"guardrail" poems
You never knew why I loved you & I would always give a cliche answer about how only you can be you
That's true
But also loving you I found out that loving myself wasn't too bad
That loving you made loving myself worth it
When I had that shotgun in my lap I had all my trauma right on the surface
Things I couldn't change, or maybe I could
I don't know
I couldn't stop my dad from seeing prostitutes just like I couldn't stop my mom from hitting him for four hours
I couldn't stop my friends from killing themselves, except maybe for her
Everyone says it's not my fault
But
If I was the only thing she was living for
Why is she dead?
These are the thoughts in my head just like the last time I spoke to you
Here I am with the same thoughts once again
But with no shotgun
And no you
Because the thing I didn't want you to hear
The thing I didn't want to face
Was that I was dying loving you
Because you didn't love me
So I wasn't worth loving myself
I was better off dead
So I write to the memory I have of you
Again
To tell you I'm so sorry
I made our friendship the guardrail against the cliff of my despair
It was unfair to you
Two years and a hollowed out heart has changed me
Changed my thoughts about you & I
I still love you
Even when you never loved me
I pray you are free
I hope you're in love
And maybe you think of me
Our memories
Its all okay
I'm okay
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 11:51 AM UTC
That coffin nail smile
All the while it never broke.
**** after **** we took the plant apart,
As if the night was a chocolate cake,
And we knew it wouldn't last.
Cast of with a flick of the hand,
They were like that ash,
They never understood,
It was never any good.
But you were so good Betty.
That ***** blond mop,
The halter top,
And that coffin nail smile,
All the while, it never broke.
They say, you had it on your face still,
When they pulled you out of the wreck,
A few teeth short, bloodied,
But intact.
I beat myself up over it,
Nonstop.
Its a horror,
What four hours can do.
To have the world wrapped up in a piece of bambu,
Twenty-two records, without a single skippable song,
A plant in full bloom,
A room with a you...
I saw the ******* two months later,
Drinking himself to death,
In the Orlando international airport lounge.
******* on an olive, and sobbing on your picture.
I wanted so much to strangle him
Until his eyes popped out of his head,
Until he was dead...like he made you.
But I figured...he was doing a good enough job on his own,
So I left him alone.
I'll never forgive him though...
He's been dead twenty years now,
But I'll never forgive him...
For hitting that guardrail at ninety...
And for walking away, with a broken collar bone,
While you...
Oh Betty,
You were so ******
Why didn't you stay that night,
Stay with me...
You didn't...
Oh, Betty...
Why did you leave us like that,
Why did you leave me...
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:52 AM UTC
I'm not one to hold on,
when I know that I am being let go.
Don't cry and act like I've wronged you,
because you know that's not right.
When I reached out for you countless times
you burrowed deeper into the mud,
and I do not chase crayfish,
because we are not crayfish.
Pretend that I am evil and malicious,
but you know that you can only act that way.
I have a heart and it doesn't lie,
even when it finds a mattress of magpies.
I never had intentions to get you in bed,
I just wanted you to come inside
for some coffee and some sober.
I cannot speed up like a high contrast mix,
I cannot slow down chopped and *******
I can only operate on what my heart feels
and what your heart tells it to feel.
And your heart is telling me to move on,
to churn on the exit ramps.
I have not wronged you in the right way,
or righted you in the wrong way.
Is caring about you the next left?
Is that where the houses knock their feet
on the concrete and the guardrail
at the dead end?
If so, hate me for good,
**** the engine
and idle with your lips on the guardrail.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
there is a universe inside your chest
infinitely expanding
though infinitesimally slow
at times
boundaries stretch, breathe
though confusing at times
destruction feeds growth,
dichotomous paradox forms whole,
stars implode, give way to supernovas,
give way to planets filled with lava and snow
there, inside, a universe
constantly churning,
the incessant spin of all burning
that births light and shadow
here I stand on the precipice.
here, in an amorphous dusk and dawn,
unclear if day or night
is about to kiss the horizon
unsure if I should call to moon or sun
or neither,
or you.
here in limbo, arching my spine to
sneak under the guardrail of loving
here, instinctually shoving myself
into bottlenecks and genie lamps
oh, how my gypsy soul wants to run,
yet feels so enchanted it stays, here
on the precipice,
itching to gain entrance
into the universe brimming
inside of you
there
there, inside your chest
there I said it. and I'll say it again,
and I'll say it even louder:
I confess! I'm enchanted!
I'm enamored, enthralled, enraptured,
I want my heart
to know your heart,
I want to dive chest-first into your outer space galaxy nest
an astronaut without a helmet,
I want to explore, awestruck
never trying to label, box, or understand - simply experience
your universe
there, I finally said it
I'm finally starting
to write the poems I'm afraid of,
the ones I don't want to say out loud
I'm starting to write out shadows and solar flares and floods,
starting to let my heart bleed out of my pen, cause
what the hell am I hiding from?
what are we all so scared of?
we were ****** into this strange world
blind and wet,
groping in the darkness for heaven
meant to rip ourselves open again, again
meant to feel with the depth and tempest of oceans
meant to risk and be fools and fall to meet rose-hued ends
I just want to make love with the light
of a thousand candles, a million stars, and the moon turned on
and panting
silver dripping from her tongue,
dizzy with the heat of solar undulations,
stripping down to the heart of the matter
down to the simple truth of it all:
I was born to feel,
and my god, you...
you make me feel universes
you make me feel thunder and lightning and bedroom churches and power surges
you make me feel sunrise stillness
and it makes me fall silent.
so here I am, writing the poems I'm afraid of
and sending them out, messages
in bottles, adrift
in the endless oceans of your universe
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
isn't it time
for penitence?
I just forget everything
and don't talk to anyone
except for you, dear Lord, you are my ball and chain
having died and come back again I get to look back
watching old movies of myself,
sleeping last night off, leg twitching
dreaming of moving along a motorcade of immanent death
one by one getting flat tires, running out of gas, suddenly the battery
dies
I get out of the car, look around, and see, to my surprise
a loved one's love looking back at me, twisting in the wind, empty, alone, drunk,
its my father or mother lifting my brother or sister from the back seat to the front, carelessly driving, ceaselessly swerving
towards the waterway
if it wasn't for the guardrail, we'd all be dead
time is a ritual now, and it hurts to come back to life, to feed the living,
to get dressed in day-old church clothes, to hit back, as one sneers at being sneered at, I pick up the Daily and skim the headlines, Lost and All Alone, A Stranger Takes a Dive, toss the rag and head to work, fixing to lie to my boss about being sick, about tasting olives, about who I am.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Two hours till Kentucky-
The world is on fast-forward around us
The side of my forehead is flat
against the passenger side window
Trees crowd behind guardrail for miles -
protesting highway pollution.
Two hours till Kentucky -
On the eighth round about this CD.
about around the fifth listen, songs began to blend into one another, morphing into ambient noise
that filled the empty moments between conversation
and the struggle against waves of tempting sleep.
Two hours till Kentucky-
I pause the song to explain
the biographical significance
of a particular lyric.
You're too focused on
the nerve-wracking traffic to indulge me.
Two hours till Kenricky-
My seat reclined, I am watching the clouds
creeping briskly across the sky
through the panorama of the windshield -
a silent movie.
Two hours till Kentucky -
an eternity of moments
gone as soon as they happen.
Evaporating into the air
We'll be there
in no time.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Inside these cold sterile walls
Somewhere between life and death
I sit in somber solitude
As the white coat solemnly approaches
I gauge the countenance
Tremulous mess ....
.. upon bated breath
Suddenly... I was moving
Past the speed of light
Straight through all the darkness
Of this obscenity
Platitudes passed along
On paper plates of awkwardness
This reproachful atropos night
Suddenly slamming the brakes
Screeching all the way up to the guardrail
At the very edge of eternity
There at the rail I cursed the Gods
In a voice as loud as anything I've never ever heard
A voice so shaky
As to create an echo
In its own formation
While this silent gravity of infinity
Absorbs every single word
Even inside my head I could not hear
Anything of what I might imagine ...
... that I had screamed
Still I felt an internal satisfaction...
..... At the very action
Then I turned and WE walked back down my path
For weeks and weeks it seems
Past visions of serene beauty... of OUR.shared history
That no mere mortal ...might hope to see even in dreams
As if I were suddenly ****** awake
By someone speaking my name
White coat speaking
And there I sat
Inside these cold sterile walls
Somewhere between life and death
I began catching up to my suspended breath
I watched as he mouthed all of the words...
... that I never heard
I had already seen everything
Written on his face... When he first appeared
Long before this final approach
Everything had already been said
That ever needed to be said
For on that long slow walk back along the path
I had been- in lockstep- hand in hand- sharing the exquisite beauty - with my love - my heart - my friend - who had reached their end
Nothing needed to be said
I already knew
So I took a step - stepping around death
Took a deep breath... exhaled
It's never ever easy... But life does go on
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
Climbing through barbed wire
Fence and into the
Trees and through the
Bogs and across the
Ice and over the
Swamp on my hands and
Knees in the frozen mud
With my nose near the
Paw prints of squirrels and the
Sound of the river rushing in my
Ears and then over my body -
Freezing and sharp to wake me
Up - then onto the
Rocks and past the sign which
Read "no trespassers" a little
Too late, then on up the
Road and over the
Guardrail
Onto the trail
Past the fields
Over the wheel ruts
And under the chain
Back home again,
Soaking wet
And very much
Happier
To be alive.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
my life so fragmented
like these passing
highway lines
foot to floor
the coalescing neon
of this dark city -
a beautiful place
for a ceremony.
my best man
beneath the hood -
my most trusted, honored friend
assures me
that this ceremony
will be memorable,
it will be
the best thing i've
ever done.
i look down the aisle
and i can see her...
my beautiful bride
shimmering silver
along side the
pavement parson
waiting for our vows
dearly beloved
we are gathered here today
among the congregation
of shattered glass -
til death do us part
i do.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 4:07 PM UTC
We called him Kansas because he reminded us of open spaces,
but we should have called him nothing at all.
He had a last name but we didn’t bother to learn it,
something all-American, midwestern and bland.
He had no hometown but a drifter’s restlessness in his limbs.
Kansas had a girl called Daisy-May, which wasn’t her given name.
It was said that she could charm the rattle out of the snake,
and we never knew if that was a a good or a bad thing.
Daisy-May reminded us of the Forth of July, all sparklers and rocket pops,
Cut-off shorts and bottles of whiskey. She crackled like a firework display.
Our town overflowed with them, we were too small, too pure,
and they were too combustable. Daisy-May was as mean as they come,
and Kansas was ugly in the same way that Saturday nights are.
Knowing him was like being drunk past midnight, alone and walking
home past ***** neon and watching the stars pass you by.
Every teenager in the county awoke at the moment of impact,
the night Kansas drove his car through that barn on route 20.
We flocked like pilgrims to touch the twisted metal of the guardrail.
We followed the dead grass tire marks like the yellow brick road.
Daisy-May was lovely as ever laid out in white like the ****** herself.
On nights when it’s so dry that our skin turns to dust and blows
away, we think of Kansas and Daisy-May and how they caught fire.
Patron saints of our frustration, desperation, too ugly to be real.
Bottle rockets on the Forth of July. Shot from some lonely road
to explode lights in the sky, to blot out the stars for a moment, then die.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
she stood by me even when
most of my disasters
were of mine own creative actions,
but in the crises that always
unexpectedly
rose up dramatically
when driving off road,
where there were
no guardrail guarantees
so when the doc says
“sir, needed surgery right away,”
She unashamedly inquires
“ok, what about tomorrow”
making us all chuckle,
and doc a smile/responder,
“how about 6:00am the day after?”
and you accept (me observing)
with
a stern smile of pretending concession
so when recovery consists of
three ++ walks a day through
the corridors of the Unit
which morphed from an endless huge
to a
small prison courtyard,
where in a day everyone,
patients doctors and
rotating shifts of nurses
are greeted by me,
idiot extrovert,
with an intitial
giant hello and a wink,
which after first three
“shuffles around the block”
has become a
saluting exultation,
a look of surprise
with a
“You Again!”
that gets the inevitable
twinkle from everyone
somehow
this greeting came home with us
and thereafter when,
she stirred awake
to see me shuffling in with
coffee and a quarter cup
of crunchy Kashi & banana
(a/k/a nana & banana)
and a too loud
“You Again!”
which infallible makes
an AM grumpy disappear
and
soon becomes
a time honored
ritual
now that I’ve honored the oath
which was promised jokingly
by me to She,
that I be the last to depart,
cause doing it twice,
was an unbearable job,
and long enough gone
and I am back in my
own private recovery
honeyed (yellow) painted room,
The Enpty Pillow
with imaginary smiley face,
hears a mourning yellowing phrase,
and when the grandchildren
make
their obligatory dragged along
monthly visitation they be greeted
by old friends
a firm hug and an
emboldened
“You Again”
and their smile says
“you’re embarrassing us”
+++ childlike acceptance
and the rivulets ridiculousness
that accompany this scripting,
+ any accidental overhearing,
or get even getting a read,
is fresh brought out of
tears storage
and each teary one with
a Hey!
meant to be cheeryr
greet & repeat
😉us again!😉
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 11:52 AM UTC
Imagine this:
We are in a car that is
plummeting over a cliff
after spinning through a guardrail
off an icy mountain road, and we know
that our time is hopeless
and about to end so
I stare at you intently while
the rocks below
come racing toward us.
Can you see the look on my face?
This is how I look at you
every morning
between 6:15 and 6:25,
*10 minutes
of loving the gift of you
with my eyes,*
as if I’m
about to lose you
and I need to sear your image
in my mind
so it will always be with me,
even in death.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
Now this was way back in seventy-five,
when seat belts weren't worn, to keep you alive.
On a winding, ocean highway, we drove,
the weather, clear and sunny at the cove.
As we came to the spot that goes round,
my husband, then boyfriend, did slow down.
He reached for his seat belt, he never used,
then said, "Maybe you should put yours on too".
We drove round that bend, then it happened.
It was like a big hand was the weapon.
We were hit with such force we both did wobble,
in our seats, then we saw our new trouble.
We were sliding quickly across the lanes,
heading for a guardrail that would save us pain.
But we missed that saviour rail by quite a ways.
Down the grassy hillside we slid sideways.
At that moment, went by, two speeding big rigs,
trying to pass side by side round that bend.
One had been in our lane, coming head on,
the other, his bumper, along the guardrail, slid on.
Coming to a stop between a tree trunk and large boulder.
Our car had started to want to roll over.
Being held there, with two wheels in the air,
Railroad tracks, fifty feet were below us there.
We sat and took stock of our fortunate good luck.
We could have been mowed down by either truck.
As for hubby to have just then, used a seat belt,
something guided him, he was sure that he felt.
We both managed to crawl from the tilted car,
there were two dents in the door, we were jarred.
As we began our long climb up that hill,
we noticed the air go perfectly still.
The car moaned wanting to finish it's roll,
as a train flew by on the tracks just below.
At the top of the hill , we could only stare,
and relive, what had just happened there.
Our lives that day had been saved more than once.
Of evidence of what had transpired, there was.
The tree, where the rear of the car was seated,
was recently uprooted, falling just where needed.
The dents in the door were hand sized
and spread apart from each other, just right.
As though a divine source from above,
had given our car, a much needed shove.
Note: This is a true recounting of what took place
while hubby and I were driving
along the Oregon Coast Highway 101
in August of 1975
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 12:43 PM UTC
Today I died on the freeway
by the overpass on the 427
a hot and relentless August rain
made it too dark to be five thirty
I walked home slowly from work
as you do when you're tired
oh yes, I was sad too
but we all are
it's easy to be sad
when it rains in August
when I reached the overpass
in the middle I leaned over
my hair passed my eyes
and droplets fell
down, down
I thought about it
twenty feet into traffic
the guardrail is never as useful
as a sweet and good-hearted hug
so then I thought better of it
and put my headphones in
I died on the freeway
then got up and kept walking.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
I'll be the first to admit that I love
that adrenaline rush.
I loved having the chance to be the wild child I wanted to be.
It was all great.
Speed Racer.
I've seen you almost smash into a guardrail on a bridge,
have two head-on-collisions.
One with a car, the other with a bus.
You've hit 95 in 35 mph zone. I couldn't wrap my head around how you did that.
It's scared me from day 1 that one of us could get hurt.
That adrenaline rush kept me going though.
Racing you, Speed Racer, was my guilty pleasure.
However, I don't know what I would do
if I could stand seeing you
crash into a guardrail
or have a head-on collision.
I can't be responsible.
And when that chick told me that she hoped I crashed because it would be funny...
That's why I told you I couldn't participate anymore.
It kills me, Speed Racer.
My resistance can only be so strong.
It kills me that I can't take part in my guilty pleasure.
It kills me that I can no longer race you, Speed Racer.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
Sometimes in the summer,
I walk down to the empty part of
my neighborhood at dawn.
there, vacant lots stretch their dry-grass-legs
and recline on the hillsides, napping.
they, the part of the American dream
that you always forget about when you finally wake up,
are the unwanted kin of proud homes.
by a storm drainage lake, brown with algae,
I take a seat on a rusted guardrail
and as I look across the water, hypoxic and still
for a moment transforming into fool's
gold before my eyes, as if Midas has crested the horizon,
I feel the gaze of my transcendental father,
and wonder why I'm able to feel at peace.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
I'm the invisible man
I'm the ugly duckling
I'm that kid who dresses up like Aquaman
When the rest of my friends dress like the
Justice League
No, it really feels like this
It feels like I got hit by a car
On a back road of some lesser known town
And the driver kept on driving
My body's lying in some
Sagebrush beyond the guardrail,
Twitching
My breathing is becoming shallow,
Broken,
And it's fading quicker than I'd like
I've got crimson blood pouring out my nose
And my head throbs
Like the beating of hearts that would never beat for me
My bones are wrapped around one
Another as if their comfort would bring
Any to my splintered soul
Headlights, taillights
They're all just lights that will never set my pathetic frame aglow
So, I lie in sorrow that I never stood up in the crowd
My tongue tastes the bloodied mess
Of dislodged teeth that fumble in my mouth
I realize that I never had a voice
I couldn't tell God to leave me alone
Because in the end of it all,
I never wanted to be left to myself
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
The guardrail
and every exit sign
pulls me farther away
from your mother’s house
as I watched the lightning
spiderweb across the sky,
roots growing through the clouds
illuminating the road ahead
for just a split second
but then a swift return
to the rain and gloom.
In my head,
I’m in your room
with the sun pouring through
the blinds and bushes
outside your window
projecting a slideshow of light
onto the walls surrounding us.
I’m warm and I think about
how I need to try
and make very specific
plans with you,
so that I know for certain
I’ll see you again
and at least
I can hold onto
the thought of that
at night.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 1:04 AM UTC
-The grinding metal of my grandmothers car being junked because she could no longer drive it, or afford to feed the cat.
-Apologies and Band-Aid wrappers taking turns being tossed to the floor as my father cleaned up ****** knees that he tripped me into.
-The baby's cry that wouldn't stop no matter how many times the pastor pleaded with his congregation to relieve the sanctuary of their miserable children.
-The violent scream of both a passenger and rubber burning against pavement, followed by a demolished guardrail, motorcycle, and skull. As heard from the neighboring yard, over s'mores.
-Four gunshots. And then a single siren.
This list includes:
Things more pleasurable to hear
than the sound of the ringing
that was left in my ears
when all you could say
was "it's weird".
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
Meet me in the park
By the old dying tree
We’ll share our secrets in the dark
And maybe we’ll be able to see
Meet me on the bridge
By the guardrail
We’ll explain our stories
And maybe we’ll be able to set sail
Meet me on the beach
By the shore
We’ll explore
And maybe even tell each other more
Meet me on the dock
By the old forgotten cove
I’ll keep the key
You keep the lock
And we’ll drift out to sea
Just you, all of our secrets, and me.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
you taught me how to go on adventures
and leave my phone at home
and how to let time slide by
and ignore my calendar
you taught me to how to stay in bed
all day
with you
and do nothing but be cold together
you taught me to go swimming in storms
and to smoke in the snow
you taught me how to be ignored
and how to give up on someone
you taught me to swallow words
and win staring contests
and to never stop asking questions
even when nobody had the answers
you taught me to be right
and to stop lying and start laughing
and to swim in my underwear
in the middle of the forest
you taught me how to walk on a guardrail
holding your hand
and find treasures in the trees
and run away from home
you taught me that fear is just an obstacle
you taught me that you're afraid
of something too
even if you hide it too well
you taught me that I'll never be perfect
and neither will you
and you carved an M into my lighter
just because you knew
I taught you to drink in the morning
instead of eating breakfast
and smoke in the bathtub
and fog up mirrors and draw secrets
I taught you to forget me
and to fight back
and that im not and never will be ticklish
I taught you how to say i miss you
I taught you to be 19
and to write letters
I taught you my favorite things
and my quirks and sparks and games
I was going to teach you to play chess
and to braid my hair
you were going to lean Old Pine on guitar
but you gave up
I was going to teach you to love
and to know everything
I was going to teach you my middle name
and how to read Brave New World
I was going to teach you to hold on
But you taught me to let go
and I learned that nobody breaks my heart
not even you
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
One life and beating heart.
sun on my scalp
concrete beneath my feet
the faint scent of diesel smoke
clings to my shirt
my shirt clings to me in the scorching heat
Fresh off a southbound train i walk towards the sounds
of a nearby town
i near a road with traffic zipping by
and step over the guardrail.
i let out a relieving sigh
its so good to see cars and other people
when a few hours prior i called a boxcar,home
23 hrs crawling thru the desert heat
i now unloaded my pack
knelt down
and kissed the street
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
As birds we fly- to flee, persecution of day, the chains that hold us in our ways. Diving down
the curving road, over the guardrail- a winding path coated with loose sand- edging along sheer cliff,
where thorns of wild bush conceals our secret, and unyielding currents of whispering wind, carry us always further on...
There it lies
our alcove-
three walls of sun
worn sand,
cradling us as we gaze
out on ocean-
the day fading
while celestial stars
gleam down
and there we lie,
bounds untied.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Not exactly that swan
lifting white grace
to the heavens
Nope
but thud and tug and ping
and whipping thud again
taking flight out across the highway
in my rear-view
Scuttled dust
fiberglass flattened
by the truck behind
White-knuckling wheel while
mentally compute
split-second sounds and feels for damage...
I guess?
everything's
okay...?
First it was that blowout
Then one by one
the hubcaps lost their grips, their minds
and went their ways
to join the trash
of butts and chunks of mattress
fast-food wrappers, road-kill
by the guardrail
of another day
Most recent--
Antenna disconnect
Fixed with tape 'cause
Gotta have that music
heat, AC, tires, breaks
Ya know-- important things
like that steady humming engine
Destined to be--
buckboard to the beach or heaven
whichever's first
by the time its twenty
Much nearer than I'd care to say
Ode to Car and Driver
who get there--
in all good hope, together
:)
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC