"hubcap" poems
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.
A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.
Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.
How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for slap-sticked power.
By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Doltish vulgarity among the begrimed-glitch and old-grown-boring Jive.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
4am and my eyes are killing me,
and I'm dull and sore and ****
**** **** **** ****
Leaning against an arcade booth
of Street Fighter 2 watching them
dance in green lazer lights.
We decided to go back to her friend's place.
Her friend got wine,
he got beer.
He ****** in the bushes.
Admitted he was drunk.
On the roof of her friend's apartment,
I ****** down a cold coffee,
and we played acoustic music.
We climbed higher on the roof.
They smoked and drank,
and just generally shot the ****
Something bad happened between him and her;
she ran off crying, he's calling her a child, a baby.
He's pretending he's not mad,
pretending he's in control of his emotions
while lashing out.
Throws a beer bottle,
decides to leave. She
practically begs him for a ride home.
Me and her friend want so badly for her
to stay. Stay.
She leaves with him.
Drunk and ****** to drive her home.
I start walking home soon after.
I get lost on a street.
It's 2am and I'm jumping up and down
waving my hands, trying to get someone
to just tell me where I am.
A man across the street must be taking out garbage,
I walk across the street and say, "Excuse me sir?"
He shouts, "No! Go back across the street! NO!"
like I'm a ******* wild animal.
I ask him, "Can you just tell me where Bluestone is?"
He tells me to go north.
His input is useless.
I hope he dies of pancreatic cancer.
I kick a can and yell, **** all of you, collectively!"
to the suburban nightmare I'm trapped in.
"I hope they nuke this ******* **** stain neighborhood!"
Kick an empty Arizona can in contempt and disgust.
I have a small monologue with myself
and almost break down on the sidewalk.
Walk back to practically where I came from,
and take the long way home.
On my way I pass a stranger who asks, "Dig?"
No ******* idea what they meant.
I dodge the skunks and grab a hubcap.
Wanted a trinket.
I think I'm gonna have a ******* aneurism.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:49 AM UTC
Is there a substance
that as a result of continually applied force
becomes so hardened
so as to become no longer malleable..?
immovable..?
Lately i am feeling
much like that substance
Becoming tired of being forced
for no good point
Becoming weary of being pushed
into a grotesque shape
not of my choosing
Toward directions
i care not to go in
And you can find this stuf anywhere
it's everywhere
Leftover human ****
over-hammered
beat down by the establishment
You might call it
white trash metal
Or inner city old grey steel
50 gallon drum fireplace
ghetto hubcap with no wheel
Left with worth
less than a tin cup
Used humanity
used up
Beware waste artisans
it's waste recycle time
it's become too late
the purged waste you've created
Returns and rises from the ashes
to make you suffocated ...
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
In the cold of my car I shivered,
as the engine ran,
I sat still hoping to
dispense with the chill,
but my will said, 'accept it you are a wimp and an old cold one at that"
I was wearing my hat and my coat with light gloves,
I loves to wear, they separate my fingers
from the cold,
knitted grey and bold,
they let me hold,
objects of metal like keys to hearts, objects of stone like me very own heart,
objects of desire, that I keep secret until something transpires
which warms better than fires,
on a dark and lonely night under the stars bright, wait was that my tire?
Oh where did I wonder off too,
as I was in thought, now lost,
my wit, not sharp as the nail in my tire, the cost,
on a dark night in November, as six speeding police cars swoop past me,
on an urgent mission to stop a crime, their sirens wail as I am a
counterintuitive pantomime against the noise that assails me while
I am changing
a tire but remain the same,
metal tire rod tool in my hand, stone cold heart beating, against my ribs,
as I labor in disbelief that where I live is across from where I stand,
and with all technology you have to get on your hands and knees to
change a tire, I sneeze, I am not sure which is worse,
my situation or these verse,
which decorate the night, not like stars,
as when spoken aloud every other word is profane,
while two homeless push there wares by me and laugh
with disdain.
For in these transactions they have more street cred than I,
and I would give them a bitcoin of my thoughts, but they
are two and I am one, alone and without a cell phone, and
this poem rolling around like lug nuts in a hubcap, as frost
creeps closer than the creeps who wish to reap of my misfortune.
Of which I now have some, that I can mix with theirs and then
I notice their bloodthirsty stares, so I begin to recite this poetry
and expound on the woe in me and send them packing covering their
ears with out attacking my hapless now three wheeled car.
When I was done I was nuttier than those lugs,
"good news" it was too cold for bugs,
and with good conscience you, from this, can unplug.
©DWE112013
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.
A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.
Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.
How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for high-brow, White-men polemics
By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Based-vulgarity amongst the begrimed-teeth-sucking and homegrown-Jive.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
Everything fades.
forgotten elements compile,
neglected .
I never thought,
I would be tossed aside like a rusted hubcap.
Amongst all the *******
corroding silently
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
perfect girl
in reverse she moves like the minute-hand of the watch wound
up down through
pilot all in leather crash into the steel
ocean and eat the seaweed until
emerge looking like hubcap trash
fifty tons of water weight you move home
covered in barnacles and
flotsam out of the driftwood
you built your house
where the dogs come to eat dirt &
grasshoppers
beneath the foundations lie the
carcasses of chewedupspitout cockroaches
you killed when you were young enough to think that
racing greyhounds meant
chasing them across state borders
you and the peeling paint reading the tea leaves they say time to rip the
oil pastel wrappers off so you can't tell which color is
which and then draw draw everywhere until
you cover the world in color that can't be washed out up
off things are no longer crayola clear
in the sun you turn on natural lights to **** the
wolftooth glare of photophobia
sun sneezing out into the porch do you dare
doubleyou dee forty these hinges someday man, do you really
want this house to have the last word?
so that when you cover the fire pit (no stone unturned)
and roll over to the
cold side of the bed you realize
that the pipes are only leaking in your head
that the dresser did not collapse
that the broken glass & the ants on the floor are not the cause of the
blood on your heels
cracked like brazil nut shells all along the
corridor
(perfect girl runs
skirt flies up in the back hair whips neck turns
hips like a rose in the honeyed dew
melancholy untuned viola strings improve the flavor like
hints of saffron in her eyes--
she is taller than you remember)
the bats
(moths between teeth)
watch you curiously
as though you were standing
right-side up
cacophony caused by
one too few chairs at the
dining table.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
Standing by the window, Polaroid in hand,
he stared out at the hubcap rolling in the sand;
now the screen door, she was whistelin’ a sad and lonely tune,
and the ******* dogs, they were barkin’ at the moon.
Midnight roared and the sky came apart at the seams.
He looked up and saw where Jesus hides his dreams;
they were glitterin' gold, and blinkin' purple-pink—
he was sure the little girl in the picture winked.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 2:08 AM UTC
I'm gonna fall down, but at least I know I tried
I wish I could help you there but my hands are tied
Stay out there for a while waiting for the light
I cannot say what is wrong, but I know I am right
Hey, sorry about your car
I'm sure it would have gotten real far
but I know you are
and I put in a jar, it'll grow into a star
Then I'll let it go, then I'll let it go, let it shine
I just want to get my point across
Can't you just listen to my side?
Can't you just listen to my side?
I just want to get my point across
Most of it's on fire
It doesn't take much to get a person wired
Set it down, just push it away
and the waste basket kills everyone
I'm sorry about your car
I'm sure it would have got real far
I still hope you are
I'll put it in a jar and it'll grow into a star
and then I'll make it mine
Yeah and then I'll make it mine
And I know that you're just so trendy
You get sick inside, just look at you
Hang it on a wall by a post and don't let them see it there
Oh, put me in a waste basket!
Hey, sorry about your car
I know I could have made it start
Man, I tried so hard to make it
make it try to grow into a star
Then I'll blow you up, push it in my face,
put me out of place
I'm losing the race, then I'll let it go
Yeah, no one has to know
because I'll put it in the car
Yeah, sorry about it, sir
and then I'll put it in a jar and it'll go real far.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC
We rode to Ta’if on a flying carpet
— a Toyota with a missing hubcap
sweeping through fattened clouds
which clung to the hilltops like grazing bison
arriving on the otherworldly plateau that wore
the death shroud of an old hermit’s mystery
which our Prophet reached in sandals as ******
as the deck of a Nantucket whaling ship
Arabian Himalayas. He climbed like a yak
and the Lord strengthened his steps
Our taxi driver — as lost as the cheque in the mail —
poked at his satnav and called his mates
The Almighty’s beloved followed the angel and
never lost his way. He strained with pain
Our driver’s mirrored eyes intruded while we
held hands on the back seat and yawned
The Lord smiled down upon his aching friend
and eased the pain in cramping calves
A sagging mosque now hunches where the ignorant
had cast away the chance of a lifetime
Oh think if they had taken him in — Medina
would sit as a happy king on a mountain throne
I immortalised my love in a photo in that mosque
praying as a saint where our hero had struggled
I adore my captured shaikha and the memory
of when we followed in the footsteps of our Prophet
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Death is lying
in the ditch
like a hubcap
that went
rolling down
a dark road
along with
the stench
of a black cat
that crossed
my path
still following
me until
luck will have
its final say
so I've got to
keep moving
while the night
shines it's bright
lights speeding
up behind me.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 9:32 PM UTC
i had a dream i was rising through the trees
i had a dream i was falling through the ground
on docks calling a name i've never known
sitting in empty studies with the lord
calling mine
bad news used to sound like footsteps
down the hallway, used to be my mother's
hand turning the doorknob
and now it is a rotating hubcap
or a night without stars
full yellow moons out over the
complexes in the west
it sounds like empty milk
cartons and the tone of my own voice
it is people demanding that i be open
the most tragic of flaws--
i am meeting people just like me
telling them I want something more
can the wounded want
more?
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
April air
her perfume
a little asian lady
looking at the flowers for sale
towers collapse
so do hands
caress
April air
everyone's dead
A father and his girls
3 and 7
getting
snow cones in the heat
as the workers
stand and sweat
smoking
spanish cigarettes
April air
his mouth is dry
pupils tiny
like the midnight sky
April air
I smelt her perfume
Watched an Asian lady
look at the flowers
that were for sale
Lets just
lay here naked
lighting cigarettes
like forest fires
we'll fall apart
in the Chimney
Holding the strands of your hair
on my face
as we make love
In a suit and tie writing down the
speechless things
of the sky
at the church with a pistol
in bed with shoes on
April air
her perfume
I passed her by
looking at the
garbage bag
in the tree
the leaf
stuck in a hubcap
the women
following their man
I got a call
from a payphone
in my dream
I'm over due
for a dream
said the girl on the other line
I remember
her hair was blue
she was
wet concrete on a summer night
My beard doesnt grow
Youth is at my window
knocking on the glass
for bubble gum
and mother's smile
April air
the night is
always Sunday
In the parking lot
of a supermarket
looking at the City
with 2 eyes
April air
the day is almost over
She was 16
I kissed her
red red lips
I am a bee
she is a rose
April air
Everyone's a fool
taking walks to the woods.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Oh my dear Hubcap !
for you I fear!
Laying here;
resting on a roadside,
Torn from your kin.
Subject to mother nature's
weatherly whim.
Your once grey metallic
reflective brilliance,
turned dour by
creeping oxidisation.
That fate gave
a deliberate curse
is clear.
Oh my dear Hubcap!
for you I fear!
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
We are all just sliding down
The hill on icey snow
We have really no idea
Which way life will go
We're sitting on a hubcap
A toboggan we can't steer
There's no way to then avoid
The obstacles we fear
We may have a super job
Have a comfortable home
But we could lose that good career
Then we're all alone
No house. No wife. No children.
No way to make a living
Looking at a homeless state
In search of someone giving
We could be in perfect health
Yet slip and have a fall
Be in the wrong vehicle
We could lose it all
We're on a slippery slope
That toboggan goes so fast
We may have many blessings
But how long will they last?
When we have the good in life
Our prayers we may not raise
When there's strife and things go wrong
We forget to give Him praise!
Remember Jesus suffering
Remember His great gift
He gave us Redemption
Our burdens He can lift!
Prayer is the answer
When things are going well
And praising His goodness
Even through life's hell
He has all the Power
He has all the Might
He can keep you safe!
He can make things right!
You are on that hubcap
Slipping like the breeze
But you can jump the rocks
And avoid those big ol' trees!
So give Him all of what He's due
He has the strength of Will
You are then connected
To the maker of the hill.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/29/2016
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
Bye mom bye son
Please go slow
And stay low
Remember crawling
Is the ONLY! way to go
Halfway down fifth
Left into third
Spinning wheels hubcap splatter
Screeching halt kneel and scatter
Swoosh zzzip swoosh
On knees for feet
Gnashing teeth a hit hit hit
Some stay sprawling
Most ran crawling
Early Monday morning
Stats please
Doctor's calling
We've had a good weekend doc
Only two stood falling
Who got shot
Two twelve year old's
And a baby
With a bottle in a cot
****** nurse how appalling
I wish they could all
Just remain crawling
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
EVIL rides in SUVs with the windows all blacked out.
HONOR drives a plug in car that leaves no resdue behind.
APATHY rides in secondhand Nissans with the clear coat
flaking off.
CELEBRATION rides in limos with open tops for standing up in.
TRAGEDY rides in a long black hearse with all the horses
under the hood.
BRAVERY drives a bright red Moped that cuts in and out of
traffic.
POVERTY must ride the bus in a much too long commute.
ARROGANCE drives an escalade that’s the fourth left turn on a
yellow.
BOREDOM drives a station wagon missing the left rear
hubcap.
PANIC races in the family car where panting and blowing
isn't helping.
HAPPINESS drives almost anything with a baby in the back
seat.
MACHO drives a Ford F350 with wheels even bigger than
his ego.
MELTING *** preens in a souped-up Chevy that dances like a
hip-hop star.
PRETEEN rides a bicycle and dreams of a Mustang.
YOUTH hauls *** in a Jeep Wrangler with the rag top
down.
MIDLIFE CRISIS rides a Harley in a group of seven on weekends.
OLD AGE drives slowly in an ’83 Chrysler Imperial that
won't fit in the parking spaces.
LOVE floats along on hopes and dreams and has no
need of wheels.
ljm
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
My car is a ****
She lets homeless people get in her
She gets oil changes from anybody
And doesn't care what gas she fills up on.
Whether like cheap beer or fine wine,
No matter, she'll need more in short time
I don't know why I get mad when I'm not the driver
But my car will let four, sometimes five men get inside of her
She's been stopped by more cops at curbs than Zimmerman
And turned more tricks at corners than Paris Hilton
She is fun, sleek, and knows where to go,
Knows when to stop and start when I say no.
Only problem is, that each time I want to know
Where she's been, silent instead, with a low hum and that hubcap grin.
My car is a ****
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
the occurrences I recall in the next twenty-nine lines
of this very poem could be true.
But then again, they could
also be false.
---
I was enjoying myself
at a friends wedding
sipping shiraz diligently dancing
until a man with long
pale hair and a thin tie
with crooked teeth
Pulls a knife.
I run. Far.
Until he caught up to me
in the freezer section of supermarket.
I freeze, he approaches and
I hit him in the head with a hubcap.
---
My mother mourns over a half-eaten ham
Easter afternoon.
Why do we even ******* try anymore?
I sit silent as my father
sets off a verbal alarm about the mashed potatoes.
His feet take root in the yard
and hold on stubbornly
like the dying fir.
---
The sweltering simmer of
a shower’s steamy embrace seduces me.
I dry off in the confines of
the white sterile tile room
A thousand people bellow around
my naked body,
walls quiver with the pressure
of air,
still as it ever was.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Once upon a time, on a road so long,
I set out a journey, singing my song.
With snacks in the seat and a map in my hand,
I felt like a king, ruler of this land.
The GPS lady, with her calm, soothing voice,
Said, “Turn left ahead,” as if I had a choice.
But I missed the turn, and she sighed with a tone,
“Recalculating route,” in a voice like a drone.
The miles stretched on, the road never ends
With no end in sight, just around the next bend.
I passed by cows, and fields of green,
And wondered if I’d ever be seen.
The fuel gauge dipped, the light turned red,
I needed a station, or I’d be dead.
I found a place, with a quirky name,
“Last Chance refuel,” it was part of the game.
The restroom key was a sight to behold,
Attached to a hubcap, rusty and old.
I did my business, and I grabbed a snack,
I hit the road, never looking back.
The radio played the same old song,
About a truck and a dog, it went on too long.
I switched to a station with talk and news,
But the host’s voice gave me the Exocet blues.
The sun beat down, the AC broke,
I rolled down the window, and started to choke.
On dust and bugs, and the smell of hay,
I longed for a shower, at the end of the day.
A detour sign appeared out of the blue,
“Road closed ahead,” what was I to do?
I followed the signs, through towns so small,
With names like “Puddle” and “Waterfall.”
I stopped for lunch at a pub so quaint,
With pies so sweet, they would make you faint.
The waitress smiled, with a knowing glance,
“Long journey, huh? Just take a chance.”
I ordered a burger, with fries on the side,
And a milkshake thick, for completing the ride.
Back on the road, with a full belly,
I felt like a hero, in my own telly.
The hours passed, the sun sank so low,
The stars came out, with a gentle glow.
I sang to myself, to stay awake,
And dreamed of the bed, I’d soon partake.
Finally, I saw the sign, “Welcome to Town,”
I cheered aloud, no longer a clown.
I parked the car, with a sigh of relief,
And thanked my God, for the journey so brief.
So if you ever find yourself on a drive,
Remember this tale, and you will survive.
With snacks and tunes, and a sense of fun,
A long journey’s end, is a victory won.
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 12:51 PM UTC
Your voice was the engine of my car turning over
The noise of the radio cackling Fm stations whispering quickly before disappearing like the moon behind clouds
The driveway of your ex boyfriend's house cold and empty I could see his tire tracks on your neck
Your muscles contracting like car doors slamming shut I could her your mind tick tocking a plan sputtering to life and the wheels setting it in motion
You grab a rock in your hubcap hands kick it threw a window like gravel beneath your training wheel wrists
Twisting and turning and drifting I followed you as your google mapped memory traced a route through his hallways and closed doors
Until you found the framed 2x5 inch photo booth picture reel he kept of you
Noisily you shook it off the wall and we unlocked all his doors
Your high beam brown eyes shouted at me until God struck life back into my car
You threw the picture out on the Veteran's Memorial
Discarded it and the memory like cigarette butts hoping that could remove the cancer too
You crashed that weekend
You sputtered to life briefly
Turning over before dying
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
TRAPPED IN A TEASPOON
I was trying to
avoid
my self, but:
there I was
haunting a hubcap
looming out of a mirror
trapped in a teaspoon
caught in a photograph.
There was no
escaping me.
Everywhere I went
- there I was!
Change the backdrop
Paris...Munich....London
I still ended up
beside my self
playing the same old
same old "me."
Typecast.
Only in sleep could I
jump ship( so to speak )
and become something
other than who I am.
Becoming a stone
I met in 1963
when I was seven
or so...
"Ahhh...this is the life!"
I thought to myself
gazing at the sky
watching clouds go by
becoming one
with the rain.
Not having to
think no more.
Just be!
Anything
anything
other than
me!
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
Driving down some endless road, one littered with memories and bones.
Glancing out the driver's window lends the perfect view.
Shards of glass grace this highway's eyes, as the rubble garners it's long tortured life.
But amongst the garbage, trash, and filth lies a poem lost at sea.
A lonely hubcap lay on one side of the road, blink an eye and it'd be gone.
How many miles had it traveled, along with it's trusted wheel?
How many adventures had it turned, before the earth shook it free?
Now it lives alone, no wheel to call it's home.
The endless highway continues as the sun begins to set.
The hubcap night grows ever near, a bitter loneliness every driver fears.
Until that time they must drive on, always circling their trusted friends whom they rely on.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
In the grand spell of words, let me etch this sentiment into your heart –
I find myself so tired, like a Toyota limping along with a missing hubcap.
My carpet smile, never held the weight it should have; you revelled in
The tickle of my beard as our lips met. Yet, as soon as we grew distant,
I shaved it away, a symbol of our fading connection, a relic of this
Relationship becoming one of long distance.
Typing my feelings onto the screen, though the true message of them
Weren’t delivered so well, failing to convey the depth of my despair.
I began to loathe myself, believing that the love I once held for you
Was a tether, leading you on to lead you astray. “I’m sorry,” I whisper,
But deep down, I always knew you were destined for someone far
Greater than I could ever be, or at the very least, someone who would
See you as the answer to their most fervent prayers.
_I guess you weren't the answer to my prayers..._
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 3:04 PM UTC
Generally speaking,
one should avoid transparent containers
when attempting to starve a fire.
If not adequately covered each night
they’ll start to remember,
it’s the dark which should fear them.
They’ll keep right on glowing.
Melt straight through their enclosure
and flee through the nearest open window,
to nestle amongst decamped cigarette embers
and hubcap shards.
Or rush East.
Shine bright in an oxygen flood,
resting just a moment
before collapsing into morning.
No one ever goes searching anyhow.
Once it’s tasted wild air
a spark knows it has no business hiding
or obeying.
It just goes right on burning,
After all, our blood is mostly heat.
A pulsing canter of something primal.
Craving variance in structure,
the unspoiled viscera
it can hear cowering
just beyond the muscle and sinew.
An empathetic sanguine resolve
who without temperance
would course hot enough
to petrify marrow
reclaiming it’s rightful domain.
in a grand gesture shaped
and honed from spurts of desolation.
A constant flux of beautiful half memories
almost touching a better place.
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC