"gps" poems
“Life was easier when I was young.” Was what my grandma used to say,
“We didn’t have all the problems that people have today.
All of this technology, it helps clutter our mind,
Without it we’d be much less stressed I think that you would find.”
I never used to understand how she could think that’s true,
It’s obvious computers have made life easier for me and you!
Just look around at all the incredible things available to man,
The most powerful technology that can fit in the palm of your hand!
We have Email, and iPods, and TV you can record!
We have every kind of website to peruse if you’re bored!
We have Netflix, and GPS, and don’t forget Smartphones,
And we can do all our shopping with a mouse click in our homes!
Things have gotten so convenient that it’s so hard for me to know,
How somebody could think life was easier many years ago.
But as I grow older, I now slowly begin to see,
The difficulties that were also invented along with technology.
We now have cybercrime, which poses a very real threat,
Credit card information gets stolen and you can be crippled with debt.
And all your personal information sits vulnerable on your home computer,
Hackers can easily break in and take it like a cybernetic looter.
There are too many channels on TV you feel like your mind could drown,
And people in the ‘50’s never had their DVR break down.
People had only one phone at home; no cellphones at all;
Nowadays, I hate that anyone at any time can give my cellphone a call.
We have an entire of world of problems that we never had before,
And with the pace that society is moving they’re impossible to ignore.
As I get older, all this convenience slowly seems less grand,
And when I think of what my grandma said, I finally understand.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
In 2005 The Piano Man was found wandering the streets of Sheerness in a soaking wet suit and tie
he didn't say a word.
When presented with pad and pen he simply drew a grand piano.
His nurses sat him in front of a beat up old upright
he played for four hours straight;
for four months his hands were the only things to break his silence.
Alexandre Dumas said "man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy."
Do you ever think about how Beethoven hacked the legs off his piano so he could feel the sounds he couldn't hear in his head, through his chest?
And Van Gogh heard the sounds his paintings made but kept going until his sanity
was just a memory floating on a distant river under a tired Milky Way.
And you see, like a Gaelic folk song blindness runs red through my family,
so I know it's not much but I'm here, still trying to mould my hands to say the right form of 'I love you'.
And did you know that the human heart beats over 30 million times a year, but we still have a hard time keeping our feet on the ground?
And did you know that the act of breaking in a horse is actually the act of breaking it's back?
Like we can't sit without sitting on broken things.
And did you know that every time a mobile phone sends out a GPS signal a bee loses it's way home, and every bee that doesn't reach it's hive dies?
So on nights when your pulse matches the beat of my favourite song
you don't have to wonder if it's me matching the syncopation of your silence --
and I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.
And I wonder if you realise that on days you're not here I roll up my sleeves,
count the beats without you,
sit on the backseat and miss you.
And somewhere The Piano Man rolls up his sleeves
creates the Big Bang under his fingertips.
And in 2005 on an April morning in Sheerness, a suited piano man walks straight into the ocean,
begs the current to take him.
I send you a message
a bee loses it's way home.
I send you another
another bee dies.
My chest cavity is a bumble bee crypt,
my tongue a honeyed graveyard.
Another message.
The Big Bang.
The hive.
A suit.
That ocean.
Another back is broken.
Another message is sent.
I fear I am more honeycomb than heart.
To create is to destroy. To destroy is to succeed.
And would you just look at what these piano hands have finally done.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
If you are single do not stress it, mainly it's because you understand the complexity of the relationship recipe you're a child of destiny and a victim of intuition, morally gifted, respectfully lifted, GPS couldn't follow your mission, eagerly itching; but if they don't cut the standards you know how to dismiss 'em, If they're not sharp enough they have no place in your kitchen; not smart enough they don't deserve a compound sentence PERIOD
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!
kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...
whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside
Columbus
me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me
falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!
adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures
*she said, and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek
but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
shotgun
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...*
too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
*all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"
*can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!
then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!*
"***You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy**"
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Sometimes the flashbacks
Can be picture perfect like a gallery
Every once in a while
I struggle with what life's like actually
As the memories resonate
Depression eventually catches me
It always baffled me
and still rattles me
Why did my best friend
have to be a casualty
I'm setting my GPS
as I pull down the street
For Arlington Cemetery
in Washington D.C.
Whenever I feel the need
I just sit there with him
No reason to speak
I let the ground beneath me
relieve some of the grief
Then just before I leave
I about face and say
You'll always be with me
Semper Fi my brother
Rest in peace Marine
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
http://m.wikihow.com/Unhook-a-Bra
Pinch the eyelets but oh so gently,
To properly unhook the device to safely release paradise
From it's containment chamber.
This be one of many secrets to unlocking
The mechanism that holds some of the happy things
The human body artist conceived
To perpetuate the
Species.
According to the internet,
To extract joy to the world correctly,
Depends upon both your station and your
Positioning.
Thus, it helps to have GPS,
Which most men think is that pointy thing
Between their legs,
But is not.
Given the laws of gravity,
And other natural limitations,
Sadly that utensil of little avail
In this surgical operation.
If one desires to release the tension
Between the connectors of the protectors,
Guardians of her heart,
It will be necessary to
Let your fingers do the walking.
So cut and paste the title above,
In your web browser place!
Do your homework or risk feeling
As petite as a schnauzer.
Seems your natural tendency,
Righty or lefty, matters in this endeavor,
Of which I was unawares, oft pressing the incorrect lever.
This, the likely cause of my spectacular
Teenage
Fumblings and failures.
Had I known that fact,
In the days before the Internet,
Surely I would have brought along my
Catchers mitt
To step up my game.
Sage advice the article provides:
*Get a bra, and practice, practice, practice!
It gets easier with experience.*
But methinks that is a bit of a
Risky adventure,
Lest you be seen boy,
Practicing upon yourself,
Or even a dummy,
Dummy!
So cut and paste the title above
In your web browser,
Do your home work or risk feeling
As petite as a pocket schnauzer.
But the most important tip
This wealthy article of information provides,
The conclusion.
In the hour of your desperate struggle,
Drooping
Ego
And
Crushed
Pride,
Ask for assistance from one more practiced,
Hopefully nearby,
Whose help usually comes with a charming smile
of touching condescension
For your male idiocy and verbal in-articulation.
*She, unawares, that you have got her
Positioned precisely where you want!*
For when you lift her up,
In a free state, the one Divinity intended,
and in your arms, enfolded and protected,
In one grand poetic gesture,
Sweep her off her feet,
Her surprise will be
**..
O
So Touching!**
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
You say You want to breed _
me
You want to put Your seed _
in me
You want to get me face down _
naked
just don't need another Mr. _
Fake it
my brown skin spoiled for Your _
tongue
my heart beats a rhythm to Your _
drum
my essence is in sync with Your _
sensations
my love GPS is linked to Your _
vibrations
You can read my body's _
mysteries
You produce the scenes in my _
fantasies
You command my loyalty and _
attention
You wish i'd obey Your _
direction
the only gift You want is to _
control
i am the award You want to _
own
my belly burns for Your blue _
fire
my skin tied in Your knotted _
desire
Winter 2016
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
up and down the east coast
in a cheap used Honda
sunshine, clear sky
fuzzy AM radio
windows down, cool breeze
no sense of direction
road signs and carelessness
take place of a gps
no contact with the rest of the world
empty highway
scenery all around
laughter
an adventure?
nothing matters but this moment anyhow
not the next minute
nor the next hour
nor tomorrow
we're not in New York anymore
"Are we there yet?"
there is no "there", yet
no pictures
only memories
make it last
Rest up sleepyhead
You'll need it
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
Running down that Ecstasy Highway
as fast as my little legs can carry me
I'm blind as a bat with ear plugs
But we were both
searching through this night time
skyway
reaching out to touch some one
and be touched.
All the guide books said this is the way,
turn right at Desire
turn left at Oblivion
and head on down
to the
neon lights, you can't miss it
as long as you are riding that
Ecstasy Highway.
I was told
some people find it at the end of a needle
others wait for the drop of the cards
and there are those who throw themselves
off that mountain side cliff looking for the winds to ride.
Some find it laying with you.
I've gone somewhere else I can't describe
made a wrong turn
thought it was a Transcendental highway
maybe
because I've been up and down,
made wrong turns right and left
made a wrong turn
at the corner of Sanctuary and Bliss.
I'd ask directions but there is not a soul around,
smacking my GPS
lost beyond words
with nothing familiar
in
neighborhoods looming
stark cracked out buildings
and
broken street lights
people with apocalyptic eyes
even the cops won't come down here any more
and the only help I've found
the only guide I have
is delusional and lost
though occasionally profound
dressed in piercings and tatoos
and she keeps yelling at me
something about going home to you.
Too tired to go on.
Had lost that bat back at the beginning of dawn
finally sat down at the coffee shop
at the corner
of
Love and Compassion
ordered up some hot self-acceptance
took a breath and looked around
still looking for the way back home.
I know it's just down the road
a stop light or so
maybe there's an on ramp
or a sign pointing out the way
to get back
on that
Ecstasy Highway.
I stopped at a gas station
talked to a guy
who told me lefts and rights
but my eye lids fluttered
fell asleep
right when he told me what I wanted to know
and when I opened my eyes
the station was closed
not a soul around
and I was running down
unfamiliar roads.
So if you hear a small lost voice
in the night
that's probably the sound of me
standing at the crossroads
of
Self-pity and Remorse
knocking at the Post Office
trying to mail these words
at a place that been long closed.
Please give me a hug or two
and send me on my way
if you give me any advice
I probably won't hear a word you say.
You see
I'm trying to make my way
back again
to that
Ecstasy Highway.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
Tilted heads stare into spaces.
Tilted heads around dinner tables.
Tilted heads walking down city streets.
Tilted heads as they walk on the beach.
Sitting side by side in street cafes.
Searching postings of weekend retreats.
Never bothered by voices expressed.
Self-absorbed and consumed but never suppressed.
Over-share meals, feelings, and pangs,
GPS tells us your when and your where.
Pictures in mirrors, duck lipped eyes wide.
Never a moment too private, declared!
Be well, be good, and please keep in touch.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Many people get the wrong idea as to what certain abbreviations stand for, so I'll clear it up for you.
Nintendo DS: Nintendo Derek Sanderson
NES: Neely Esposito Sanderson
WC: Wayne Cashman
3D: 3 Docders
SOS: Help
PE: Phil Esposito
ER: Erwin Rommel
SD Card: Sanderson, Derek Card
RC Car: Rodney Crowell Car
GPS: Girls' Phrases ****
BRB: Bring Reagan Back
TTYL: Ta Ta You Loser
BC: Bourque Cashman
TYMDPMFGMTITMTP: Thank You MrDrProffessor Murly For Giving Me The Idea To Make This Poem
NSA: 'Nuff Said Already
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Plan A: there is none as such;
though unflinching ego makes
complex calculations, concludes,
reassures it is best laid for sure.
Plan B, hence has no actual relevance
A mountain river, life is, it rushes
the way the cryptic GPS message directs.
If you ask how it works, try to understand
the intricate organic correlations, involving factors
that even a super computer can't process
but your mind would, somehow easily tell you
in a clear voice, if only you are ready to listen.
Every best laid plan is merely a wish
the more profound is spoken as a prayer
words addressed to the voice inside, that listens and acts
fulfillment then, is an emotional construct
you need the scent of that flower to inspire life.
Who says the cosmic plan is mysterious?
One who walks the karma path right, even when eyes closed
knows how to reach where one is headed to.
The truth this: one leads oneself, so keep the inner eyes open.
Subtle wishes that bring smile on the face of thy neighbor
are much more meaningful than selfish desires
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
California Kids
I’ll call you up on Saturday
And invite you over.
Take the 101, 110 and 1;
(Sounds like an equation!)
And you’re there.
Just use your GPS..
There’ll be a party at my house,
Daft Punk playing on the Echo.
It’ll be epic, Echoic!
With some vintage’ tunes,
Crankin’ the Beach Boys,
Watching surfers
Shredding out-the-back,
Past prowling sharks in the shallows.
Lets go to the dunes and maybe kiss.
I know that you miss me,
So don’t ask me why
And when you come,
I won’t ask
“What are you doing here?”
We’ll eat fish tacos,
Guacamole, Pico de Gallo
And drink margaritas
While we debate French new wave,
I’ll praise Truffaut while you
Tell me that Scorsese is the man.
When we get drunk enough
I will suggest a walk
Along the iridescent surf.
You should say yes because
I’m safe now that I drive electric,
That I turned vegan
(sorry about the fish)
and wear cruelty-free clothes.
I don’t grill snapper anymore
And take my shoes off inside the door.
Maybe we’ll make it to Tower 28,
Lay down and watch the full moon
Like Jim Morrison did to write.
I’ll tell you I’m glad you’re alive—
I’m no poet, but you know that.
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 3:52 PM UTC
Marital insecurity.
Comes from not trusting one another enough.
It's a sign you knew their ways.
And hope with marriage things would change.
Looking through cell phones.
Placing GPS upn their cars.
Only means, you aware of the answers.
Marital insecurities.
Is a sign to move on.
Or accept the life you live.
And hope things will change.
Dealing with men is a game itself.
Because many adapts to accomplish their causes.
If you're pure then the driven snow.
A ****** some people loves to call it.
Many men will propose to plow the landscape.
And there's no guarantee your marriage would have last.
He just adjusted to prove a point.
That once you have let him in.
It times to move on again.
Marital Insecurities is a sign.
Which many adults walks right into playing blind.
When the truth was before them before, the phase I do.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
Santa came down the chimney
He was glad the fireplace was not on this time.
He dusted himself off and checked his GPS.
Modern technology
Has made his job so much easier.
Santa remembered when he was using Mapquest
It was not pretty.
Trying to get into homes that did not have chimneys
Was no easy business.
He walked around the living room.
And did not see a tree.
So he took a plant from off the windowsill
And put the presents by it.
This should give them holiday cheer.
Santa then went to the cookies.
He was looking forward to the cookies and milk.
I hope they have chocolate milk
It is my favorite.
He saw the cookies
It was Macadamia nut.
Santa shook his head
It was not his favorite but he had to do.
Then Santa saw the milk
It looked like whole milk.
Santa sighed.
They are not bringing what Santa likes
He then drank the milk
And spat it out.
What is this?
Almond milk?
Why would you do that to Santa
He shouted.
Then ran into the kitchen so no one would see him.
Santa had to wash his mouth out.
All the while muttering
Almond milk, Almond milk?!
Almond milk is not even milk!
It is just potpourri that fakes being milk!
Real milk comes from animals that feed on land.
Not the land itself!
Suddenly a man came to the kitchen with his son.
And asked, What are you doing here?!
The son cried out, Daddy he ate your milk and cookies!
Santa tried to explain, I thought they were mine.
And soon left the home.
He went to his sleigh
And told himself, I really should have reviewed the naughty list.
These trips will be the end of me.
Almond milk and macademia cookies?!
What is this, all nut everything for Christmas?!
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
Redds shine like new nickels on the dark river bottom,
salmon have returned to spawn the Deschutes,
navigating by primal memories written in DNA,
an internal Tom-Tom GPS wired in their brains.
Watching them struggle up the ladder,
consumed with a drive to leave offspring,
they are herculean athletes battling
the current and the inexorable pull of gravity.
Were these the fry I helped to seed four years ago?
A Squaxin woman told me once,
ghosts of her Coastal Salish ancestors
ride the salmon out to sea and home again.
Roe in these redds dream also of the sea,
their salty eyes and nostrils perceiving
spirits in secret claret-red kelp beds.
The waters ask only to be haunted again.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
Your design,
So divine,
Can't even imagine.
This is a fatal attraction,
And I'm under the influence,
Got my *** drive out of control.
Lust, passion, feeling infatuated,
Attentions that your body implore....
Hot, intense, feelings over-saturated,
I'm guessing you’re ready for me to explore?
Don't need a GPS,
Cause I don't mind getting lost,
Just need your voice to guide me,
How far can I go?
I know that you're not sleeping,
But I'll make you feel as if you're dreaming...
Let's create temporary forever,
Bring our bodies together,
Fall into alignment,
Don't deny it.
This is what your body desires...
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
In this household there’s far too much noise!...your mobile, your pager, your palmtop, your laptop, your desktop, your land-line, your radio, your plasma screen, your mp3, your ***** driver, your GPS, your audio-books, your lawn-mower, your toothbrush, your stereo, your play-station, your VCR, your hairdryer, your podcasts, your DVD player, your digital clock, your analogue clock, your juicer, my ******** your drill...
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:11 AM UTC
i doubt you know how much you mean to me.
If you did you'd be too creeped out to still be dating me.
But to me, you mean the world.
Not the "i'm nothing without you" kind, as I am a valid human being.
Not the "i can't go on if you leave" kind either as i know i could.
But i would really rather not.
Nor could i happily.
You're my world in the way that you make me a better person.
You are why i stay healthy when all i have is a cold.
You're why i drive safe and limit the stupid angsty **** i do
(believe it or not it is limited).
You're a good influence.
You're everything i wish i was and all that beachy ********
But you're so much more.
When i am lost you're my guide
(rife with dat symbolism)
needed more after i got GPS oddly.
When i can't think you're my muse.
You're my companion in this world whether you realize that or not.
The hotter, smarter, funnier,
more responsible, more beautiful half of me.
A liver half is enough to live but to live well it is best for a full one.
To continue this bad metaphor i am living well.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
As poets
we listen for the songs
of the singing trees,
There is no road map as to where to go,
Our GPS, it doesn't know,
Goggle maps hasn't gotten there yet,
The internet will tell you what it knows -
Some rehab
some restaurant
some business selling shoes.
It's not on Facebook,
My phone may be smart
but it doesn't know a thing
about the songs of the singing trees.
My Twitter account was attacked by a cat,
I swear I tried to rescue it,
But it tweeted away
as it got jumped over the fence.
The t.v. drones on and on,
HD pictures explode.
Our eyes, tho, are far away from all this,
Our voices, they long to harmonize
with the songs of the eons,
The songs of the singing trees.
You and me and Thoreau
sitting by the pond, the river, the ocean,
All day long
in this solitude we know,
Watching the light dissolve,
The moon, it rises too,
While we
together
me and you,
Thoreau too,
Listening so carefully
for the lilting epics
of
the songs of the singing trees.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
So tired
Back to work and then there's this social event and that social event
and the last one is the best one and I'm still trying to get over not having
last years job that was taken from me and given to you and still
trying not to even think about this because this is a whole new year and
Driving past Napa Valley's Wineries
Hotels, Buses, wine
Everything wine and I don't know where I'm going
My GPS broke, and the directions are drive straight and you'll see it
Suburbia has turned into true wealth
I've gone back in time, wine Haciendas on hill tops
like feudal mansions, waiting for the peasants to do the actual
work of wine, the dirt and the sweat of wine as the owners
twiddle their thumbs and worry about the stock market and their wine
I arrive at my Castle. For a few moments I will be allowed to taste
the lifestyle of the wine and pretend that I too belong in this castle
watching grapes ripen and waiting for the teaming hordes to do my work
and the mechanical wine processors sit idly waiting for the grapes and I feel a tinge of
sadness and fear for the grapes to be processed like in a slaughter house
until I realize they are only fruit, and not mammals
And on the hot deck overlooking the beautiful, silent valley with grapes ripening before
our eyes the only chair left is next to you
I sit down and look to my right and I see the woman who I feared would take my job and now did
and I wonder how it is that this has happened that I've driven for miles in the hot sun
through miles of grapevines only to be made to sit next to you who jealously drooled over
my job and could never say anything good about my work and then you won.
And we talk and I'm very clever and you don't like that because I'm supposed to be stupid
and it's supposed to be obvious why you got the job not me and not some seniority thing
and you say nothing nice, and it's only me keeping up a charade of conversation that
could turn ugly at the drop of a pin but doesn't due to my skill
and you then leave made uncomfortable by the evidence of my continued existence
and lack of dumbness
And it's only later that I realize in my imagination I wanted to hurl you from the deck
and into the wine press
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
Called a cab
It had to be Yellow
Checkered at least
A rumble seat
Old school,
an Uber
it
just wouldn't do.
The cabbie asked me
What's your destination?
Take me to the end of time,
I don't think it's on your GPS
Do you know the ride?
He hit the meter
never replied
Looking out the window
Saw it all fly by
When we arrived
I was surprised
No charge, he said
for this ride.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
I miss the open highway
I’m besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair?
When my foot’s on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that’s the rush I’m after.
Where are we going?
There’s just no knowing,
and no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.
One thing was guaranteed,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.
I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the speedometer edged past ninety
how my escort, Charles, would glare at me.
I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn’t freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.
Feb 11, 2023
Feb 11, 2023 at 12:41 PM UTC
Some Rocks
Some rocks,
Certain shoals,
Necessary friends,
Needed to crash into.
Oh the poems come fast and furious this
Sabbath morn,
Every phrase a bullet graze,
Or a bullseye in the chest wound.
No matter, let them come,
But know this:
If I hit the rocks,
The boat of inspiration sinks,
I got friends,
Who are ricks too,
Rocks I can count on.
So when my GPS dies
(general poetry senses)
I look for those rocks
To guide me home,
Look for those rocks
To crash into.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC