Race Car
The driver is one with the machine.
Every turn on asphalt would be tires burning.
A V8 with horse power, the car flies down the road.
Turn up the music and push the pedal to the floor.
Need for speed while the tires grip every turn.
What a rush to fly by while the oil burns.
This is the life of a man in a locomotive.
With torque the gears turn crank down shift.
Racing down the speedway on a straight away.
Man and machine compete to win the race.
Just one more lap through the trees down the road.
The checkered flag is just a mile to go.
Drifting around the corner.
Why do race car drivers drink milk when it’s over?
Under the sun the engine is on fire.
Pass by all the slow pokes with power.
Just like a spark plug the lightning keeps striking.
Like a racehorse, it charges to keep on fighting.
Driving fast is like having the feeling of being free.
Just you and your car, this is the way it has to be.
The clock is always ticking
Speedometer spinning along
Wear and tear building up
Traversing life looking to belong
Easy to miss the exit signs
The clock is always ticking
Most of us drive around blind
Our internal light barely flickering
We all have a set number of miles
Unfortunately spend too many in a haze
The clock is always ticking
Time to turn that flicker into a blaze
Rev up the love in your heart
Ignite the flame on the wicking
It’s never too late to fire up your engine
Because the clocking is always ticking
Electrical spark, you are nothing without me!
Brags arrogant spark plug, my cousin, Lee.
Distributor gets mad and keeps current back.
Cylinder gives spark plug a mighty ugly mean whack.
Gasoline engine starts up now in the right way.
Jealousy handled by Cylinder, because she don’t play!
*Image of Ladybugs by Pixabay.
What's Bugging You
a ladybug lands
another land in the midst
a breathtaking view
hey there hey there ladybug
come right here and let us hug
it's nice to hold
you're very bold
but I'm a lonely spark plug.
if you can't believe your own eyes then close them~~and use your other eye
2022 January 29
*2nd Place*
Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku
~~Charles Messina: Judged 2022 March 11
*HMS: 5,7,5 - 7,7,4,4,7 - 17
I crawl into a cave called myself.
It’s dry and dusty, cobwebbed.
So afraid to be, alone in the dark,
“Who am I,” is my cry.
Then Trixie’s best friend comes along,*
like a cowgirl set out on a romantic adventure.
This changeling becomes a pirate or
a faerie tale...mingling with the deer and frogs.
but not too sweet, ‘cause she’s a spark plug.
She squeezes out a saturated rag of tears and snot,
for this cowgirl spots the forgotten one -
a little child who needs a hug,
and she has a way of embracing the child in me.
...and her poetry like taffy pulls,
twists in a delicious way, half-cocked.
I’ve learned from her to grab the stars and fly
as if Tinkerbell dusted me with rare pastels.
In my mind we’re dressed in
kicka$$ gowns and fascinators
merrily sipping sherry in
the garden of Make-Believe.
And by the way, I love my souper friends. Don’t feel left out.
So many touch me in so many ways. God bless you all.
And one last shout out to Caren Krutsinger!
Patient was tarred by the new angle
A warning signal
Became the new rock and roll
In this injury toll
Spark plug
Was whirling around down the mug
With a smug
How come?
Those eyelashes became glum
Millions of toes stood up, danced to the beat of the drums
Just this once, they ...hmm...
But why, a straight thumb
Pointed at that rhumb
Behind the bay rum
So...how come?
Grasses needs to bum
A plum
Until the their roots go numb
SHE LOVES NASCAR
She loves NASCAR.
I prefer Gaugin or Renoir
but she loves NASCAR.
It's a southern fascination
as Dixie as Faulkner
or sweet potato pie.
I love NASCAR,
She squeals like tires burning,
out of breath.
The only thing that moves
like lightening in the south,
NASCAR.
Guys driving fast
making left hand turns.
I prefer the curves
in a Rodin,
the speed of a swallow’s flight.
She loves NASCAR.
Her eyes smoke
smiling like a checkered flag,
with spark plug laughter.
When the twisted wrecks
have been cleared.
the vroom of the engines still.
In bed,
In my arms she idles.
Her hair smelling of excitement
and exhaust.
I love NASCAR
Her engine revs
I whisper, we have
nothing in common.
Don't be silly
we both love Nascar.
She reaches for me
under the sheets.
GENTLEMEN START YOUR ENGINES!
She draws me inside,
A pitstop. I'm her one man pit crew
We both love NASCAR she sputters.
Yes but, not
for the same reason.
My key in her ignition.
My pistons pounding.
My gears shifting
My heart racing .
Yes, oh yes I love Nascar.
This old lady feels
like a broken down car
Many miles on her feet
Joints need oiled,
so they can move
A new censor
her memory is failing
Has to have a spark plug
to keep her heart ticking smoothly
Her bones are as brittle
as the wiring gets at times
Eyes are getting dim
like the headlights do
Only thing not needed is the horn
she keeps on a tooting
Overall, she just needs
totally restored.
© Melanie . All rights reserved, 12 hours ago
Long Day at work
He returns
as a red-eyed wolf
Quiet room
and shiny desks
His minds keep busy
Eyes staring
on wet pavements
No more Fire
Then I See You
crow's feet landing on my eyes
Fired Up!
Messages conveyed
even a thick glass
cannot stop your anger
There is Fire
in all working people
They all need a spark plug
---------------------
Created 12th May 2014
For Poem Contest Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
the blogger
is the wretched chicken
laying an asteroid.
the city dweller
is the self identifying
contagious forlorn.
he strives
for the praise.
he strives
for a masterpiece.
he is
in fact
a ruffian.
the breasts
of equality
the jaw of
rebellion.
the revolutionary
spark plug.
the YES MAN!
in this world,
when you are left to the bone.
no one wants to hear your
********.
the bull*****baths
of selfless,
powerless,
diminishment
of a character.
they would always
rather have the hero.
the self rising dough.
the collegiate fortune hunter.
they say "JUMP!
misery will pull you down!"
way down.
the feel of a fine wine glass.
you hold its hollow delicateness.
the heart.
contract and expand.
up and down we go.
from filth to pristine sterility.
'tis better to have a hen tomorrow
than an egg today.
Folks refer to grand times as “bees knees”
But I am often bedeviled by bees
I take one step out the door
Approached by a flying hoard
Stand motionless, so still, afraid to sneeze
But if they land upon an arm or leg
I split my shell like a hard-boiled egg
Bedeviled I jitterbug
An energetic spark plug
The hive is abuzz like a powder keg
I’ve no clue why they’re attracted to me
There is no reason that I can foresee
In woods or on the beach
If you hear somebody screech
It’s me pleading with bees for mercy
I have a scooter made in Eighty six
Which usually starts
After four and ninety kicks
To get detected its numerous snags
I spend hours in a garage
Yet its perfect health
Eludes me like a mirage
Often the oilseal leak
Or the oring and the kick
Sometimes clutch goes haywire
Or suddenly there is flat tyre
Many a times in the midst of traffic
Abruptly stops and refuses to move
And i have to take it aside for spark-plug
To remove and check carbon deposit
But with shock dicover missing of tools-kit
Mechanics widely differ in diagnosis
Some think its compression is low
Others find fault with petrol's flow
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