"corolla" poems - Hello Poetry

She fascinates men like a fused corolla whorl attracts birds and bees

0

Jun 10, 2014

Jun 10, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC

william-a-poppen

Attraction

She fascinates men like a fused corolla whorl attracts birds and bees

3

1241 The Lilac is an ancient shrub But ancienter than that The Firmamental Lilac Upon the Hill tonight— The Sun subsiding on his Course Bequeaths this final Plant To Contemplation—not to Touch— The Flower of Occident. Of one Corolla is the West— The Calyx is the Earth— The Capsules burnished Seeds the Stars The Scientist of Faith His research has but just begun— Above his synthesis The Flora unimpeachable To Time’s Analysis— “Eye hath not seen” may possibly Be current with the Blind But let not Revelation By theses be detained—

0

11.2k

Emily Dickinson

The Lilac is an ancient shrub

1241 The Lilac is an ancient shrub But ancienter than that The Firmamental Lilac Upon the Hill tonight— The Sun subsiding on his Course Bequeaths this final Plant To Contemplation—not to Touch— The Flower of Occident. Of one Corolla is the West— The Calyx is the Earth— The Capsules burnished Seeds the Stars The Scientist of Faith His research has but just begun— Above his synthesis The Flora unimpeachable To Time’s Analysis— “Eye hath not seen” may possibly Be current with the Blind But let not Revelation By theses be detained—

21

Midsummer flutters in on butterfly wings. Softly landing on the corolla leading to the petals. Slow motion has been initiated by summer, people, air, insects and life has slowed. Summer doesn't rush, summer doesn't push. Summer lazes in a haze of shimmering heat. Only tempers get short during long summer nights. Humid hate filled anger disrupts the slow tempo, only to quickly dampen in the humid stultifying night heat. Honeysuckle, jasmine, water lilies and evening primrose, come out and soothe the moonlit summer night. A breeze rises and soothes the weary mind. Summer night blooms, in more ways than one, moonlight shimmers like gossamer threads down onto the flower beds, the flower's fragrance fills the air, soothing, calming, softly, sweetly filling summertime with cruel kindness. Cruelty of heat the kindness of sweet flowers.

0

Jul 18, 2014

Jul 18, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC

Camellia-japonica

Night Blooms

Midsummer flutters in on butterfly wings. Softly landing on the corolla leading to the petals. Slow motion has been initiated by summer, people, air, insects and life has slowed. Summer doesn't rush, summer doesn't push. Summer lazes in a haze of shimmering heat. Only tempers get short during long summer nights. Humid hate filled anger disrupts the slow tempo, only to quickly dampen in the humid stultifying night heat. Honeysuckle, jasmine, water lilies and evening primrose, come out and soothe the moonlit summer night. A breeze rises and soothes the weary mind. Summer night blooms, in more ways than one, moonlight shimmers like gossamer threads down onto the flower beds, the flower's fragrance fills the air, soothing, calming, softly, sweetly filling summertime with cruel kindness. Cruelty of heat the kindness of sweet flowers.

18

The Key To Success A leaf has many veins connected by the midrib, similar to the Corolla in flowers connected by the sepal, A stem has many leaves, connected through it, even the roots in this design- fibrous or tap are in their own way special, Many stalks form a branch, many branches form a tree but all connect at the base, the trunk, This happens in every tree, but to rebirth has to separate some chunk, The message being conveyed by nature is unity is the key to success in this world where every person is a different type of petal, Land Of The Ganga In this Garth, trees are never watered by a soul, but the river Ganges herself, The trees even after sinking inwards into the ground, continue to bloom in themselves, Filled with myriad species of undreamt trees and the rarest of all florets in the daintiest of bowers The most prodigious banyan tree with about three hundred aerial roots is the main attracter A tree that stores water is one of the hundred phenomena in the Botanical Garden in the land of the Ganga itself

