"cruiser" poems
Hand in hand, we will stand together now,
They thought that we wouldn’t make it this far,
They were right; we should’ve stood down, but how?
Fought for our brotherhood, it’s what we are,
We go down; we go down with each other,
Down to battle on the field to the war
Work hard and play hard on the earth mother
Other team look at us and gaze in awe
My true brothers, my friends will stand by me,
Betrayal is the path of a loser
I’ll take the last stand and you’ll never see,
Smooth on this land we are, battle cruiser
As we just fight over nothing but pride,
In the Earth is where we will soon reside.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
Mine was carbon fiber
with Campagnolo gears
it had ramhorn handlebars
and I rode beyond all fear
Until I hit loose gravel
just around a bend
downhill at full travel
and I went end over end
Now I ride a cruiser
with a basket and a bell
it's got a loose cupholder
and riding uphill is hell
But it gets me where I'm going
and it's healthy for my scars
it makes me feel like I am soaring
when she is on the handlebars
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
I bought a cruiser bike
instead of a mountain bike
I’m a sextagenarian
not a 30-something
so every morning I pedal
to the corner across from the Ritz-Carlton and the Montage
next to the high-rent Pandemonde Café
and count the Ferraris roaring by.
I never had a Ferrari
but I did buy a ’96 Mustang once
and souped it up with a supercharger
which was around the time
my doctor took me off testosterone
because my prostate specific antigen
was way too high
You have an inoperable prostate malignancy, he said
after the biopsy
You can’t take hormone replacement anymore
It will **** you
And as I lean on my bike
depressed about missing the rush
of another boost of synthetic male hormone
I enjoy watching the Europen speedsters streak by
so proud of themselves
in cars that cost more
than my house.
I used to wish I was them
used to feel like them
when I was younger and charging hard
but now I just utter prayers
for each Lamborghini that goes by
and I say
I hope your car is faster than cancer.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,
Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.
I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,
The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.
It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,
That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,
The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
You are the Love that I Remember,
You melt me through Aeons of Winter.
You make me the blazing Djinn,
You make me the Christ without Sin.
You are the Cure for The Cold
and my love is like Footsteps in Snow.
Where I follow with Feather and Rose.
To give you my Heart and my Soul.
You are the Love that I Remember.
You are the Love that I Recall,
You are the Spirit of my Crossing,
You tie me in Beautiful Woes.
You are the Essence of Color.
Also the midnight cruiser.
You are the spring fawn,
and its your laughter that makes me grow.
You are the will of the bright.
You are the source of my spiritual writing.
You make me the king in blessings.
Blessings of virtue and light.
You are the love that I remember,
the truth and the love that is tender.
You are the ocean of responsibility,
that I pick up when reason is withering.
You are the quintessential virtue.
That all there is to know is full.
The fullness you supply, I imbibe
these virtues; with intimacy, grace and time.
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 2:27 PM UTC
“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's
Game Room
War Room
Control Room
Fueled by a red T-shirt
proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince”
He flips out his cellular...
“IT ISN'T UP TO ME!"
(Where does he get all those broken remotes?)
...flips open his cell
and shouts commands
“TURN THE POWER ON!"
“YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control)
“Fsssss Fssssss Fsssssss
THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!”
Drives his cruiser around the pool table
Pulls alongside
Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed
“GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING!
THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!”
An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear
and points a giggle
Dan--
the kind of guy whose life peaked
at Mount Saint Helen
Does a warlock for Halloween
Carries a portable showcase of horror
prized possessions in a dishpan
He explains his treasures
“That is NOT
a plastic scorpion!”
Offended by my ignorance
shoves it in my eyes
“THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!"
“CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!"
Dan sorta likes me
We talk horror flicks
He forbids the serious of me
"CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!”
he hisses in a spray of spit
Walks way, laughing, delighted!
Shaking iz head
Then back in my face again (for emphasis)
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
(He is dead serious)
"THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE
WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!"
His counselor fills in my blank
“Dan likes the Beatles
That's the only thing he likes
that isn't heinous”
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
The road was long and rough
It was a passageway of words
A parade of letters and prose
The touch of invisible pleasure
I moulted like a snake in season
I dreamt on a cruiser of reign as we
opened my pandora box in the cave
The road was smooth and right
It was a third eye paradise of seers
A mire of misery and blowing wind
The tears flew like fireflies on heat
I met the shrinks of souls in salt bed
I waved the rain as it washed my sins
On that sight of the pandora box
The road of wrongness and rightness
It was an unfolded augury of life
An awakened sleeper roared in dreams
The days when I touched the skies
I took the broken house and mended
I saw the clouds as bright as crimson
Inside the box when I met my twin
The road of love, lust, love, longness
It was when the ember coal was wild
A blaze of soul collision and resonance
The days when doubt taunted in mazes
I wrested my mind and the heart knew
I tested the precipice and intuition led
Inside the unconditional pandora box
The road where I hid and felt alive
It was a paradise of shining trees
A place where our loneliness merged
The safest heaven on barren lands
I saw my warrior and he shielded
I sat as he ran away with fear and pride
On that very opened pandora box
The road of unforgotten forever
It was a triangulation of continents
An immersion of difference and indifference
The open table of a scarce connective mess
I shed my naive bed and hardened
I shut the wild untwisted world
On that very inevitable pandora
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
the other day I got stopped on the street
I was riding my bike if you like minding my business like I do every other day of the week
suddenly a sleek police cruiser rolled on by
seeing a young black man clearly I caught their eye
I got pulled over like a crackhead in a Chevy nova
I got scared I'll admit it but I kept my composure I'm glad I didn't make any stupid comments or sarcastic remarks which is what I'm known for
so all in all take this lesson from my story
people **** and appearances make all the difference between a night in jail or a free morning filled with glory
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
A walk around the block in my parents’ neighborhood at dawn
wearing mom’s sweater and pop's sneakers with a clown hole cut out for
toe infection
I was stopped by a cop in a cruiser
this was during the Vietnam War long hair ago
he was angry at everyone I was offended by everything
he said which way are you going I said which way are you going
so he socked me in the mouth and handcuffed me
I was arraigned on disorderly conduct and resisting arrest
my good parents came down and stood beside me before the judge
I wrote to the police department internal affairs
not for retribution but to start a paper trail
in case this cop someday bopped one of my brothers
a few months later I’m back at work in NYC
two detectives come into the city to question me
one good cop one bad cop we park in the park me in the back seat
they wanna know was I mouthy to the cop who punched me in the mouth
long story short
they leave me on a bench to eat my lunch and the charges are dropped
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 6:50 AM UTC
Constructing the Year Anew!
I skipped on the wind to infinity.
Nearing insanity, not!
Riding on ice floes and hedges.
Now and then perched on the fence.
Betting the moon will cease to glow.
As last year,bade blurred adieu.
Her feminine face wrapped in chiffon.
Rippling in the breeze of night.
Rustling as the tree tops she tenderly strokes.
With merciful light as blessing of naive honour.
Not knowing the gift of the year to come.
Onward and upwards I ride.
Toss my hair over the shoulder of time.
Time and tide stand alone.
While waiting for love not to trip.
A night cruiser flowing on mortality's tides.
January until to the ides of March.
I creep coldly in silent sensitive chill.
Waiting for love to pick old ribbons apart and thrill me.
Decipher the mystical one.
DNA made me.
Let mRNA make me remember the one I was before.
May the candle in the bathroom burn ever hot.
Let me see the light.
The light of my life.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Me and the crew riding around in the PT Cruiser.
Soda oozin' out the cup like the one of Biggest Loser.
Don't let the insults be spiky, like the shell of King Koopa.
Goin' back and forth : we in the movie Looper.
Be chill like the Buddha.
Dude, uh, I think you dropped your burger.
Electric surger blew up like the Time Warner merger.
The inside of our place on fire ;
The officer called us liars.
Wanted to throw us in the manor on the Cliff of Briar.
Yeah, it's an American Horror Story.
Being profiled because of ethnicity,
We're Mexican, see,
But we're not gonna steal something worth $3.50.
Looking at us like monsters of Loch Ness.
Yeah, we may come from a pool of cess
But you're simply too incredulous
To think of a time other than 1955.
You can ruin our lives
And throw us in jail in the blink of an eye.
Don't even need to find
A shred of evidence to kick our behind.
You feel like we're behind your back
Cocking our guns with a slight click-clack.
About to shoot them off with a ratatatat
While we're caressing our "gang tats".
But that's not how it is.
You think we all give weapons to kids?
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Have you ever imagined the horrors of being driven in a sleek Land Cruiser that is the definition of 'noire'? When the car doors are locked, so is your mind and your eyes are as tinted ad the windows.
I gaze out at the beggars stretching their sun-dried palms to me asking for a minute portion of the price of my fountain pen. The stretch of desperate beggars go on for nearly ninety kilometres. I can see it in their shiny, burnt eyes that they pray for 'Goodluck.' I do not speak only of financial beggars but also of beggars of national progress. This includes me hidden behind the tinted windows.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
After leaving port
in March disguised
as the Norwegian freighter Rena Norge,
the Leopard set sail
its mission to disrupt
Allied commerce.
On the 17 March it was stopped
in the North Sea by the cruiser
HMS Achilles and ordered to proceed
to the boarding vessel
HMS Dundee
for inspection
Heavily outgunned
Captain
the raider's commander
Hans
von
Laffert
had no option
other to proceed
to meet
the boarding vessel.
Captain
Selwyn
Day
of the Dundee
dispatched
a launch containing a boarding
party
with an officer and five men
to investigate
the mysterious ship.
Hans
von
Laffert
realizing he was about to be discovered detained the party and after about an hour opened fire on the Dundee with a salvo of two torpedoes.
The steamer manoeuvred out of the way
barely in time
and the torpedoes missed
Captain
Day's
ship by twenty feet.
Day ordered
his guncrews
to open fire and a hail of shells struck the Leopard
damaging a gun
and setting fires.
The Achilles hearing
the sound of gunfire
returned to the scene and opened fire
on the raider as the Dundee withdrew.
Shortly after
the Achilles's arrival
the Leopard sank with all 319 hands
going down
with the ship.
Damage to the British
vessels was light
and the only casualties consisted of the six boarding party members who were trapped in the Leopard when it sank.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
We are all poets;
when words come quick,
shaolin blades slicing pixels
in angry, poetic kung-fu;
when words come smooth and slow
in fleeting, awkward caresses
pulsating across goose-bumped skin,
every new lover a poem.
When we sway on the barstool,
flag poles resisting booze’s steady gale,
arguing for that one last drink
before the white light cuts through
the swaddling shadows and the barkeep
sees the reds of our eyes,
every slurring plea a poem.
When we beg the officer
to let us go gently into freedom’s violet dawn
and when unsuccessful,
to crack the back window of his cruiser
just enough to keep the world from spilling in,
spinning into violent oblivion,
every handcuffed squirm a poem.
We are all poets;
when both heart and home sputter,
energy from a rusting machine crawling
from check to check until
chair becomes wheelchair,
house becomes apartment,
fruits of past labor
line the curb in piles of bags,
every unpaid bill a poem.
When we stare out over the water,
rolling sheets of morning fog across the lake,
still, except for ripples of dew drops
painting the water in widening circles;
revived campfire crackling next to
snug, sleeping children;
quiet, like a poem’s end.
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
The things
you're afraid to know
are
the things
you fear
you already know
But then again
you could be wrong
I could be misleading
and both of us could be in
for a surprise
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 4:49 AM UTC
It's a stupid song
Hearing it come on the music station in the restaurant
after the thumping House music that preceded it
I laugh
because it's an old song
a stupid song
so familiar song
My eyes close heavy, rebellious
all I can hear is the song
it comes back to me in the wave pattern
vibrating the memory loose
In the back of the old station wagon
Vista Cruiser
with all the other kids and cousins
on our way to Summer camp
windows down Summer wind lovingly whipping us
with salt sand scrub-pine lashes
making fun of the drivers behind us
SCREAMING this song
Top of our lungs
All of ourselves lost in THIS SONG
This stupid song
that I loved so much so long ago
playing overhead in this stupid hipster sandwich shop
with the sudden ocean-salt taste of these tears
being back there in that Summer
flying to Adventure in the Vista Cruiser
Nothing but open road ahead of us
As far as the eye can see
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
I see you in every sunset
In every curve and crack
I see you in every girl with messy hair
I even ******* see you in myself
I see you in everything good
Everything sad, everything wonderful
I see you in every silver lining
I see you in every cloudy day
You are my cloudy days
You are my sunsets, and I miss you
I see you in every stupid PT cruiser
Every mountain road
I see you when I sober up from panic
And I see you..
I see you when I'm high out of my ******* mind
And when I'm too drunk for my own good
I see you through bloodshot eyes and slurred words
I ******* see you everywhere
I see you when I don't even want to whisper your name
And I feel guilty for that
Because I love you
I love you so much
I see you in every laugh
Every strangled cry
And in every hysterical mess
And sometimes I want to rip my ******* eyes out
Because I see you when I want to be happy
And it makes me so, undeniably miserable
It's so irrevocably ******
I ******* adore you
And I don't want to go blind and forget you
I want to see you, and feel happy when I see you
And not wonder what I meant to you
I ******* love you
And I ******* miss you
I hope you loved me
I see you, darling
You're ******* everywhere
And I want you to be everywhere
I would just appreciate it if you could wear white
Instead of black
I'm working on it, love
I see you in every mistake
Every stupid joke
And in every Irish accent
I see your face through the tears
And I realize why I loved you so much
You're everywhere
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Ride!!!!! What's here where am I going oh man cheer for all those biking yes yes yes oh yes! Held my head up, and working legs kicking tight and free release done done done stop for coffee but not to drink but just to have, to think in, let me ride my cruiser to my death
I love being weird! I do zig zags, Rush through Main Street!! Lightning yes yes yes take me there! All body, liberation salvation! Oh numbness of spirit! Looking up and hearing voices, I am of stone! Yes!!!
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
the old cruiser sat in his drive
tires as tired as time, the whole car speckled
with bird droppings from his oak
back seat still the same:
scarlet blood dried black from
the boy's brief ride
justified use of force
the grandest jury decreed; still they made him
put up his sword and shield
the sullied car part of his severance,
his Crown Vic replaced by a fat SUV, and he
replaced by his own deputy
he knew it less was a blessing
than a curse, the cruiser turned hearse
gifted to him
the men had tried it scrub it clean
but the boy he felled was eighteen; his blood
copious, stubborn, and a condign reminder
of the sheriff’s last night as the law,
of his frenzied futile attempt to save
the boy, the “deceased”
whose last testament was scrawled
in the bowels of the car that now sat still as stone,
alone with its red written tale
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
We sat, legs spread,
on the glass-cracked hatch-backed beat-up cruiser
with fingers numb from cold beer bottles,
and billows of smoke swelled in the air
like nuclear mushroom clouds
but quiet.
And the voice of the crowd
echoed back to us in vacant ululations
from very far away
and what did the score matter anyway
when the sun valiantly battled the autumn breeze
and won?
And my hair whipped back in fire-tongues
and we held up our arms to embrace the sun
and we were champions.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
When this timeline is hit,
And the timeclock ticks,
You'll hear those engines clink,
And I'll re-arrange all of this.
Better charge the portal gun,
Get buckled up on the Space Cruiser.
"Wubba Lubba Dub Dub!!"
Let's get out of this universe, Rick.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
They say "you can't go home again"
I dismissed the thought; believed that I could return to the town that I once
rode through on my beach cruiser,
walked through with my friends,
utilized poor construction sites as makeout spots
"I've come home", he sings
but if there is one thing that I believe my mother was right in saying is
that this is all geography
That perhaps is the scariest thought of all;
that I don't yet know where by home is or who will fill rooms with music
and enjoy the elusiveness of life with
I've come home
but not in the way he means it
I have come home to my teenage broken heart--and its perpetrator
I have come home to a house where I was on month-long bed rests
I have come home to a structure that is seemingly not mine
I suppose I wish it wasn't true;
that you can't go home again
and things are ever changing...
that is something we must accept as we grow older
When I truly think about it though, I don't know that I would want to return to my once "home"
I think I just wish I had one.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
So cramped in here,
I can barely breathe.
The facade I've given to
the God I abandoned,
to my loving, naive parents,
to the authority we're all forced to pander to.
My facade, it is crashing down.
Oh, how did I get here?
So smart, so handsome,
so handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser.
No more time for poetic formality:
****
**** **** ****
This is the kind of ****
that belongs in a ******* Kafka novel.
I remember, even minutes ago
I sat safe and content with the illusion
of freedom.
There is no "home" anymore,
even there is not safe.
These thin wrists were not meant
for handcuffs.
These fingertips were not meant
to be printed in ink.
This mouth is "real pretty,"
or at least that's what I'm told
as I enter the cell.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 1:49 PM UTC
In a growling, mixed parts automobile resembling
A scrap-metal Frankenstein
A driver pauses at a green light
Stalling parking lot traffic on its steaming blacktop treadmill
To greet an old friend through a missing window
A father in full camo and combat boots drags a nic-stick
And guides his wife and children through sardine walkways
In ninety degree June heat on a Boston street
His daughter swims in his thick wool, long-sleeved army jacket
Beaming
A lonely teen with fear tears and a pay-to-go-phone
Calls for help, and receives no reply
The frustration drains from his cursing voice
He shakes the hand of the silent one who was with him all along
Sirens wail, cars clear, leaving an empty trail
A snake pilot shoots the gap and ditches his stagnant lane to tail
The ambulance turns off its indicators; the patient didn’t make it
Their apparent apostle gets home a few minutes early
A blue peace keeper sleeping in his loser cruiser
Does not stir as tax dollar drool dribbles from his lips
A speeding truck nearly creams a pink backpack
Somewhere, a woman is *****
A husband and his frail partner leave the office of a medicine man
She walks aimlessly towards a wall before she is redirected
Careful Magoo, he says with love
He spoke with the patience of an ocean
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC