"hitchhiked" poems
You're going on the highway,
Bringing a new 4-string bass guitar,
And a drum-set too for your sons.
Now you could be a family rock band,
You could churn your own Summer of '69,
The world will know you three now.
A really hot chick hitchhikes in your car,
You are tensed as your eyes meet.
There is unfathomable longing in hers,
And the bathykolpian woman's so inviting.
You can't play the good man at this age,
You decide to cheat your own wife now.
You stop the car quickly anyhow,
A quickee's on your mind & nothin' more.
She smiles at you and lunging towards her,
You smell the inviting scent of hers.
In middle of the kiss you start foreseeing,
You forsee a bright romantic future,
Suddenly her wellbeing's lost & she vomits.
Then you bring her to the hospital,
The gynaecologist congratulates you,
"Congrats! You're going to be a father!"
Taken aback, you say, "But I just met her!"
The girl who hitchhiked says, ***"He's ****** lying!"***
The doc summons the police and your test is done,
"Good news & bad news," the doc says,
"One, you're not her baby's father."
Hearing this you're relieved.
"Now the bad news, doc," you say.
The doc says, "You could have never have fathered any even if you intended to."
You are flabbergasted, "What the hell! Why?"
The doc pacifies, "Your load doesn't have any sperms,"
Seeing you shocked the doctor says,
***"It's a birth defect that happens rarely but yes it does..."
"...You may sue the girl for everything."***
The biggest shock in your life so far.
You just shake your head and turn around to go.
You're in the middle of a nightmare,
It couldn't be true!
***If not you then the 2 kids back home,
They belonged to whom!***
Now that's the biggest tension!
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
He burnt away my eyes,
he said it would make it much easier,
to beg, so I traded it for fear.
I was a little above five, wandering,
on streets a motley of black,
may be not, but my eyes couldn't distinguish the lack.
People would throw coins into my glass,
burnt eyes led to anticipated pitying,
towards the miniaturised cauldron of the dire I lived in.
I went to my master’s garage during my perceived evenings,
my hands felt the swerves of cars and formed shapes in my mind,
and before I departed, I would leave my glass behind.
Blitzed, he would hit me at times I didn’t collect enough,
I wouldn’t run away, the known seemed less horryifying,
than to trip against invisible, in the trying.
I survived each day, stayed thankful for life,
unfair as it may seem, my other senses were in poise,
and I learnt to see through reflections of noise.
He took away my eyes, my dreams stayed invincible,
so I left into a world, incognito,
my master waited for me that night, never to discover though.
I couldn’t steal, so I continued to beg,
I hitchhiked to stores, for a loaf of bread,
but God resolved to bless me with a stranger, instead.
He put me to work, for food and shelter,
little did I know my pay was in kind,
the kind was love, against everything left behind.
Sometimes he read to me, stories with happy endings,
he bid me goodnight before he would move on,
a word I recently learnt, to not be an oxymoron.
He taught me to read in braille,
being blind is no excuse he adjudged to me,
he couldn’t return my sight, so a vision he gave me.
Every night I cried myself to sleep,
for the choking in my throat helped me to believe,
believe in my angel disguised, so I cried myself to sleep.
He gave me fortitude against the vice,
he gave me words, and the power it imbibed,
and he taught me to live, when I just survived.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
I lived through it,
The up and down times
When I sold ***
And did other petty crimes.
I was there when
Hot girls were really guys
Hiding floppy secrets
Between their nyloned thighs.
I loved through it,
Saturdays that started
On Tuesday morning
When I first departed;
Two packs of cigs
And a week’s doobies,
By then a value
Almost that of rubies.
I laughed through it,
A **** ***** your jokes
Were so funny if
You were providing smokes.
I flattered and flirted
Whatever it would finally take
To score a bit of ****
Even the skimpiest shake.
I lolled through it,
Lying buck naked in your bed
Or with your guests
Whatever you originally said
Because you scored,
You were the source of dope.
Without your patronage
I didn’t have a moment of hope.
I hitchhiked through it,
Long trips back from Malibu
When I had worn out
My welcome to the world of you.
I hope the ride might be
Another adventure; more ****
Or some food and drink
To satisfy my every begging need.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
Light Shows
Wafting up this hill
From the town below
The fetid air this morning,
Whispers sleepily.
We sat here with a crowd
Last night, anticipating
The finale of the Fourth of July,
Expecting colored fire
And fierceness in the sky
To erupt above the lake
As a flotilla of boats,
White and green and red markers glowing
Took their bobbing places
Too far from us to see expectant faces.
The morning grass lies matted,
Littered with bits of celebration:
Candy wrappers,
Bottle caps,
Crushed cans...
Only the motorcycle and I
Overlook the restless trees and water
Uncertain in the morning breeze below....
The fireworks this year amazed us all,
Arcs and constellations
Shattering the air
Drifting off to die in smoking trails,
Whistling curlicues,
Weeping-willow shreds of gold,
Strings of blue and white and red,
Cacophonies of power,
Echoing and echoing again.
And yet, again,
God won the show...
Sent a humble lightning bug
To fly across my grandson's path
And captured, captivated his attention.
While thundering explosions pinwheeled overhead,
An insect blinked his tail,
Walked up young Parker's arm,
Disarmed the bombing of the sky,
Attached a young boy's quick affection,
Earned the title, "Sparky,"
And hitchhiked home
To be released alive and well
On my front lawn.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
***Deep within the sadness,
lost in the great abyss,
Fighting for survival, searching for true companionship.
Be gone oh dark passenger,
you have hitchhiked far too long,
I am no longer the weary soul, I have become too strong.
Once I made friends with you,
that was a desperate move,
Can’t believe I walked that path, had nothing to prove.
The tears that roll in the silent night,
are not fueled by the pain,
But by the false hope, the promised sunshine in the rain.***
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
A Articulate
C Christ
D Demon
C Challenge
The writer group
session Australian
Hard Rock Lion
Rebirth Laptop
All grouped in
The City
Singer she thinks
her style of the pick
Raw sugar on me
The Taylor Swiftly
Her wings of
gravity
No Ladybug
Patriot Brady Bee_____
A group meeting
Got stung doing the
jitterbug
Jazzy lounge Bearhug
Music notes of Junk
Whole marriage records
So group me in
((Single))
Signed rotten Platinum
fink
Miss the concert line
Jibb
Jibbering
Riveting
Jive Five
The tribe
all feathered
Group( Kiss)
Dark eyes vibe
ACDC
the King of rock
You shock me all night
Elvis ain't nothing
hounded hitchhiked
ACDC-Money Talks
50 shades of the Greyhound
Those twin singers
Tinker Bell Groupies
Now it's the
Hells Bell
The four letter word
F--K____
F---K E Fake
What a ***** of
the light finger
The bands became
AARP Old Rocker
chair
What a **** in her
rocker pants
Drum roll
Headlights
Rock and Roll
Tour group of
FRANCE F- Friendship R -Remain
A- And N- Never C-Can E-End
ITALY I- T-Trust A-And L-Love Y You
ENGLAND E-Every N-New G-Guy L Leaves
A-After N-Ninety D-Days
The world in
Eighty tight money Days
Group 8 days a week
ahh I need
your love girl
I guess you know its true
And when you're Pregnant
Hey we are Rockers
we don;t have a clue
I phone fingers do the
Hard rock Art of music
strumming
Please no old
folks snoring
Days so long belly
stretched
The canvas
one-day creation
The car broke
her water broke
Due date
280 days
Group Pregnancy
pays
The mechanic
charging by
the hour
(Midas_-_-
That Callgirl
not interested
Age of the rush
Pinterest pictures
Poison Ivy itching
Slower age Envy
To crush ********
And going back
Forever modern age
Hey world be clever
ACDC
We are all a group
linked
My jackpot
My baby
most blissful
Inked in Pink
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Cold , clear creek water hitchhiked from Alabama , caught a thunderstorm
just the other side of Anniston ..
It rode into Palmetto at the stroke of midnight , jumped off a wall cloud and hit the ground running !
Straight down Main Street taking everything it could carry .. Pine straw , old newspapers , bubble gum wrappers ! Oak leaves , bottle caps and fast food napkins !
The storm came and went , city life returned to normal , a hundred gallons of well travelled transpired water now has it's eyes set on the city of Savannah ..
It'll bide it's time in the heat of Palmetto , laying in a storm sewer waiting to be called skyward ... A one way ticket on the 'Evaporation Express' ,
riding within an eastbound thunderstorm , dropping in on another little city to clean and cool the street , meet at the bottom of a hill to start the journey all over again ..
