"gridlock" poems
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I've had dreams by day
That brought the nightmares back.
In the daylights exposure it was dark
When the negative light was bright.
In the sea of people
I was the floating remains
Of a Great White's meal.
On the lonely roads of thought
My mind was in gridlock.
Comforting memories were suspended
Over a psychic black hole
By jagged and rusted
Medieval-type surgical tools.
My remaining senses
Were nailed to a cross-section
Of psychically atrophied grey matter
Along neural pathways
Guarded by gladiator-type tormentors.
Left with nothing
But the stinging desire to be freed
From a curse that had to be cured
And the hell of searching for a cure
When I was convinced there wasn’t one.
The powers that be come with force
To quell primal lusts & desires
Forbidding you of them
As they seductively
Dangle them before your eyes
Until you are so frustrated and unfulfilled
That you no longer
Care for your world.
This cracked glass remains empty
Even though it is constantly being filled
Then spilled or leaked on the floor
Until you learn to lap it up
Like the lapdog that you have become
For their amusement.
You remain with a love for freedom
But your cage is so large
That you think you are free
Lost in societal fantasy.
You think for a while
That these fantasies are real
Until you come to your senses that aren’t
As you join other fools
In comfort that you're not the only
Broken-back pack-mule.
But in spite of it all
And in the face of them all
Don't let these birds of prey
And powers that be
Deprive you of what they
cannot see
In that hidden corner
Of what is still untouched--
The real you
Uninfected by the world.
Take care of your spiritual affairs.
Don't let the global beast
And your primal hissing forces
Make you be your own pallbearer.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
amidst Jeffersonian opulence
the Prez broke bread with his
GOP poker face friends
to solve government gridlock
and sequester predicament trends
citizens of the republic
hopeful for nonsense to cease
sat at the table asking
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Obama perused the wine list
boldly choosing a luscious Merlot
senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres
the guests were all aglow
numerous delectable dishes
were liberally splayed on the table
revelers sipped flowing vintages
wine a surefire icebreaker
sparkling crystal Lennox flutes
tinkled with convivial release
while America’s disenfranchised
voices ask
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
chutney meat, curried hens and
sweet walnut rainbow trout
the table a horn a plenty
the guests gorged on fine cuisine
a blessed nations bounty
the feast consumed
the Senators sated
said it was some
of the finest ever served
but the taxpayers only
got a peak of the banquet
a whiff of senators nerve
and asked
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
the dessert cart was rolled in
with custards, cakes, creme brulee
cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes
rounded out the wholesome feast
when the check was presented
for payment all guests headed
for the door with haste
they told the waiter the bill of fare
was covered
by the guy asking...
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Music Selection:
Andre Williams:
Pass The Biscuits Please
jbm
Oakland
3/7/13
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
I can't help but call out, look at the flame!
see it blush the highway bridges, see it burn my family name,
it churns like a half-sarcastic love song on repeat
it dances on the steel mill, makes the blackest smoke taste sweet
it stokes my little leafless heart, gnaws the edges of my sleeves.
because that hot bright tongue is mine, it's mine
a winking message, a cryptic sign,
the mad plumage fluttering above a gridlock hide
a hundred hands snatching up from the skyline
and even when it's lost in the daylight or the rain
I still find it, send it kisses, call it by the family name.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Soaking wet
With tears of joy
You embrace my face
How we both have waited for this
Threw all the nights alone
For all the pain felt
For all the letters that came
and for the ones that didn't
The tightening of our soul's
The shortening of our life span
Even after all this
We held on
Now the war is over
and the journey can begin
A family stuck in gridlock
Can now be whole again
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
(think Mexican Hat Dance:)
How tall? How tall? How tall?
Will Donald Trump build the wall?
The wall! The wall! The wall!
Will Mexico pay for it at all?
How high? How high? How high?
How high will they have to jump
To clear the wall and prove to us all
That they’ve pacified Donald Trump
(bump, bump)
To clear the wall and prove to us all
That they’ve pacified Donald Trump?
When you’re talking about immigration,
Whether merit based or chain migration,
According to Trump proclamation,
“Illegals, jump over the wall”!!
(NOT AT ALL!!)
How tall? How tall? How tall?
Can Donald Trump build the wall
When not a single Democrat
Is willing to fund it at all?
How long? How long? How long?
How long do we have to wait
To end this shutdown?
When they sit their butts down
To end this gridlock stalemate!!
Consider the workers who are not getting paid;
That is the part we most hate!!
To achieve our homeland protection,
Not just winning the 2020 election,
The Pelosi and Schumer connection
Should grant funding to give Trump OUR wall!!
Give Pelosi and Schumer
A kick in the bloomers
If they continue to stall!!
Written 1/15/19 by Marcus Well
(day 25 of the US Government Partial Shutdown)
(Who the hell is Marcus Well? Those that know, please don’t tell)
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
this road is weathered
but where one road ends, another starts
crossroads are measured
by the sign posts of wrong turn hearts
caution lights
the stop signs
bridge out
bumps ahead
highways divided
it's gridlock
another dead end street
and there's no u-turns
that street was better
until it came time for us to merge
a do not enter
detours where two hearts converge
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
Urban lives, controlled by traffic lights
Queues form round corners
According to imaginary lines
There’ll be gridlock on the internet tonight
So avoid the information part of the highway
(Junctions nought to one)
If at all possible.
And now for the weather sponsored by
Hello Poetry.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 5:45 PM UTC
My butt’s all sore
From *** kicks about my lifestyle!
My neighbor’s sore
From raising a child from ****
Meanwhile the GOP and friends
Are thumping on their Bibles
And driving our country to ruin
Each running around wearing a cape.
I’ve got a very bad case
Of the Republican Rash
A disease that is fueled
By their greed for cash.
My bank account is ailing
By a deregulating Congress
And a Supreme Court gridlock
That is just exactly as bad.
There are crazy people there
That should be in institutions.
Things are awful ever since
We got ******* by hanging shads.
The GOP is paid Big Money
To **** on us and steal
And then tell us it is raining
And our rights aren’t really real.
My wallet has fingerprints
Of Congress all over it
Not mine so much because
It does very little good to reach.
I work three times as hard now
To make what I once did.
I’m oh so glad I never did
Decide to go and teach.
I’ve got a very bad case
Of the Republican Rash
A disease that is fueled
By their greed for cash.
I’m all confused about things
Like where is up and down
And confusing stuff like
What is wrong and right.
The GOP has spent so long now
Saying they are the good guys
And what I think of as day
Is really the middle of the night.
I’ve got a very bad case
Of the Republican Rash
A disease that is fueled
By their greed for cash.
The GOP is paid Big Money
To **** on us and steal
And then tell us it is raining
And our rights aren’t really real.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
Cars shriek in gridlock,
anger gnaws at my chest,
and I *******
in saltwater and sweat.
With wrinkles and claws,
anxiety squeals in the city
within my sanctity of
hounds-tooth and cotton.
Welling up with tears,
the sky, muggy and thick
drips and sniffles:
a heavenly tantrum.
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 6:24 AM UTC
In the morning and in the evening,
Drive-time bulletins oceans away.
Between the mourning and seeking,
Gridlock still lives in yesterday.
It's all around me.
It's all around.
It's all around me.
And It surrounds.
I'm conscious of the difference in continental content,
But I'm so sensitive to casualties that will always be.
Everywhere where necropolis' thrive and crushed steel and plastic are taking lives.
Always so far away from me.
Always so far away from me.
Where we find fatal jackknives and pileups on express ways making mechanisms of bone marrow.
This is where,
The public expresses sorrow for the victims who died tomorrow.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
i'm a hungry child in Americia and all I is dream of food, eating chips candy cookies,every chance that comes,surely doesn't help my mood,crying on mama's shoulder for a little more to eat,the small donuts that I saw in the supermarket would be a great stomach treat,i'm hungry,i'm so hungry, hamburgers and fries steak withbrown gravy,are dancing before my eyes.mama loves me, I know that she really cares,but she eat noodles every meal before my birth ,so that's why I came out of her womb, impaired,hungry in America,the greatest country in the world,and there are so many others like myself ,out there,many hungry little boys and girls,hungry,will the nightmare ever really end ? so hungry ,waiting for the gridlock between the President and both houses in Washington to mend,can't they come together for my sake,and be friends,and not fool the Nation or me with their phony promises and lies just to get elected to office again,because,i'm hungry.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Hello happy hour!
I see you're now reduced
to fifteen minutes of
soft drinks and
smiling depression:
simper and wine.
check that...Sprite.
But I'll drink to
nagging doubt anyway.
Cars are now a kick.
Who knew gridlock
could offer such joyride:
the drive home each day
my ******** sabbatical.
I wrote 3 letters the other day
(the handwritten, paper kind)
and feel a little
like Jane Austen.
I think she'd like Dr. Pepper,
but not Mr. Pibb.
Too foppish.
Then there's this:
the wax and wane
of life between the bed
and the couch.
There's six degrees
of separation
through the five layers
of this reusable face mask.
Speaking of masks:
"one for the money,
two for the show,
three to make ready
and four to go."
And somehow I know
I will never breathe it in
that way again.
Random curtain calls:
I'm so starved for someone
to talk to; the mail lady
had me at "hello."
I offered her a soda.
Mail order catalogs are king.
The Saturday Night Special
from the burglar alarm brochure
was my final good buy.
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 1:03 AM UTC
Traffic jam on the highway
cars stopped
one hundred percent gridlock
heat waves off the asphalt
people rushing to see relatives
holiday weekend; a few hours till they see them
two hundred engines humming
flies buzzing
five hundred people waiting
wondering what they're waiting for
waiting for their wheels to turn
waiting for someone they've never seen before
their lives inconvenienced
by a traffic jam
******** up their holiday plans
when their cars finally move
and they see what made them stop
"oh dear, look at all those cops"
and an overturned tin can of a car
telling their kids to look elsewhere
shielding their eyes from the array
of a wrecked life
of a blue tarp on the highway
Their lives inconvenienced
by a traffic jam
******** up their holiday plans
but who is beneath
the blue tarp on the ground?
nobody even thinks
about what could be found
and what a disgrace
to simply be
an inconvenience
lying in the street
because humans are heartless
whether they are young or old
when their lives are inconvenienced
by a little girl's body gone cold
and for these reasons
i pray to never, ever say,
"i wish we could hurry through this traffic
because it's ******** up my holiday."
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Remember when we
cannot remember anymore,
the Sun shining through
windows sealed shut,
when we talk about it
we do not talk about it, we call
it with a different name: aberration.
I cannot remember you anymore
so small and languid in this
life. Everything pales in comparison --
offered by chance, filled with hesitancy
as if obligation, emptied by coming
into the fullness of it, saying it as a plump word
with the same accuracy of knives
tucked within the soft recess of the kitchen
counter that same day, you were different
as any other when we cycled through
Alexandrite Street, the world new again
like we were born in the similar moment
splintered by much less of a force waiting
outside the black gate of the home, and so
much more of a name slipping away
from the cliff of my chafed lip onto your
body's sustained pit, the drop barely an
indent, only as if of limited exertion but
possibly a weight for us to solder
through and through. I told you I could never
indulge into the fray and hold armaments
of it, but twice-told this battle I can
fit in: you, my accoutrement for war,
hallowed you are in excess of flow and march
through rain and light smiling through
opened windows with a blank circle of lightness
that is your face held close and memorized
before taking the commute home, force-equipped
with time's persistent pleading and our
untoward compliance like a reciprocal of stiffness:
you are the wall of your home and I,
a suspended pendulum with a dumb clockhand
in a stalemate.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
I'm a hungry child in AMERICA and all I dream of is food
Eating chips and candy cookies every chance that comes
Surely doesn't help my hungry mood
Crying on mama's shoulder for a little more to eat
The small donuts that I saw in the supermarket would be a great stomach
Treat.I'm hungry, so very hungry, hamburgers fries steak with brown gravy are dancing before my eyes.Mama loves me, I know that she really
Cares,but she ate noodles every meal before my birth
So that's why I came out of her womb, impaired and hungry in the greatest country in the world and there are so many others like myself
Out in plain sight , many hungry boys and girls
Will the nightmare ever really end? so hungry and tired of the gridlock between the President and both houses in Washington to mend.Can't they come together for my sake, and pretend to be friends
And not fool the Nation or me with their phony promises and lies
Just to get elected to office again, because I'm hungry
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.
It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.
The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.
There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.
To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.
The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.
The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.
Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.
South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.
Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.
The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.
Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 11:48 PM UTC
Where can I run
To escape the reality
Of my first break-up?
Where can I hide
To dodge those
That are after directing my life?
These evil maestros
Don’t know how to let an instrument
Ring out in its own voice.
Can my hands
Cover the Medusa eyes
That hiss in circulation
Until I tell my life plans?
Sometimes I wish the night would never end,
Not so I can rest,
But I can wander without fearing the terror
Of not knowing what’s around me.
I wish I could become a virtual character,
Gaining hopping abilities,
And being able to lurk on rural ground
As I admire the brilliance
Of the light pollution
From nearby facilities.
I wish I could just flee
The amateur terror others cannot see or feel.
I’m not talking societal threats or actions,
But what I see all too often
Is what chokes my growth
And ability to move on.
The living presence of my past
Still has me in a gridlock
That I wrestle with all day
Even though my weakness defeats me every time.
Fine, here’s my privacy and dignity,
Just leave me and my nocturnal silhouette
To intimately caress each other,
Rumba, tango, freely through the darkness,
The shadows, the black light
Which guides me but trips you.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
a horror movie is advanced in scares if the protagonist uses the word mother or father, as a way to calm the scared child into an enshrined audience made believable, cinematic entertainment clasping pop-corn burps... well, isn't the child born?
you know, i walked past these fields
like a thief thieving insects
to stop buzzing around my head
like orbits of planets
and you know what one thought
i had? i need to take a **** i need
to take a **** i need to make
a Balaclava of a face...
i need a hunch... i need impromptu!
**** sakes let me take a dump!
that's me with six beers:
let's turn it into an 18th century:
O eerie sky, might i suggest...
****** no, we already have a trumpeter
and a violinist!
so there i was on the gridlock of traffic
drunk like a lulled skunk
kicking a pole laughing out:
'but you promised me pole dancers!
but you promised me pole dancers!
ha! ****** ha ha! hey! wake up!
i'm not ready for the amber in between
passing traffic and incidents recorded via r.i.p.
rather than v.i.p.!'
i'm serious, there i was on an island
of concrete kicking a street-lamp
awaiting a pole-dance... knickers off! off off off!
didn't happen.... the laugh remained...
i was walking home as if i could...
well, i knew where it was, how i got there
is just another brothers Grimm storytelling excuse
to not grasp a hammer to call everything outside
of manual labour slouching in sloth.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
The myriad of workers all shattered and broken
Complementary cityscapes remain inescapable
High tech offices, shimmering urban dystopia,
Eight hours spent well, dreams of eloping.
Twice daily gaze avoidance in a cold rolling tin
Public transport gaslight, nobodies talking
Level crossings stay shut without fair warning
Waiting at the lights while fending off wardens.
A twenty car pileup with zero casualties
Gridlock at rush hour, boredom eternally
Look out the sunroof towards the contrails
Dreams of escaping, a matter of urgency.
Overhead, the most beautiful of tapestries
Each one a trail to the temporarily free
The sun in this case, a dog for a flee
Migrate for a week and live on the beach.
The cycle goes on as you don't have the money
Yet venture capitalists adventure freely
All expenses paid, hands rub greedily
Shouting to the world 'I want you to pay me!'
Nothing pillaged nothing earned
Bear witness to the 'altruistic economy'
Climb onto haveness mezzanines
Stroll down avoidance alley.
Open your front door, the handle falls off
Take a smoke and climb up the chimney
Sit on the slate and draw the scenery
All glass houses need stone underneath.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Time passes slowly
like **** in an hourglass
sitting watching hours pass
while no one knows me
in my internalized identity crisis
my multiple identities fight this
feeling of being lonely
I’m with all the people I’m not with
this is my fallacious fantasy’s gift
I can hear myself groaning
like a zombie foraging in the mist
I blindly eat what’s in my fists
in the distance lights are glowing
but all I see are tiny dots
in an electrical gridlock
my definition of recently keeps growing
as the rest of my life keeps shrinking
it’s hard to keep going
this deep into sinking.
Apr 17, 2022
Apr 17, 2022 at 5:45 PM UTC
A viaduct looms over my daily commute; trains rattle above.
I pass through its belly each day.
A canal ambles beneath one armpit,
Scrubland loiters under the other.
In the belly , glaring headlights inch forward towards their kin;
Metal, rubber and glass jostle for place,
Engines thrumming.
Shiny shoes pinch and stiff collars tighten;
Fingers start drumming.
Deadlock.
Gridlock.
On the indolent canal a barge floats serenely, fat fish meander and
Skinny - legged moor hens tiptoe through the reeds.
An old man in rough tweeds pokes his stick through the scrub land on the other side,
Searching for blackberries.
Lights change futilely; amber, green and red.
Engines rev and teeth grit.
The belly rumbles.
Ducks fly in and land on the still water of the canal.
They swim in formation under the bridge.
On the other side the old man sits to eat his fill
His fingers purple with juice.
Clouds scud, a breeze cools and the sun appears.
Collars stiffen, indicators tick, nails are bitten
As the cars inch forward.
The bloated belly heaves
As a few cars cross the border to meet another impasse.
Concentric circles appear on the surface of the water
And gnats flicker above it.
A family of coots sets out for a morning outing
And a kestrel hovers above.
Deep in the undergrowth field mice
Scurry away from the old man's boots.
Dry sticks snap under his heel
and the sun warms his thinning pate.
He takes the slow path through the undergrowth,
Meets an ancient lane
And strolls the familiar path home.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
America isn't purple mountains and prairies
It isn't 1930's New York City
It's not marble columns and domes
It isn't crazy politicians and gridlock in Washington
And it certainly isn't Red, White, and Blue. Australia, Russia, Slovakia, and Great Britain are all red, white, and blue.
Heck, they're the exact same shades of red, white, and blue
America is freedom
America is tolerance
America is acceptance
America is about taking your traditions
And mixing them with the traditions of people around you
America is about saying what we want to
And not what someone else wants us to
America is about letting the people take the reigns.
"We the people"
It's the first line of the constitution
It's why we have memorials, marble columns, and congress
It's why people died fighting for it
Don't forget it
America is an ideal
Not a place
Not a person
Not an object
America is as beautiful
As we choose to make it
what do you want it to look like?
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
In the streets, broad and narrow, of Republican Rome,
when Cicero, togate, called the Forum his home,
there was sly innuendo and sarcastic wit.
Court was quite entertaining with those advocates.
In the Senate, gridlock was rampant those days
the Boni, content with conservative ways,
Would block legislation and seek to destroy
The populist leaders who held mobs enthralled.
The realm grew too large, the Republic too small,
And Civil War was declared and great Pompey did fall.
Then Caesar was slain and violence started anew
and the laws became silent as often they do.
Exhausted, at last, many principals slain,
Caesar Augustus the power reclaimed.
There still was a Senate in Empire Rome
But form is not substance, the Republic was gone.
Now Rome had an emperor to worship and fear.
Change happened quickly, the fruits of despair,
When the dust had all settled
a Monarch ruled there.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
this road is weathered
but where one road ends, another starts
crossroads are measured
by the sign posts of wrong turn hearts
caution lights
the stop signs
bridge out
bumps ahead
highways divided
it's gridlock
another dead end street
and there's no u-turns
that road was better
until it came time for us to merge
a do not enter
detours where two hearts converge
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 2:16 PM UTC