"gabardines" poems - Hello Poetry

Fingers wrap around cracked plastic steering wheel of the forty-eight Ford while curved glass bottles of *** and coke perch on the crest of the dashboard. I cup her left breast, explore for another short-lived feel as my breath wrestles with the scent of lavender beneath her ear. Tingles and beads of sweat inter-mingle damp on my collar. My lips labor toward her cheek methodically like a grandfather ascending a steep stairway. Her nylon-protected thigh burns against my gabardines kicking static electricity off of sagging seat covers. I fumble with the catch of her bra against her back. Parked here to spoon feels better than playing amateur baseball. No audience watches me drop the ball or toil to get to second base.

0

Mar 21, 2014

Mar 21, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC

william-a-poppen

Intermission*

Fingers wrap around cracked plastic steering wheel of the forty-eight Ford while curved glass bottles of *** and coke perch on the crest of the dashboard. I cup her left breast, explore for another short-lived feel as my breath wrestles with the scent of lavender beneath her ear. Tingles and beads of sweat inter-mingle damp on my collar. My lips labor toward her cheek methodically like a grandfather ascending a steep stairway. Her nylon-protected thigh burns against my gabardines kicking static electricity off of sagging seat covers. I fumble with the catch of her bra against her back. Parked here to spoon feels better than playing amateur baseball. No audience watches me drop the ball or toil to get to second base.

35

Before the world calls again We must make amends with the wind Look not towards, turn around Learn to challenge your mound The world is erupting in earnest Pearls rim the bulletproof vests Another bay of mammals Stripped of their enamel Watchful eye, clockmaker ***** hands on blood bakers Stagnant relics of the past Wailing worms on salted masts Crowded church, bullet tears Limping for the flaking fears Mountains bring a gilded path For the saints, a shallow bath Handcuffed legs, boarded hands Folded on a calm command Rotting hope, livid arms For the magnate, no alarm Bracket helm, grainy green Swords are drawn on gabardines No God will eat a tear And dead they flow, winded pier Dead they crow, winded pier Billowed fire, riverside Cower under thickened hides Excess arms upon the dock Sandinista on the rock Triggers sold in tragedy Lilting light, youth will cease Leaders sleep in padded wells Suffer mother, drink from hell Here’s the hero, banner flown Ruby paper, nature grown Skeptic in the eye of rhye Naked comics sing to die The site is exiled from the shore Stricken by a fiery pore Steel-laced curtains, hesitance Infidels in happenstance Here is fortune, there lays war I have sold a solid car Husband creaks, mother moans Children bred to take a bone With a blonded, slanted eye Astronauts will learn to fly All the while, a preacher seeks A pinstriped caddie and a freak I am born and I am weak

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Dec 6, 2018

Dec 6, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC

DerrekEstrella

I Am Born, I Am Weak

Before the world calls again We must make amends with the wind Look not towards, turn around Learn to challenge your mound The world is erupting in earnest Pearls rim the bulletproof vests Another bay of mammals Stripped of their enamel Watchful eye, clockmaker ***** hands on blood bakers Stagnant relics of the past Wailing worms on salted masts Crowded church, bullet tears Limping for the flaking fears Mountains bring a gilded path For the saints, a shallow bath Handcuffed legs, boarded hands Folded on a calm command Rotting hope, livid arms For the magnate, no alarm Bracket helm, grainy green Swords are drawn on gabardines No God will eat a tear And dead they flow, winded pier Dead they crow, winded pier Billowed fire, riverside Cower under thickened hides Excess arms upon the dock Sandinista on the rock Triggers sold in tragedy Lilting light, youth will cease Leaders sleep in padded wells Suffer mother, drink from hell Here’s the hero, banner flown Ruby paper, nature grown Skeptic in the eye of rhye Naked comics sing to die The site is exiled from the shore Stricken by a fiery pore Steel-laced curtains, hesitance Infidels in happenstance Here is fortune, there lays war I have sold a solid car Husband creaks, mother moans Children bred to take a bone With a blonded, slanted eye Astronauts will learn to fly All the while, a preacher seeks A pinstriped caddie and a freak I am born and I am weak

50

The fool headed out with his heart Checked over his shoulder for time He wore a cigarette apart And witnessed a rhyme Quickened steps on New York streets Greetings with a shaky hand He says, “I fancy myself a deadbeat, Nobody understands" The fool played for his life in a bar Stuttered every line with tension He was everybody’s car He worked for the pension A mind of a kinetic brand An isolationist caress What's ****** into his hands May put him among the rest He’d be a shell to sell what is on his mind But it’d be so bold if he sold his thoughts and time Are the crows encumbered on his twitching tail? Or were you so cruel to hang them up in hail? He quickly made a tune for a boon A derelict with a short fuse The vain throw pity at the loons, Who are their muse Looking for a piece of a mind Anything but his own Travels in time, just to find He can dine on the throne alone The foil flailing on the wall Fooling him to wail and write Then the train of a mind stalls Into the ceaseless night “Write me well and write me to love” The papers on the bookshelf say Won’t you push them when they come to shove, And seize that day? You’d be a shell to sell to sell what is on your mind But you’d be so bold if you sold your thoughts and time Are the crows encumbered on your twitching tail? Did the gabardines’ golden boy finally fail? You desperately wanted to be sought Yet you did not want to hang off the peak with a knot Maybe you will try to linger on And scream in streets when every chance is gone

0

Sep 29, 2017

Sep 29, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC

DerrekEstrella

Fool’s Foil/ Foil Fools

The fool headed out with his heart Checked over his shoulder for time He wore a cigarette apart And witnessed a rhyme Quickened steps on New York streets Greetings with a shaky hand He says, “I fancy myself a deadbeat, Nobody understands" The fool played for his life in a bar Stuttered every line with tension He was everybody’s car He worked for the pension A mind of a kinetic brand An isolationist caress What's ****** into his hands May put him among the rest He’d be a shell to sell what is on his mind But it’d be so bold if he sold his thoughts and time Are the crows encumbered on his twitching tail? Or were you so cruel to hang them up in hail? He quickly made a tune for a boon A derelict with a short fuse The vain throw pity at the loons, Who are their muse Looking for a piece of a mind Anything but his own Travels in time, just to find He can dine on the throne alone The foil flailing on the wall Fooling him to wail and write Then the train of a mind stalls Into the ceaseless night “Write me well and write me to love” The papers on the bookshelf say Won’t you push them when they come to shove, And seize that day? You’d be a shell to sell to sell what is on your mind But you’d be so bold if you sold your thoughts and time Are the crows encumbered on your twitching tail? Did the gabardines’ golden boy finally fail? You desperately wanted to be sought Yet you did not want to hang off the peak with a knot Maybe you will try to linger on And scream in streets when every chance is gone

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