"dashboards" poems
She never noticed
books of poetry.
Her life was busy
with empathy
for those troubled
from pains scratched
on psyches from
neglect, abuse
or sacraments to fallen Gods.
She seldom heard music
except when,
heartsick from lost love,
she wallowed in vain misery
or during her youth when
hit parades blasted from
solid state radios
in dashboards, or from
jukeboxes flashing
come hither.
She thought little of flowers
nor paused to note scents,
shades or grace on
stems of green. Her head
was busy with
important matters,
day-to-day grinding
away on work or play.
Now alone,
she absorbs whiteness from
clouds, motion from birds,
or fragrance from flowers
with senses dulled by
age, injury or illness.
She sifts through her
day looking for
fresh tranquility.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
She's in parties
& knees-up
She's half-seas over
& in the king's cup
She's in missionary
She's in backwards
She's on backseats
& dashboards
She's in fast lanes
& intersections
She's in full throttle
& Hail Marys
She's in obituaries
& cemeteries
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 8:38 AM UTC
bloodied hands rub walls of confessionals like a cheap imitation of the most beautiful stained glass
theres beauty in the way you whisper my name followed by the words not good enough
your body is colored in someone else's fingerprints and i've been burning my hands to shape mine in just that way
kiss my lips until they crack like the sidewalks of the city that we used to dance in
bare feet on dashboards, cigarettes in your mouth, and hands around my neck: a list of things that make the most sense
a sunset reflecting off a mirrored building, eyes watered down until dark blue is nothing but the color of blue jeans
thunderstorm veins and lighting in my skin as my jaw becomes a platform for your kiss
your eyes are pools of holy water, but my lungs are full and I've been drowning for quite a long time now
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
bitter air pours through cracked windows at sixty miles per hour
dashboards turn to focal points turn to the only sight i'll keep from these days
and the nighttime pitch black glosses over moments of eyes glazed
the week's exhaustion turns each of us up, empty and dour
we work through our days and leave the waking hours to devour
sprawled over small couches and cold basement floors, always dazed
we come alive to mood music and greasy food at odd hours, forever unfazed
we make each spontaneous saturday night, uniquely and quietly ours
the clock in the dash reckons 3:46am in a thin, strobing green
he blinks hard, weary eyes and overworked body, fighting against the morning
and the neon signs of the little old marketplaces, oh, how they sing
we wire ourselves and electrify our moments with caffeine
we crash and burn and forget every night, ignoring our own warnings
and the sleepless sacrifices for each other's wonder, oh, the upswing.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
not a place we can go to have my grandmother tell you again how my uncle was born with a tooth.
where slavery just a star watched and watching and **** just a rainbow bent to its work.
where babies are shaken like hollow gifts and we want people and the emptiness of people put to death.
where grey flutes billow.
where milk is in our blood and ghost letting.
where hope is ugly but don’t tell it.
where fathers disappear into the dashboards of looted trucks taking with them their once employed hands and taking with them the heat of those hands.
where disappear is not a word we lightly loft.
where envy is the work of nearby grass.
where a man moves over a woman so that she is equal and equally ransacked
of travel.
where in a field this far away one can do finders keepers to a body scraped at by others and poked.
where a pill is like a mouth but smaller. but wants a bottle. and roots at the tip of your tongue.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
hes in good with the junkyard owner
and he likes that
they are both old men
trying to patch up their fractures
beer bellies coming along nicely
hands lacquered with paint
and modest discretion
and cigarette
blazing yellow
ABSOLUTELY NO SMOKING IN THE SCRAPYARD!
but he does.
killing time.
he does, fat eyes laughing
at blood on dashboards
metallic toe jam
and irony only he
finds
evident
he knows he can
stroke his vices
wherever
he so chooses
around here
the owner,
Dave
says so
and he makes sure he tells me
as he lights up
halfway out the door
Dave staring me down
with grease in his eyes
that 'not just ANYBODY
gets these
kind of privileges'
i know dad
i know
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 12:43 PM UTC
Every now and then
I find myself catching glances
Of faces
Behind dashboards of
Yellow myvis
Hopeful
To see your face again
Even if its just a mirrored shadow
Of your silhouette
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Moo. Herd Immunity. Moo.
"I don't know what herd immunity is, but when you
add that to the people who have acquired immunity,
it looks like it could be very close to herd immunity.”
-Texas Governor Greg Abbott,
as quoted by the Washington Post via The Houston Chronicle
Moo. Herd immunity. Moo. Simple math.
Moo. Very close. Moo. Vigilant. Moo. Proactive.
Moo. Efficacy. Moo. Calculation.
Moo. Dashboards. Moo. Trackers. Moo. Asymptomatic.
Moo. 70% Moo. 80%.
Moo. Fourth surge. Moo. Waves. Moo. Gaps. Moo. Pockets.
Moo. Complications. Moo. Misunderstandings.
Moo. Factors. Moo. Threshold. Moo. Duration
Moo. Emerging. Probable. Moo. Data.
Moo. Equation. Moo. Very close. Moo. Died.
“I don’t know what herd immunity is…”
Moo.
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 9:18 AM UTC
I feel so disconnected
Trying to reach out to my closest friends
is now a multi-step chore.
And I hope for them, I haven't become a bore.
I hope these cables and signals keep us from drifting apart
because if that ever happened, it'd break my heart
to know that you don't want me around.
It feels like you wouldn't care if I were laying in the ground.
All I ask is how you've been
But all I get in return is that you're nowhere to be seen
anywhere on my feeds,
on my dashboards, no texts to read.
If you don't want to hear from me, that's your choice.
I mean... I guess this distance does damper my voice...
I feel so disconnected.
Maybe this time I've gone in under my head.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
Plastic Jesus on dashboards and in celluloids
Expressionless face
Mouthing great wisdom in monotone
Hanging from a cross of suffering
As if in peaceful slumber
Heart and soul of passion
Displayed emotionless
Written words
a Weak reflection of His true meaning
This is not my Lord and my God
Who is great
Beyond depiction
This is not His message
Which overflows human language
When will creation accept
it was born of God’s Vision
and Not the other way around?
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
look / at the city
crying / and / starving
in great hunger / they cling to
dreary / dreaming
dashboards / dissolve
empty / essences
crying / circuses
red lights / tame business
green lights / offer pursuit
suits / oppressed
manipulated / scarred
help / help
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
the proven might of the gilded wit
one invalidated their invalidation's
leavings numpties with eggs on their faces
vomiting delusions of laughable posturings
reduced to those nodding heads on dashboards
plastic toys nodding in irrelevant nodding action
just doing for the sake of doing to appear relevant
puppets in revolution calling strings binding them power
Blue blood's simple living joke toys, engaging in self flagellation
sanity begs answers why expend such time effort money on nothing
yes, its because sterling greatness makes you feel so inconsequential
their spin has been made to engulf them and their stupidity exposed
their invalidation's has been invalidated leaving them anachronistic
a pathetic gaggle of nodding heads doing for doing sake
eggs on their faces, eggs on their faces, eggs on their pale faces
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 1:50 PM UTC