"converter" poems
My father is an old truck
Sunbleached red
Breathes broken bottles
A faulty catalytic converter throat
All the smoke trapped inside
But the nicotine helps his brain function
Cinderblock sturdy
But skinny
A single pillar holding the roof up
A man built in a time when you had to tell things it was time to die
Leave them in a field somewhere and forget about
How do you write a love poem to a car of a man
Built in a time without airbags?
A car of a man who crashed with you inside so many times
You learned about rebuilding from experience
From trial and error
And how do you forgive a man who can no longer tell you he’s sorry?
Trucks
Don’t feel
Don’t give up
Don’t hurt you on purpose
Sometimes something inside just breaks
And no one catches it
And maybe you crash
Break a nose
Black an eye
As far as I know
I am not a broken man
But I’ve learned where all the parts go
And if I am my father’s son
A mechanic more often than a car maybe
Then I will be fine
The truck is dying
And beyond repair
You forgive it for that
It is old and past its time
And maybe it can’t say that it’s sorry
But there is a field somewhere that you plan on leaving it
To collect weeds
And rust
And be forgotten
So you forgive it
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
these horns, these horns, they weigh me down
they extend like branches towards the sun
and my head is forced to face the asphalt
while I never get to see the rushing headlights
my shadow is sewn to the soles of my sneakers
feet slowly being molded to cloven hooves
as I tip toe through then new year silverdust snow
to feed my few remaining stray familiars
I still live behind the old car wash
so there isn't going to be an inspirational landscape
only drunken demi-gods, dollars falling on deaf ears,
and a cutlass ciera in need of a catalyic converter
inev idiv iciv
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
I can’t breathe right anymore,
Ever since I've found myself
Beating down the Devils door.
“Beelzebub, Satan!
Let me in
I can’t keep running,
Father of Sin”
Trip
Trip
Trip
I can’t feel my feet touch the ground,
I’m only aware
Of this insane
ripping sound.
Barren
Barren
Barren
Looking up to the sky
I can’t help but cry,
“Lucifer what have you done
It seems heaven’s run dry!”
Empty
Empty
Empty
“Oh no, you Old Serpent!
I’m afraid my insides are out,
How can I proceed
With my intestines strewn about?”
Slip
Slip
Slip
I can not take this,
My head is pounding,
Every sound resounding,
This head ache is a killer.
I only complain
About this tension in my brain,
Since for organs
I've already found a Filler.
As the ground cackles open,
(“Look who finally answered the door!
Antichrist, you Tempter, did you not hear me knocking before?”)
I see one small problem,
A phantom tickle, a teasing *****
For in all of my life
I've never been this famished, that I can assure!
Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
The world into my now vacuous
Gaping hole of a stomach,
A true bottomless pit.
For I will not leave this life
With nothing to show for it!
No more stars, I will keep them for myself,
let the moon shine it's dull light
in the spotlight,
with no one to share it's empty stage.
And maybe now,
Converter of Angels,
With the universe stored safely
Within the wormhole in my body,
My gaping wound,
Personification of ******
Maybe now,
With Star-Filled-Guts
I will shine again.
The fiery sparks of hell
Will be no match for the likes of me,
For all who dare look
Will be blinded instantly.
I’ll be so incandescent
You’ll see me from afar
For haven’t you heard, Fallen Angel?
I’m Hell’s North Star.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
In the soft sulfur mines where these days went to waste,
You learned that knowing the recipe could ruin the taste,
And as those pictures of diamonds turn back into coal,
Pain killers comfort the head, but leave damaged the soul,
Your mind wanders through alleys where false lovers roam,
Leaving you with souvenirs and stories, but no place to call home,
You search for life here, between the miles and goodbyes,
While buried deep underneath these cold granite skies,
Where you dream about bright lights and running away,
Only to wake up with nobody listening and nothing to say,
Caving in before your catalytic converter heart starts to stall,
Your only mark on the world, another scratch in the wall.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Just a quick glimpse and
A smile or quirke
Same as it used to be
When I was 15
Just older and looking
Harder and laughing
Without seeing the humour
Not envious of age
Is what its like being in the
50's and its
Like Yesterday
As Paul Mc said
All my troubles seem so
Far away, and they
Are:)
Love the now, so glad its not
Like Yesterday☺
youtube converter to mp4 link
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Like a well oiled engine, my heart whirrs in pleasure at your sight
Found a biker boy and rode into the sunset
I'm a ship honey. Take me from my harbor
A sailor caught my helm and sailed into the horizon
Are you a black hole? Because you **** me in.
The physicist sat me on his lap and we got lost in space
Are you Messi ? Because I'm a Ballon d'or.
Shots were fired. Goals were scored. And they ruled the field together.
I have reached the top tier of Maslow's needs.
After extensive psychoanalysis, we found our counselors in each other.
If you're a rebuttal point, I'll always have you covered.
She and the debater found their grey patch amidst the black and white.
I'll make you a sandwich if you are male, white and a misogynist.
She found love with the racist and waited on him hand and foot.
I'll draw your heart with HB pencils and make an acrylic out of our relationship.
The artist found her bluetiful and incRedible.
I'm a South Indian who loves dosa, an uneducated Bihari, the patanjali promoting Hindu, the Muslim terrorist, the Christian converter, the Russian spy, the fake Chinese, the blond cheerleader, the ladyless female football player, the classy British, the poor illiterate, the fat American, the mannerless slum dweller, the conservative Indian woman, the dumb **** the unromantic geek, the bald science teacher, the old librarian, the charisma less nerd......
Stereotype found it's soulmate and lived happily ever after.
I fall in love with words. Ink is my blood. Emotions and thoughts are my food.
The poet smirked and said," Haha! Nice try."
~Pacific Wolf
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
i like the word epicenter
heard it one night all cranked out trying
to get drunk the juice like water
my nose sweating
amped like hell
wanting to disassemble the VW
bug
find what that sound was,
took apart the carburetor first,
sniffed and stood for half a second said, nah,
not the prob
looked into the glovebox
was sure the bug was in there,
a few screws later
the dashboard was on the porch
and still I had no idea what
that ******* sound was
walked in quick circles
thinking , almost,
it had to be the radiator
or a fanbelt or the tires!
Yes !
I took them all off, carefully snooted around their
hoses the perimeter of the fanbelts circumference
the radiators fins
the pressure
got to me of the tires was perfect,
had to be the ******
I sniffed down my throat went that
chemical taste like antifreeze
I took her out
the transmission
inspected her tip to toe
the servo thing the
valve body
went full bore into the
torque converter
it torqued
converted
now I was getting worried
it was the mirror was loose of course
I took her off
it was coated with a white powder
did a line straight to
AutoZone
for a mirror cleaning
fluid , they looked at me funny.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
head, neck, shoulders
arms, hands, fingers
finger joints, finger nails, finger tips
letters, keys, keyboard
circuit, wire, electricity
plug, converter, signals
addition, subtraction, memory
input, processing, output
light, heat, display
blinking, moving, typing
patterns, eyes, images
storing, matching, thinking
reading, writing, creating
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
Fugitive, fugitive, fugitive
You must not be fugitive
You must be active
Love your home
Make it as a groom
Adorn with every pomp on
To show himself handsome
Wear and pretty trim
And be always in the place
To lead all nations
Imitate its way, obey its say
Fear to be face
With yours at face
Fugitive, fugitive, fugitive
You must be passive
Do your work in active
Even others see you negative
Don't look at them
Don't hear their says
As they may be lies
Consider them as absent
They will destroy your active
, make you away of sight
And confuse your mind
To loose your mother
The home you belong
They dream to see you
As a remind of last
They thought that you
Is one of the past
If you obey them
You will be lost
Shake your head
To clean it from dust
That it is covered your head
That makes you the last
That makes you the worst
That appears your laziness
Wash it by water waves
Those are new sciences
Support your legs
Make you in advance
And high your home over heads
They will lead you downward
They learn you bad habit
As alcohol drinker
Or use drugs as converter
From good to be danger
Or women lover
Take you to the lowest
And make you forget
Your duty about your land
And you will be fugitive
Who will defeat the worst?
Who will face the devils?
That your prince
That is your God
You must be proud
That you obey your God
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
I don't know why I've been writing it all down. I know that my mind feels much clearer when it's all left out on paper. I keep writing because the thoughts keep rushing in like the tide on the east coast and I prefer quiet swimming pools rather than oceans and violent undertow.
Maybe I write it all down because I want to create something beautiful out of the mess that fills my mind. I know people often relate their writing to an "outlet" but I prefer to call it a "power converter." I write because I want to turn these thoughts into something more bearable.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
perhaps i had it all backwards,
and we are not the more evolved spirits of animals, and animals are not the more evolved spirits of plants
perhaps we are trying to become that which a plant already is:
a converter of suffering into purity, of darkness into light
just as with each in-breath, the plant takes in my suffering
and on exhale, converts it into loving oxygen,
which we drink in hungrily, yet unknowingly,
and just as each spiraling ray of sun is synthesized into pure life energy,
relinquishing the need for consumption of another self,
perhaps we too need to become more like plants,
and not the other way around.
as aspiring plant-beings,
we too can breathe in all that is
and exhale all that is to become.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 10:41 PM UTC
I woke up 30 minutes earlier
than usual
with a bladder of **** about
to explode out of me.
An entire 12 pack in one night,
that **** again.
Nothing new.
Not even hungover.
I lost my mind over some stupid
****
childish **** crazy-type ****
and sat bare-ass on the
bathroom floor at 6:30 in the morning
with my ***** resting on the
cold wooden (and new, I might add) floor.
It's stupid, I knew that,
and still do,
but it's definable and measurable
and if it's measured,
to me,
it's real.
As anything.
I sat on that floor
and felt my converter kicking on.
You know,
that mechanism that takes ****
and turns it into gold?
I know it's stupid,
but forgive me for being honest,
or don't.
Fling **** at me,
do it,
******* do it
****
Talk to others
if that's what you want to do,
is that how that works?
I don't actually know.
Unfounded? Maybe.
But that's only part of it.
Time is precious.
If I'm not worth yours,
how can I give you mine?
That's ok.
Fine.
That's the real issue.
Forget it.
My **** converter is on,
I know where all of these
energies go,
I know how this goes for me.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
A few more lines here and there
Yet I feel ok
Crinkling at my elbows
Say..soon it'll be your
Jaw then eyelids that
Sag, then it'll be the
Folding at the knees
Let alone the lines
On top of the lip
Yes its the beginning
I'm growing older
At its the end of being young
I've had it all and
Stunned much
For now though
Its the beginning
Of a new life with lines
That tell stories
Of my
Beginning
In 1959 ***
youtube converter video there
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
most instances when i initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly,
and madly scratching itchy hairs
dotting chinny chin chin of this hobo
hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby a generic home
er run (hitting) mill
(on the floss sing false teeth)
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy Joe,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea
(Egg heads, merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst of tangential thread populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),
trucked since time immemorial
inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate
coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. **
Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile
self determining tour de force
whereat fingers of the lefthand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expended leaves (of grass)
finds me Walt sing whit man nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC