick flip front
gnarly fast plant
bombed a hill
boned...

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As treading chalk aligns a sudden stalk,
Unraveling sirens persist to the harrowment of the guards 
When posing in passing, the sprite walks off the clock 
Into musings and written soldiers who'd taken the ride, taken it off

Just before the volume proceeded beyond a quiet knock,
The past-tense prudence starts the car waiting patiently around the block
Revving the moment which never was, never will be, at all......

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In my dream
I counted many!
millions, billions, trillions - 
all marching to one beat
complex in its complexity
third eye on one focal point
heartbeats set the rhythm
in the valley of the shadow of death
balancing on serrated edges
searching, seeking, succumbing
revving, regenerating, rejoicing
on our Phthalo blue sphere, united
hurtling through outer space,
in my dream... one love is true
we are one...

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Rather unique we poets are
  among the creative set
Revving up our stanzas
  fast as a streaking jet

Short stories take a while
  Novels take forever
Not to mention oil paintings
  or musical endeavors

Some of us can labor
  on a verse for days or more
Others whip a poem off
  in line at the store

Yet it really doesn't matter
  how long we take to pen one
All the reader really wants  
  is to view it and to have fun...

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There is a collective revving
of chutzpah and pluck.
It's known, it's time,
bird-brains do not ask.

The flock takes flight.
One robin jumps late,
takes off alone.
It has an instinctual drive,
it should have left
with the others.
However, birds don't know -

regret.

It struggles to catch up,
then segues in mid-air,
as if to say: 

fork it.

The robin lands alone
on a bare branch.
It doesn’t care anymore.

Robins are not starlings....

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Its 10 to the witching hour
Facebook yet to ping
no message saying gone to bed
no asking how your days been
you send a text
a message to
no answers coming through
you send again
this can’t be right
there’s  no reply coming in
anxiety now shows up
message 3,4,5
but no reply 
all is quiet there’s no reply
is that thunder you hear outside
sounds like roaring lions
or race cars revving engines on the line
but no its just her snoring
she’s fell asleep again....

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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....

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