0

Jul 25, 2018

Jul 25, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC

MantranaMahiAgarwal

5 liners Collection -1

The Key To Success A leaf has many veins connected by the midrib, similar to the Corolla in flowers connected by the sepal, A stem has many leaves, connected through it, even the roots in this design- fibrous or tap are in their own way special, Many stalks form a branch, many branches form a tree but all connect at the base, the trunk, This happens in every tree, but to rebirth has to separate some chunk, The message being conveyed by nature is unity is the key to success in this world where every person is a different type of petal, Land Of The Ganga In this Garth, trees are never watered by a soul, but the river Ganges herself, The trees even after sinking inwards into the ground, continue to bloom in themselves, Filled with myriad species of undreamt trees and the rarest of all florets in the daintiest of bowers The most prodigious banyan tree with about three hundred aerial roots is the main attracter A tree that stores water is one of the hundred phenomena in the Botanical Garden in the land of the Ganga itself

13

railroad yard in San Jose I wandered desolate in front of a tank factory and sat on a bench near the switchman's shack. A flower lay on the hay on the asphalt highway --the dread hay flower I thought--It had a brittle black stem and corolla of yellowish ***** spikes like Jesus' inchlong crown, and a soiled dry center cotton tuft like a used shaving brush that's been lying under the garage for a year. Yellow, yellow flower, and flower of industry, tough spiky ugly flower, flower nonetheless, with the form of the great yellow Rose in your brain! This is the flower of the World. San Jose, 1954

0

3.4k

Allen Ginsberg

In Back Of The Real

railroad yard in San Jose I wandered desolate in front of a tank factory and sat on a bench near the switchman's shack. A flower lay on the hay on the asphalt highway --the dread hay flower I thought--It had a brittle black stem and corolla of yellowish ***** spikes like Jesus' inchlong crown, and a soiled dry center cotton tuft like a used shaving brush that's been lying under the garage for a year. Yellow, yellow flower, and flower of industry, tough spiky ugly flower, flower nonetheless, with the form of the great yellow Rose in your brain! This is the flower of the World. San Jose, 1954

25

At the going down of the sun will the world be less complete, the cinched robe of night less intolerable, as she ebbs away on cosmic string, emulating a massless, dazed neutrino blinking in and out of existence, unobserved and uneffected, liquored and unloved? In the wake of a June flowering, when foxglove lures the honeybee in six day flash, bud to corolla, blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas, digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back, the bee comes gathering where none else dare.

0

Mar 3, 2012

Mar 3, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC

brian-oarr

Mottlings for the Anonymous

At the going down of the sun will the world be less complete, the cinched robe of night less intolerable, as she ebbs away on cosmic string, emulating a massless, dazed neutrino blinking in and out of existence, unobserved and uneffected, liquored and unloved? In the wake of a June flowering, when foxglove lures the honeybee in six day flash, bud to corolla, blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas, digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back, the bee comes gathering where none else dare.

14

They taught me to swim the same way they taught me to ride a bike. lets see what happens when we push her down a hill, will she balance or bite through her lip? They locked me in the closet, a suitcase, the trunk of our Toyota Corolla and a cardboard box all because I fit ;) I walked through her room while she studied for her Calculus Final because it was the only way to get to my room (over and over for attention). They held me down 3 at a time to play piano on my tummy while I shreked for pure joy and fun. He gave me a boxing name on our trampoline and let me win. I ate his chocolate in her bed. They thought I was a cat licking itself under the covers. When he came off the streets he gave me video games, Spyro, Pokemon, Zelda, and Sonic At first I didn't know we were related. She chased me and my best friend around the house Screaming Squeeze my buns of steal baby he never came back. They held me upstairs while things flew and crashed downstairs forever breaking the lemon squeezer. I cried and he held me, my first memory of him being nice. She had me live with her 5 days a week 6 years because our parents didn't want to deal, even though she was bulimic. She took care of me but in truth I kept her alive. They were my first memory, they were there for me, when I was little they were my parents. I jokingly tell people that all my good traits were learned from them. When they left there was no one left to protect me. All alone, too young to understand them being gone was what made me sad. I was used to having 8 parents and now I have the two that actually gave birth to me. Haha I say you only have 2. I gave up on them long ago, why would I pick 2 when I have 8? Forever the 8 of us.

0

Apr 5, 2014

Apr 5, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC

eloquence

The 8 Of Us

They taught me to swim the same way they taught me to ride a bike. lets see what happens when we push her down a hill, will she balance or bite through her lip? They locked me in the closet, a suitcase, the trunk of our Toyota Corolla and a cardboard box all because I fit ;) I walked through her room while she studied for her Calculus Final because it was the only way to get to my room (over and over for attention). They held me down 3 at a time to play piano on my tummy while I shreked for pure joy and fun. He gave me a boxing name on our trampoline and let me win. I ate his chocolate in her bed. They thought I was a cat licking itself under the covers. When he came off the streets he gave me video games, Spyro, Pokemon, Zelda, and Sonic At first I didn't know we were related. She chased me and my best friend around the house Screaming Squeeze my buns of steal baby he never came back. They held me upstairs while things flew and crashed downstairs forever breaking the lemon squeezer. I cried and he held me, my first memory of him being nice. She had me live with her 5 days a week 6 years because our parents didn't want to deal, even though she was bulimic. She took care of me but in truth I kept her alive. They were my first memory, they were there for me, when I was little they were my parents. I jokingly tell people that all my good traits were learned from them. When they left there was no one left to protect me. All alone, too young to understand them being gone was what made me sad. I was used to having 8 parents and now I have the two that actually gave birth to me. Haha I say you only have 2. I gave up on them long ago, why would I pick 2 when I have 8? Forever the 8 of us.

16

1424 The Gentian has a parched Corolla— Like azure dried ’Tis Nature’s buoyant juices Beatified— Without a vaunt or sheen As casual as Rain And as benign— When most is part—it comes— Nor isolate it seems Its Bond its Friend— To fill its Fringed career And aid an aged Year Abundant end— Its lot—were it forgot— This Truth endear— Fidelity is gain Creation is o’er—

0

2k

Emily Dickinson

The Gentian has a parched Corolla—

1424 The Gentian has a parched Corolla— Like azure dried ’Tis Nature’s buoyant juices Beatified— Without a vaunt or sheen As casual as Rain And as benign— When most is part—it comes— Nor isolate it seems Its Bond its Friend— To fill its Fringed career And aid an aged Year Abundant end— Its lot—were it forgot— This Truth endear— Fidelity is gain Creation is o’er—

18

She sits in the stands Up in the nosebleed section Cheering wildly, admiring her boys In red and white While he is under her hood With soot-covered hands Making sense of and fixing Her mechanical mess. Later on, she makes his favorite meal To show him how much she loves him But he shows up with takeout And complains about how long it took Just to replace the starter In her red Corolla. There's a difference between Admiration And love.

0

Sep 22, 2016

Sep 22, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC

ThePopesHat

Admiration and Love

She sits in the stands Up in the nosebleed section Cheering wildly, admiring her boys In red and white While he is under her hood With soot-covered hands Making sense of and fixing Her mechanical mess. Later on, she makes his favorite meal To show him how much she loves him But he shows up with takeout And complains about how long it took Just to replace the starter In her red Corolla. There's a difference between Admiration And love.

17

It was an atmosphere It was an oxygen mixed with southern fog Southpaw gloves tied in sailor knots Waves of golden grains in ocean wind The rolling hills behind property lines It was the question you asked not with words but in the way you breathed against the window glass as I leaned against your Corolla And we sang under the overpass It was graffiti It was graffiti It was the cavernous concrete cats with purple hair and acid wash jean jackets melting the light of their city's street lamps into the obsidian void of moistened pavement It was the way the reverb spread the major seventh across the sky with burnt orange cascading into the violet of the minor ninth which reminds me of crickets and summer nights (and violins and cellos and midwestern jazz bars) and how bar chords are a guitarists way of flipping off a crowd- surfing the web for an answer to why I'm still single- handedly the handsomest man in my car currently. It's the cloth in my empty passenger seat soaking up the air of my A/C heat and the scent of the soil spilt from the succulent I was given at a wedding last fall and now I don't know if my trunk will ever smell clean at all But I'll let this night be interstellar I'll take a bath in the Big Dipper and write you a letter about Orion's Belt or how I miss the stars sparkling in your eyes making contact with the E.T. in me. Phone me home, darling. I'm lost at sea. -W.J. Thompson

0

Mar 30, 2017

Mar 30, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC

WordsWithWill

Taking a Bath in the Big Dipper

It was an atmosphere It was an oxygen mixed with southern fog Southpaw gloves tied in sailor knots Waves of golden grains in ocean wind The rolling hills behind property lines It was the question you asked not with words but in the way you breathed against the window glass as I leaned against your Corolla And we sang under the overpass It was graffiti It was graffiti It was the cavernous concrete cats with purple hair and acid wash jean jackets melting the light of their city's street lamps into the obsidian void of moistened pavement It was the way the reverb spread the major seventh across the sky with burnt orange cascading into the violet of the minor ninth which reminds me of crickets and summer nights (and violins and cellos and midwestern jazz bars) and how bar chords are a guitarists way of flipping off a crowd- surfing the web for an answer to why I'm still single- handedly the handsomest man in my car currently. It's the cloth in my empty passenger seat soaking up the air of my A/C heat and the scent of the soil spilt from the succulent I was given at a wedding last fall and now I don't know if my trunk will ever smell clean at all But I'll let this night be interstellar I'll take a bath in the Big Dipper and write you a letter about Orion's Belt or how I miss the stars sparkling in your eyes making contact with the E.T. in me. Phone me home, darling. I'm lost at sea. -W.J. Thompson

28

An Orchid Simply ****** arresting petals I'm drawn and intrigued by the asymmetrical Expressions that gave me this breathless impression. How do I retrieve a demon so beautiful that the angels in heaven Forgive and forget The day I cursed such a corolla .......................I want you........................... ..................I want to free you.................... pollinate your mind, so in time, you will forget the crime we confide To never remember such a slow chlorophyllian life... with such little strife... Falling petals Never die

0

Apr 22, 2010

Apr 22, 2010 at 6:46 PM UTC

kevin-eli

Orchid

An Orchid Simply ****** arresting petals I'm drawn and intrigued by the asymmetrical Expressions that gave me this breathless impression. How do I retrieve a demon so beautiful that the angels in heaven Forgive and forget The day I cursed such a corolla .......................I want you........................... ..................I want to free you.................... pollinate your mind, so in time, you will forget the crime we confide To never remember such a slow chlorophyllian life... with such little strife... Falling petals Never die

13

The news never stops, but sometimes it breaks strange, like when the cops tell us, Man throws dog at sister. It didn't fly far, but across town, the Police did finally catch another stray dog on the Eisenhower Expressway. I hear it's driving a '98 Toyota Corolla, which has nothing to do with the 3 critically injured when their vehicle hits a pole on the Kennedy Expressway. They could be spooked by the report that a Suburban girl, 11, threatened to shoot up her school bus. She's been told pink bullets are the latest preteen fad, and to prove her absurd point, there's more bad news of 2 children injured in a Far South Side shooting. Add their names to the piled-up statistics and the multiple PR reasons an often divided State Legislature and Mayor Daley will try again to crack down on gun violence. This equation's always out of balance.

0

Apr 29, 2010

Apr 29, 2010 at 7:17 PM UTC

francis-scudellari

Straying Math of Dogs and Bullets

The news never stops, but sometimes it breaks strange, like when the cops tell us, Man throws dog at sister. It didn't fly far, but across town, the Police did finally catch another stray dog on the Eisenhower Expressway. I hear it's driving a '98 Toyota Corolla, which has nothing to do with the 3 critically injured when their vehicle hits a pole on the Kennedy Expressway. They could be spooked by the report that a Suburban girl, 11, threatened to shoot up her school bus. She's been told pink bullets are the latest preteen fad, and to prove her absurd point, there's more bad news of 2 children injured in a Far South Side shooting. Add their names to the piled-up statistics and the multiple PR reasons an often divided State Legislature and Mayor Daley will try again to crack down on gun violence. This equation's always out of balance.

25

first-- my big brother came through the door, hoodie up, L close behind-- a farm girl, small features warm eyes Bean boots and rough hands, i could smell the cigarettes and the new cash in his pocket. he showed me the pipe he'd fashioned out of driftwood the one thick silver band on his left pointer finger glinting warmth from the dining room light and in a drunken haze i wondered if there was anything in the world he couldn't do. second-- she set the canvas bag on the counter, and out came heirloom apples, and mittens and fresh honeycomb in an old plastic container, label worn and peeling from all the hours it had traveled, and i thought suddenly and strangely of all the times it'd been placed in bags as an afterthought, left in the backseat of a golden texas-plated '95 corolla (an alien up here) warming between biodegradable soaps and pottery filled with sprouting seeds, how many raindrops it had shed sitting on the front steps of an old clapboard house.

0

Sep 23, 2014

Sep 23, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC

rachel-g

late on a saturday night

first-- my big brother came through the door, hoodie up, L close behind-- a farm girl, small features warm eyes Bean boots and rough hands, i could smell the cigarettes and the new cash in his pocket. he showed me the pipe he'd fashioned out of driftwood the one thick silver band on his left pointer finger glinting warmth from the dining room light and in a drunken haze i wondered if there was anything in the world he couldn't do. second-- she set the canvas bag on the counter, and out came heirloom apples, and mittens and fresh honeycomb in an old plastic container, label worn and peeling from all the hours it had traveled, and i thought suddenly and strangely of all the times it'd been placed in bags as an afterthought, left in the backseat of a golden texas-plated '95 corolla (an alien up here) warming between biodegradable soaps and pottery filled with sprouting seeds, how many raindrops it had shed sitting on the front steps of an old clapboard house.

21

(Greek translation \version) i. Ischyró, sígoura tha aposvestoún pétra. ii. Parelthóntos, en afthonía, lefkí stefáni tou xediplotheí. iii. paratiritís kípou Pýli tou katóchou; Chrónos ágnosto. iv. Ékti aísthisi, Pra shatrent, Eyne tis astrapís; theóstaltos. v. Ái tis pragmatikó, ái tis símaine. Pántote i feeleth; zontanós kai to periechómeno. (English translation) i. Puissant, certes whittled on stone. ii. Yore, galore, white corolla's unfold. iii. Garden watcher's Gate keeper's; Time unknown. iv. Sixth sense, Pra shatrent, eyne of lightning; heavensent. v. Aye tis real, Aye tis meant. Aye i feeleth; alive and content. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)

0

Mar 23, 2016

Mar 23, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

In ourn sixth sense, Pra shatrent ( english translation is at bottom of poem for those that dont know (:::: )

(Greek translation \version) i. Ischyró, sígoura tha aposvestoún pétra. ii. Parelthóntos, en afthonía, lefkí stefáni tou xediplotheí. iii. paratiritís kípou Pýli tou katóchou; Chrónos ágnosto. iv. Ékti aísthisi, Pra shatrent, Eyne tis astrapís; theóstaltos. v. Ái tis pragmatikó, ái tis símaine. Pántote i feeleth; zontanós kai to periechómeno. (English translation) i. Puissant, certes whittled on stone. ii. Yore, galore, white corolla's unfold. iii. Garden watcher's Gate keeper's; Time unknown. iv. Sixth sense, Pra shatrent, eyne of lightning; heavensent. v. Aye tis real, Aye tis meant. Aye i feeleth; alive and content. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)

47

I have 17 empty notebooks This morning it was 16, but I bought another on my way home from work because it was leather bound and on sale It cost an hour and a half of work ... So, I have 17 empty notebooks One is missing a page I needed to write down an appointment but I didn't want to ruin the whole book Another has three pages that are actually written on It was meant to be a bullet journal but the box marked "bullet journal review" was never checked off Notebooks three, four, and twelve are actually binders which are usually in a different category but what is a binder if not an evolved journal? Or maybe they're all subspecies of paper Its all paper Paper that speaks, whispering to me in my soft moments when there is nothing to do except worry about all that unfilled space "We were trees once. We were alive. We were cut down and reshaped to fulfill a larger purpose and this is what becomes of us?" My guilt turns to anxiety turns to pen clicking and that makes it worse, reminding all 18 of us that I am perfectly capable and yet wholly unwilling It's not like I haven't tried All of those notebooks were bought with a specific use in mind Well, they were all bought and then later justified by thinking of a use that I knew would never come to fruition Bullet journal, grimoire, dream journal, poetry journal, school journals ... So, I have nearly 17 mostly empty notebooks in a drawer They used to sit on my shelf but it didn't seem right placing those empty vessels amongst a universe of universes and filled pages Like parking my totaled '97 Toyota Corolla next to a Porsche So they're in a drawer with a few torn shirts I keep meaning to turn into patches, a barely used oil pastel set, and a dusty Bass for Dummies book So maybe this is a lesson Maybe I'm making oceans out of puddles Maybe this is a metaphor for my life and all of its wasted time and blank pages; blank from the months I spent lying on a couch, wrapped up in the cold snow blanket of fear and regret I regret so much and the more I regret the more anxious I become the more unlikely I am to get up and pick my story back up the more pages pass by as barren as the day is short Or Maybe Maybe I should just stop buying new notebooks

0

Jun 1, 2017

Jun 1, 2017 at 2:44 AM UTC

campbell-pennington

Admirer of All Trades, Master of None

I have 17 empty notebooks This morning it was 16, but I bought another on my way home from work because it was leather bound and on sale It cost an hour and a half of work ... So, I have 17 empty notebooks One is missing a page I needed to write down an appointment but I didn't want to ruin the whole book Another has three pages that are actually written on It was meant to be a bullet journal but the box marked "bullet journal review" was never checked off Notebooks three, four, and twelve are actually binders which are usually in a different category but what is a binder if not an evolved journal? Or maybe they're all subspecies of paper Its all paper Paper that speaks, whispering to me in my soft moments when there is nothing to do except worry about all that unfilled space "We were trees once. We were alive. We were cut down and reshaped to fulfill a larger purpose and this is what becomes of us?" My guilt turns to anxiety turns to pen clicking and that makes it worse, reminding all 18 of us that I am perfectly capable and yet wholly unwilling It's not like I haven't tried All of those notebooks were bought with a specific use in mind Well, they were all bought and then later justified by thinking of a use that I knew would never come to fruition Bullet journal, grimoire, dream journal, poetry journal, school journals ... So, I have nearly 17 mostly empty notebooks in a drawer They used to sit on my shelf but it didn't seem right placing those empty vessels amongst a universe of universes and filled pages Like parking my totaled '97 Toyota Corolla next to a Porsche So they're in a drawer with a few torn shirts I keep meaning to turn into patches, a barely used oil pastel set, and a dusty Bass for Dummies book So maybe this is a lesson Maybe I'm making oceans out of puddles Maybe this is a metaphor for my life and all of its wasted time and blank pages; blank from the months I spent lying on a couch, wrapped up in the cold snow blanket of fear and regret I regret so much and the more I regret the more anxious I become the more unlikely I am to get up and pick my story back up the more pages pass by as barren as the day is short Or Maybe Maybe I should just stop buying new notebooks

30

we emerge in the morning from our cotton cocoon. misshapen and distant, spines upright too soon. i peek out, hazy eyed - black spike corolla lashes fossil-old mascara dried. i speak out, lazy mouthed - once bright expectations now damp, the fire doused. we promise, hands tied, to eagerly phone, until we escape - at last - to go be alone.

0

Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC

bethever

in the morning

we emerge in the morning from our cotton cocoon. misshapen and distant, spines upright too soon. i peek out, hazy eyed - black spike corolla lashes fossil-old mascara dried. i speak out, lazy mouthed - once bright expectations now damp, the fire doused. we promise, hands tied, to eagerly phone, until we escape - at last - to go be alone.

12

i hand you your things and flee the driveway, wind up at the site of a gas leak firetrucks and pylons and hazmat suits and me in my ’85 corolla declaring myself king

0

May 14, 2014

May 14, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC

resonantbellworld

king

i hand you your things and flee the driveway, wind up at the site of a gas leak firetrucks and pylons and hazmat suits and me in my ’85 corolla declaring myself king

8

We went from “who loves orange soda?” to take a shot for me. To waiting in lines at the DMV, from waiting in lines at the school dance like “bruh hold my spot for me” From N64 controllers to leasing a Toyota Corolla Dealing with these adult life problems we don’t have no control of From pillow forts to the rents due From action figures to hopes of six figures From razor scooters to shaving with razors From love letters to car notes crazy right? The only losses we worried about were argued through Rock Paper Scissors. Now we worry about losing jobs, material things and on the news daily we lose our brothers and sisters. The only pain we felt was scraping our knees on the concrete. Now we scrape change tryna pay the bills hoping that our ends meet. I wish I could go back, I close my eyez with my memories and feel gratification. And the thing I miss most of all at that tender age is my imagination I can’t believe I couldn’t wait to get big

0

Sep 26, 2018

Sep 26, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC

Bart415

Big

We went from “who loves orange soda?” to take a shot for me. To waiting in lines at the DMV, from waiting in lines at the school dance like “bruh hold my spot for me” From N64 controllers to leasing a Toyota Corolla Dealing with these adult life problems we don’t have no control of From pillow forts to the rents due From action figures to hopes of six figures From razor scooters to shaving with razors From love letters to car notes crazy right? The only losses we worried about were argued through Rock Paper Scissors. Now we worry about losing jobs, material things and on the news daily we lose our brothers and sisters. The only pain we felt was scraping our knees on the concrete. Now we scrape change tryna pay the bills hoping that our ends meet. I wish I could go back, I close my eyez with my memories and feel gratification. And the thing I miss most of all at that tender age is my imagination I can’t believe I couldn’t wait to get big

16

CAR CRASH 04-20-10 I swerve instinctively As I see the red brake lights in front of me Too bad, he didn’t see in time to stop more instantly. He is dead now. The front of his Corolla is Untimely married. To an 18 wheeler’s back end. Sorry, friend. I don’t even know you. I’m just glad I’m not you. A human is now turned to ****** goo. God, I’m glad that was not me, but you. Wow. That could have been me One or two seconds, that would’ve been me. I careen around the grotesque site. I almost hit a car in the lane to the right. Why, when my life flashes before my eyes Is the very same instant I beg not to die? I’m feeding myself an incredible lie. My usual mantra is “I want to die!” “God, please take me, I want to die! “I hate my life, I want to die!” But it wasn’t me It was someone else’s turn to be free. Free? Of what? Of Life? Since when did I disvalue my life? Since when did I start to like my life? I don’t know, and I’m not sure that’s a true statement I dream of crashing into side rails all the time. Go ahead, and just get over this strife called my life. I look back in my rear view mirror. Death could not be seen any clearer. Man, I must rethink who I am I must take a look at my cavalier stance To life. I appreciate life more than I can appreciate The acceptance of my own.

0

Jun 12, 2010

Jun 12, 2010 at 5:51 PM UTC

susan-hunt

CAR CRASH

CAR CRASH 04-20-10 I swerve instinctively As I see the red brake lights in front of me Too bad, he didn’t see in time to stop more instantly. He is dead now. The front of his Corolla is Untimely married. To an 18 wheeler’s back end. Sorry, friend. I don’t even know you. I’m just glad I’m not you. A human is now turned to ****** goo. God, I’m glad that was not me, but you. Wow. That could have been me One or two seconds, that would’ve been me. I careen around the grotesque site. I almost hit a car in the lane to the right. Why, when my life flashes before my eyes Is the very same instant I beg not to die? I’m feeding myself an incredible lie. My usual mantra is “I want to die!” “God, please take me, I want to die! “I hate my life, I want to die!” But it wasn’t me It was someone else’s turn to be free. Free? Of what? Of Life? Since when did I disvalue my life? Since when did I start to like my life? I don’t know, and I’m not sure that’s a true statement I dream of crashing into side rails all the time. Go ahead, and just get over this strife called my life. I look back in my rear view mirror. Death could not be seen any clearer. Man, I must rethink who I am I must take a look at my cavalier stance To life. I appreciate life more than I can appreciate The acceptance of my own.

39

* I feel borrowed from water, earth, air and fire. my roots spread in the way of the plow. ruin follow stem, corolla and perfume. whirlwind of murderous steel will come upon. skeletons of tomorrow will carry my pale colours on their shoulders, as crows carry on their plumage the last grains of day into the night. there's a marble garden waiting, stained with the faeces of time. there's no time for tears. only the rain is so kind as to refresh the countenance of solitary graves. (Luis R Santos) *

0

Aug 6, 2014

Aug 6, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC

luis-r-santos

borrowed

* I feel borrowed from water, earth, air and fire. my roots spread in the way of the plow. ruin follow stem, corolla and perfume. whirlwind of murderous steel will come upon. skeletons of tomorrow will carry my pale colours on their shoulders, as crows carry on their plumage the last grains of day into the night. there's a marble garden waiting, stained with the faeces of time. there's no time for tears. only the rain is so kind as to refresh the countenance of solitary graves. (Luis R Santos) *

9

You are one of the many flowers that blooms Yet you stand bold Bright And still Still vase Still vivid Still striking Chaos and order Your call Love and despise Your cast You rise Brush the destruction And all that is left of you is A single corolla ...In my mind

0

Sep 28, 2019

Sep 28, 2019 at 8:05 PM UTC

Airtoyourearth

Blossom

You are one of the many flowers that blooms Yet you stand bold Bright And still Still vase Still vivid Still striking Chaos and order Your call Love and despise Your cast You rise Brush the destruction And all that is left of you is A single corolla ...In my mind

16

What a Bass-Head, the only one to ever fill me with dread. She asks, "Hey baby, did you forget to take your meds?" I just needed 3 xanax bars to remember not to forget about her, the girl drinking from the sweet wobbly nectar of the Bass Gods, I'd drop everything to visit her in Oregon. She once flew to Durango, to road-trip home east, with me the beast. In my jalopy hooptie of a 1992 Corolla, falling apart, ripping at the seams. Across this country we flowed over rivers and streams and poured unhindered by time or space. Through the great sand dunes of Colorado we played our own tunes, the stalagmites and horrid cave crickets of Mammoth Cave Kentucky, It got fucky at a seedy motel in Kansas, another in West Virginia. We make it to Fredericksburg, Viriginia, in the span of less than a week we have roared and soared through half the continent. We spend a night with our settled friends, married now, Shaun and Rachel, lovebirds. Until, home to Philly in one straight shot, through DC **** DC and up through Delaware, we are finally home. A journey complete. Sunsets, mountains, forests, lakes, dunes, beaches, deserts, plains, prairie, and perc 30s. All now a part of our memories, how sweet they be.

0

Dec 16, 2015

Dec 16, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC

caligulas-exit

Michelle

What a Bass-Head, the only one to ever fill me with dread. She asks, "Hey baby, did you forget to take your meds?" I just needed 3 xanax bars to remember not to forget about her, the girl drinking from the sweet wobbly nectar of the Bass Gods, I'd drop everything to visit her in Oregon. She once flew to Durango, to road-trip home east, with me the beast. In my jalopy hooptie of a 1992 Corolla, falling apart, ripping at the seams. Across this country we flowed over rivers and streams and poured unhindered by time or space. Through the great sand dunes of Colorado we played our own tunes, the stalagmites and horrid cave crickets of Mammoth Cave Kentucky, It got fucky at a seedy motel in Kansas, another in West Virginia. We make it to Fredericksburg, Viriginia, in the span of less than a week we have roared and soared through half the continent. We spend a night with our settled friends, married now, Shaun and Rachel, lovebirds. Until, home to Philly in one straight shot, through DC **** DC and up through Delaware, we are finally home. A journey complete. Sunsets, mountains, forests, lakes, dunes, beaches, deserts, plains, prairie, and perc 30s. All now a part of our memories, how sweet they be.

6

It's prime time... Let us now Lower heads and bow, Sing hymns to the responsive Drive train of the latest model, Ignore a "fasten seat belt" chime Get on with real business, Speeding mountain curves In seats of Corinthian leather (Professional driver On closed course) Of course the fine print Didn't make it To the big picture, Seven twenty P HD How repulsive! To lay wreaths, handmade signs Bows and teddy bears In loving memory of the lost As if it really matters That a pizza delivery man, Loving father of two, His Corolla ripped to tatters, Sacrificed a life to bring pie In a half hour or less.

0

Dec 13, 2009

Dec 13, 2009 at 4:51 PM UTC

robert-zanfad

It's Prime Time

It's prime time... Let us now Lower heads and bow, Sing hymns to the responsive Drive train of the latest model, Ignore a "fasten seat belt" chime Get on with real business, Speeding mountain curves In seats of Corinthian leather (Professional driver On closed course) Of course the fine print Didn't make it To the big picture, Seven twenty P HD How repulsive! To lay wreaths, handmade signs Bows and teddy bears In loving memory of the lost As if it really matters That a pizza delivery man, Loving father of two, His Corolla ripped to tatters, Sacrificed a life to bring pie In a half hour or less.

25