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
I had a dream the other night
That I had found a window
And that window revealed to me the entire world
I could see everything there is to see
I could see the sun set in one land
As it rose in another
Nothing could hide from the windows gaze
I could see kids in public parks
Late at night
Staring at the dark, foreboding trees
Hallucinating the majesty
Of the way the branches moved in the wind
And upon reflection
Were called into the forest
By the sinister shadows inside themselves
On the West Coast I saw a girl
Separated from her Midwestern friends
And her Midwestern love
(Whom I have not met)
I see as her mind is split
Cross country style
And her thoughts fall
Like the raindrops on her window
I see a single match being lit
In the basement of an East Coast hospital
A young boy has traveled many miles
(Hitchhiked across the country
In a time where the Cassadys and Kerouacs
The great heroes of the road
Have all died out
And the road is home to the carcasses of a million dear
A thousand raccoons and a hundred skunks)
The boy lights a second match
And with the match lights a candle
Then he pulls out an old dusty guitar
And begins to play
The boy,
Born too late,
Journeyed to this hospital
The hospital here his hero stayed
While his hero’s mind decayed
But now there is no one around
The hospital is long empty
So he plays a tune to himself
The guitars’ celestial strings sing
Echo through the Empty
But with the window I see the boy is not alone
The spirit of the boy’s hero
Smiles down upon the boy from Heaven
And with God & Saints
Bless the boy
The song
The guitar
Miles away
Out west on a lonesome prairie
In the cover of night
I see a man sit at the bar of a diner
The warm glow does not penetrate far into the solid darkness
The man is alone
A fry cook stands in the kitchen
But is not in the man’s view
The hostess is out back
Smoking in silence
The man is left with his thoughts
Along with his rancher’s jacket
And ***** ball cap
This man wears an air of sadness
I can’t hear what he is thinking
But in his silence I can feel the weight of that sadness
I can almost know all his troubles
The man finishes his coffee
Puts money on the counter
And leaves without saying a word
As the dream ends
And I can feel myself begin to wake
I can see all those faces staring back at me
Each look through their own windows
I see the man stare through his car window
And the window of hope
I see the West Coast girl
Stare out the window of a plane
And the window of longing
I see the boy stare through the window of time
And finally I see the children in the parks
Staring through the window of Nature
And the window of the soul
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
Number One reviewing
Bath powder on your *******
That I caressed
You felt like silk
So surprisingly timid was I
Our first time you so gently
Helped lead the way intently.
Did you hide your experience
While letting me seem victorious ?
We parked so many places
We could have used a valet
Win Schular's was class
But mosquitoes in the Michigan woods,
They made love bites on my ***
No room in the canoe even for that
That house I hitchhiked down to
A warm bed of your softness
Football weekend at a brothers place; times too few
Where your scent lingers after you
Memories are sometimes fleeting
But not your first love
I cried after you. ........ still needing
After ten years strong and vivid
After two decades still exquisite
After five they begin to fade
Just flashes here and there
A whiff of your scent somewhere
A lingering synaptic flash decayed
Copyright 2013
Richard L Ratliff
Win Schular's is a famous restaurant in Michigan
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
I need to tell the story
about how you came to me
you floated by the Milky Way
out past the galaxies
You were playing with the Stars
when you heard me call your name
And in a lightning flash
my soul was not the same
You grabbed a shooting star
And hitchhiked past the Sun
and landed in my arms
in a blanket made of cotton
My sins and cares lost instantly
and everything forgotten
I look at you now
and you are the most beautiful of creatures
I'm glad we have the chance
to be one another's teachers
I wouldn't change a thing
my Indigo Blue Daughter
You're right where you belong
in my earthly living waters
I see you in the Springtime
in the Sunny Daffodils
The sun-drenched clouds above
and in the rolling pastured Hills
In see you in the mountains
of our home here in Vermont
In the passing vacant barns
that your Spirit seems to haunt
you're here in summer grass
that slips between my toes
and the crystal clear blue water
from the mountains that it flows
The birds that come to visit
in their lovely feathered styles
wink at me in passing
with familiar frozen smiles
You are the leaves that change
in fall time gloried color
In the faces of our neighbor
our sisters
and our brothers
You are the unique snowflakes
that kiss me on my face
You are everywhere I am
in every single place
We've had more than our share
of Earthly troubling woes
you always try to smile
and you barely let it show
I never have to wonder
we'll always be together
regardless where we are
no matter what the weather
This night I Lay My Earthly body
down to take a rest
to dream of all the things we've shared
inside my sleepy nest
I'll be waiting for you dear
my door is always there
A place for your sweet little heart
to rest your Earthly cares..
I Wait.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
It has been such a Long time since our last incarnation such like reassembly.
We’ve been scrubbing our United States
and leasing places
as scarification and other humans‘ faces
of stories,
to bless or gargle foreign.
We’ve been to the Neptune’s Fountain to find Young Man Hogan’s bench situated within all those loners’ speedy extroversion,
and catch the Saint Petersburg bell that hitchhiked the church there
to make a glimpse of urbanism and the world’s history replaced
by just one journal
and one fella’s pencil
swerving greatly.
Still,
the words are still trying,
flexing,
to fit their whole ends
into shoes they should have taken off
already, a long time ago,
and that‘s this somewhere
where we could say:
crossroads decide their fruition.
And it comes to realisation:
faces,
screens,
bruises,
droppings,
chilling entries,
work,
how I remade the word “naked”of one thousand and one nights
under my tiny silky
cloak
-
it has been nothing but a play
for the day when I’ll write,
and the Life,
that will take on my own skin
one way or another.
One paper corner will meet with the other.
Departures are all eventually just fun geese’s bump in another flight of a night.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 11:01 AM UTC
Epigraph:
LET CONVERSATIONS CEASE;
LET LAUGHTER FLEE.
THIS IS THE PLACE
WHERE DEATH REJOICES
IN HELPING THE LIVING.
— Inscription at the entrance
to the New York City Morgue
She was just a little girl,
and she tried to make the scene,
but they threw her down and she died —
broken on the pavement,
naked and alone,
with her beads around her neck.
She had these amber beads,
and she wanted to “make the scene,”
but it was the wrong scene
and the wrong time
and nobody loved her,
and nobody cared,
and she died there, on Mott Street,
with her beads around her neck.
From a little shabby house
near a cornfield in Ohio
with a barn
and a horse that died
and a couple of old trucks out back —
She wanted to be “where it's at.”
She was only playing a game;
they buried her three weeks ago —
she would have been fourteen today.
It was a hot night in July
when they hitchhiked to New York.
In Washington Square Park
everybody was making it
even the mosquitoes were making it
and they bit her as she slept.
But she wanted “kicks,”
so she went off with two men.
And they found her, broken on the stone,
with her beads around her neck.
Her parents, they worked hard,
and they ate their bitter bread;
her father, he drank and he fought —
he'd been in trouble with a girl
and was in jail last year.
It broke him, too.
“I felt like I just got
picked up and dropped,
broke like a glass.”
They buried her three weeks ago;
and Death cannot rejoice
that she made his scene, —
for she was just a little girl,
and they broke her and she died
with her beads around her neck.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
SHE WAS JUST A LITTLE GIRL
TACEANT COLLOQUIA
EFFUGIAT RISUS
HIC LOCUS EST
UBI MORS GAUDET
SUCCURERE VITAE
She was just a little girl,
and she tried to make the scene,
but they threw her down and she died —
broken on the pavement,
naked and alone,
with her beads around her neck.
She had these amber beads,
and she wanted to “make the scene,”
but it was the wrong scene
and the wrong time
and nobody loved her,
and nobody cared,
and she died there, on Mott Street,
with her beads around her neck.
From a little shabby house
near a cornfield in Ohio
with a barn
and a horse that died
and a couple of old trucks out back —
She wanted to be “where it's at.”
She was only playing a game;
they buried her three weeks ago —
she would have been fourteen today.
It was a hot night in July
when they hitchhiked to New York.
In Washington Square Park
everybody was making it
even the mosquitoes were making it
and they bit her as she slept.
But she wanted “kicks,”
so she went off with two men.
And they found her, broken on the stone,
with her beads around her neck.
Her parents, they worked hard,
and they ate their bitter bread;
her father, he drank and he fought —
he'd been in trouble with a girl
and was in jail last year.
It broke him, too.
“I felt like I just got
picked up and dropped,
broke like a glass.”
They buried her three weeks ago;
and Death cannot rejoice
that she made his scene, —
for she was just a little girl,
and they broke her and she died
with her beads around her neck.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC