"odometer" poems
Love:
Affection, Admiration, Lust, Adoration...
There are at least 65 different definitions of the word.
Feelings that inspire books of poetry or expressions of love unheard.
How is it measured?
Perhaps with a caliper
to measure its depth and breadth.
Or with a sound meter
To measure the volume and decibel or the whispering of a breath.
Could you measure it in pints or cups or ounces in a measuring cup?
"My cup runneth over"
Can it be measured with a thermometer?
"I'm burning up."
How heavy is true love - can it be weighed on the scales?
Can you measure love with a compass - to what degree does love prevail?
Can a speedometer track the speed by which one falls in love?
Or an odometer measure the distance at which love can still be felt?
Can you use a syringe to limit your doses of love before it's lethal?
Can you attach a heart monitor and check how a lover's heart beats faster
or the health of their love - strong or weak?
Can the rhythm & harmony be counted out on a metronome
Can a polygraph test prove it is true?
Can the magnitude of love be measured using a microscope, binoculars or a telescope - maybe Hubble. How does one know how to bring it into "focus"?
How mysterious that love is so indistinguishable, so immeasurable, so evasive & yet SO BIG!
Yet no one - except for God - knows the true measure of Love & its ability to heal, to hurt.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―
spinning with the
world go round
Circling back down
a long and winding road;
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run
The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low
Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―
A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,
towards the Alberta prairie
White knuckled steering wheel
held sway, rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
reincarnation;
default reset button paused ―
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
jars it free
Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
like a fading last breath
Letting it all unfold to become what it is
harlon rivers ... May 2018
... travelogue 2 of some
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Only men remember the names of their cars,
the make and model and the year they got them.
They can recall the feeling on their thighs
from the cushioning of luxurious leather
as they slide in with a longing sigh.
There is no will power known to man
that can keep their fingers from caressing,
the steering wheel spinning in their fantasy drive.
Eyes scanning the dash to inspect the odometer
praising the low mileage of where she's been driven
fooling himself that he's the driver that counts.
If only they understood the true lust of leather
comes in the form of wedges or stilettos,
and not only noticed when they're kicked off.
Which, by the way, are Pradas,
sold by Neiman Marcus,
bought last month at Fifth and Grand.
Sep 3, 2009
Sep 3, 2009 at 12:31 PM UTC
A
tree
fell on
the roof
of my truck
early last Spring.
Put there by a tornado,
a very very powerful thing.
I am glad it landed on my truck,
I am so glad it landed smack dab there.
It had 480, 692 miles on the old odometer,
the engine was so tired and all the seats threadbare.
You’d think I would be mourning it's unplanned passing,
but when the Insurance man came with a 3,300 dollar check,
although I knew my demolished truck was only worth 700 bucks,
I took it
and said
what the
heck !!!!!
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
I heard someone utter the words,
"Sober is just another word for thirsty."
And I did not believe her.
Until my throat started itching,
the moment I stopped the stitching
of molecules that altered me,
turned me around,
I had been treading backwards.
My body ached with vacancy,
my hands trembled with an appetite
that played the part of
of my hands on the wheel.
It is an agonizing contradiction,
to be weighed down by nothing,
every drop that plunged into my mouth,
every plume that escaped
the narrow path to my lungs
was a nail in my soles,
keeping me firm to the ground,
I became stagnant,
only dipping under the influence
to ask for what I thought
was needed assistance.
My temporarily
stainless bloodstream
bred venomous ideas
while the darkest parts of me quivered
with insatiable hunger,
and made a show of it
with my fluttering fingertips.
I had dreamt
on nearly every day of the week
with my eyes open,
of clawing my out of this
canyon of flesh
I had been trapped inside of,
the echoes of an empty heart
were enough
to keep me awake for days,
witnessing a continuum,
of sunset,
sunrise,
sunset,
sunrise,
yet the sky never brightened.
The darkness was addictive,
I became a ****** for the murky,
and I have been buried.
Underneath habits
that stifle me.
Smoke that leaves my lungs
no room
for new air.
There is an invisible layer
of soot
caked onto my skin
falling from my nights spent
drunk and unaware
of which direction
I was growing.
My odometer
slowly screams
for me to stop,
to reverse,
begin again.
My shower head works hard.
It tries to bathe me in rebirth.
The shampoo bottle whispers
with its shape,
asks me to sing again.
Why did I stop singing?
Because I no longer enjoyed the sound of my voice.
I stopped believing in it.
Drenched in half truths
and uncut delusions,
my tongue was poison.
I had denied the beautiful methods
of me.
And employed the ugly.
I gave a managerial promotions
to the mean
the spitting mad
and the angry
slices of my heart.
But I will dig through
these concrete slabs
of toxic routines.
And I will take back my beauty
and revive my love.
And become who I am,
climbing out of who I have been.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
A garden trowel in a patch of irradiated weeds
An odometer in an endless maze of MickeyD's
An encyclopedia in a pawn shop full of tweakers
A love song on a boombox with broken speakers
May I present several examples of useless things with nothing to do
Now if you think those're bad, you should see what I'm like...
*
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 10:10 PM UTC
1
I will drive you to the beach today,
Because winter has outstayed its welcome.
We have no tolerance for rude guests.
After all, it’s been a pair of months since
We had our last snowball fight.
We can undress to the least amount of
Decent clothing the law permits.
We will take sandals that clap our heels
Uniformly with our strides through the sand.
I’ve already packed our wicker picnic basket.
We will have ham and cheese on white bread,
Because we both agree peanut butter is unpleasant to smell.
We’ve cuddled all winter long to keep warm. Now,
We want to hold each other for the innocent pleasure
Spring promises. Now, we’re going to the beach.
2
She and I held our anticipation together
With every rotation of our odometer.
We—together—would enjoy the simple pleasure
Of watching the overbearing nines
Give way to a fresh thousand.
She pretended the AM stations
Received alien transmissions at the ends
Of the dials. When we listened, we heard music.
She had the idea to buy one another
New bathing suits. Now, I wear too short blue trunks
With green dots, speckling me like an ill duck.
3
Skipping, and kicking up sand with uncommon grace,
The sun began to set as she pranced around
Our fire. The blaze was burning out, as the sky
Took the light away. I could only barely make out
The purple of her new one-piece, that so starkly
Contrasted with her pale legs.
As the sun almost hid beneath the west, like a fawn
Her silhouette casually strolled my way.
She held her head to the stars, presenting
All of her neck. The only sounds we heard
Were the tide and her toes crunching sand.
She stopped, just toe lengths in front of me,
Arching her head back, as if deep in thought.
Her mouth opened like a growing crater
And when, in her shadow, I joined her skyward stare,
We—together—both watched the Moon come out.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 8:00 AM UTC
So many miles and feet to go,
I'm covering kilometers.
The petal's to the metal,
And I'm worried about my odometer.
The speeds to fast,
For the pace of life.
Continuously avoiding,
This kind with simple strife.
A mile so far,
A mile so close.
Your only a mile away.
The race to find desires,
I grow tired.
For something built for downfall,
I retire.
The goal for something newer,
Is acheived.
For the truth that drives my soul,
I turn to Thee.
Euphoria, Gloria!
And all I can think of for this story is... You!
A miles' so far,
But yet's, so close... Worth running to!
To find a home,
Where life's dreams may roam!
One heart to last a lifetime,
One beat to last one mile.
Thats all I need to give the rest of them,
To my one and all!
Because there's so many miles in the world,
And only one of them is the longest.
And only this one is the closest.
A mile so far,
A mile so close.
Your only a mile away.
Be still,
Turned into an expression of.
You're miles away, and...
I miss you.
Your across the room,
And I...
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 9:53 PM UTC
Under a bold lettering of pinholes
A night time sky cast in early essence
Lay - infog.the remains of a broken bell
Hidden in a lost hum of silence,
The first cries- a grebe or grieve..
For the time to rest our eyes is over
The blue starts to show again, slowly
Whats waiting in an envelope,
Fortune cookie type numbers odometer
Coffee
Our radio kicking back into itself
Folk take buses , trains, automobiles
Some walk- others sleep
And i . Breathe
And cough
Put my shoes back on
Come to a stop to-
Wait in line for a cigar
Go home and climb sore, not soar
Aching- into the only bed i long for
My dreams
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
I'm not a pretty girl,
But I don't expect you to notice that.
You see you easily turn left,
When I turn right, at the last second.
I have issues with my odometer,
And there are cracks in my peripheral vision.
There are burn marks between my thighs,
And my veins are pockmarked,
From the deprecation of free running love.
And when I play the piano,
When I can't,
I expect you to be near,
Placing a hand on my high held shoulders,
Decompressing the weight of a thousand clouded blue skies,
And imprinting a lifetime of security into my collarbone.
You see I have razors in my oesophagus,
Words spit out like dying blood,
And I feel like I'm dying from the inside out,
And, and, who can carry this load?
There is nothing but a mile in me,
To carry this, these feelings,
Because sometimes my legs don't work, and,
The 'Trying' is hard.
And my pelvis is tilted from the burdens I bear,
Nothing fills the void.
You see, where my heart is,
Is a storm, a tsunami contained
In a tri-vector of trust, fear and hope,
And it cuts my hair short,
It makes my tongue poisonous
And my eyes innocent.
You see I'm not that pretty,
But I don't expect you to understand that,
When you don't understand the times that I am.
You see my eyes hold a thousand memories of love,
And within these thighs burns passion;
My shoulders carry the weight of those that I have saved,
My oesophagus has eaten a thousands words of pain,
And my tongue has survived the most toxic kiss.
My hair is short because I wanted to lose the weight of,
Who it was they wanted me to be,
My legs, my ****** legs carry it all,
They just, keep, going, going, going, gone.
My heart, the tsunami, is entirely made of passionate storms,
That will consume you with love,
If you let it.
My pelvis rocks slowly in candlelight to carefully rock,
To sleep, the burdens i bear,
To music only a piano can make,
And through my veins courses courage, determination and strength......
You see I'm not pretty,
Because you don't see,
How astoundingly beautiful, I am.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
3000 miles ago
I shut off the radio
Thinking of you,
Plenty of bumps on this road
To jostle memories
Of when you used to sit
In the seat next to me
Skipping through songs
Until you found the one
That would make you sing
Like a free bird
Canary in the wind;
Spirited butterfly
In the rear view mirror,
And now
Even in the silence
I hear the echoes
Of all the chorus
Of all your laughter,
If I close my eyes
I can still see
Your hair shifting
In the hurried breeze
And I wish I could
Reset the odometer
In my head
Switch out the alternator
In my heart...
APAD13 - 117 © okpoet
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
The miles melt beneath the tires
As the odometer climbs higher
Towards my next oil change.
The sun shines in a cloudless sky
As the green fields go sailing by,
Their cows oblivious to my passing.
The needle on the gauge sinks lower
As the gasoline powers the motor,
And I make my way home.
Oct 8, 2009
Oct 8, 2009 at 8:38 AM UTC
Through avenues
And boulevards
My toll road
Has had
All the forks
I could handle
Crossroads plenty
Sometimes off-road
Sometimes freeways
Dead ends more
Than expected,
But I'm still driving
Dreams my gas
And love my map,
Never lost
Because
I'm always in the middle
Of everywhere and nowhere,
Interstates and highways
In my veins
Smoking and drinking
The only tuneup
To grease the gears
In my head,
Always grinding
And slipping
But never missing
A mile,
As my odometer
Just keeps turning
Each day another
Street I get lost in...
APAD13 - 059 © okpoet
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
I am a well-maintained automobile,
battery charged and tires rotated,
brake system probably needs to be adjusted and my drive-shaft may need to be realigned
but otherwise
you could probably make a decent profit off of me.
My blood is thick motor oil, and
my scent, a lit cigar
ever-burning down to an infinite ****
I'd probably go for about $10,000 (if you turned back the odometer 20,000 miles).
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
What is your mileage?
What distances have you carried yourself?
Tell me of the roads.
Of summer evenings spent gliding on smooth, black asphalt. Tell me about the sounds, harmonizing with the warm thrum of your heart.
Tell me of the beaten paths.
Of midday walks on cracked, uneven sidewalks teeming with life, giving way to budding blades of green, and dandelion dreams.
Tell me how the sun stung your skin, how soft breezes whispered at the nape of your neck.
Share with me the memory of winter mornings past.
Of the biting chill kissing your cheeks as your feet trudged through soft white expanses.
Of the cold that set in your bones as you waited for the bus, and the fat wet flakes that fell in flurries.
Tell me all of it.
About the freedom that spring brings, the buzz of bees and possibilities. The gorgeous lull at 10am and the swell of your soul.
Tell me the way the falling leaves of autumn trees speak to you. How their crunch tickles your mind.
Tell me how October skies dazzle you, while the stars shine, reflected in your eyes.
Spend with me a moment of intimacy. Show me the things beyond the windows to the soul.
Share with me what your odometer reads.
Let me read the map of you.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
I feel drained, empty on gas.
There is no more adrenaline in me
To push the pedal forward,
To feel the surge of energy in my veins
As my speed rises up, up the odometer.
I am coasting,
Stuck at thirty-five miles per hour,
Flattening my foot down
In an attempt to feel a rush,
Yet remaining the same as before
At thirty-five miles per hour.
Should I turn to the nearest guardrail?
Stop completely and give up?
I am afraid they will revive me,
And I will continue on
At thirty-five miles per hour.
Now stuck knowing,
That there is nothing I can do
To change my course.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
never been there
West Virginia
or anywhere like your heart
covered bridges
ancient ridges
all those lonely miles
between the coasts
I wonder what every mile
every smile is like
a coal miner's daughter
miles tick
the odometer
as I traverse
states
many ladies addresses
all forgotten as
I go now with only
one destination
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
"you symbolize living here, and that's why some
days i miss you more than others. some days, i
can forget about you. mostly, it's next to impossible."
then again, chasing you felt like racing to the hospital.
as the odometer rose, the pain inside my chest only
grew from moderate to severe. the safe haven was
the hospital room where you would stabilize and
make your patients feel better. the car was going
eighty five in a sixty line. no matter how far we got,
it seemed like the cops were at every corner waiting.
the speeding tickets would only hold me back for
so long until the pain would become something
only a legendary warrior of battle could ignore.
and when i finally got to the hospital, no patients
were getting let in. i'm still in the waiting room
where the pain is next to impossible to ignore.
you symbolize this hospital room. this is what
i waited for to ease my pain, but at what cost
when i got a lollipop and a smiley face sticker
for my speeding tickets and the unbearable wait?
- kra
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
I want to make room inside me for you
A piano solo misses you softly
No stranger could closely close unto
It's a strain of the fortune never closing never folding. Events unfold me, a hostel membership where I can never go. A brief reminder from that stranger to never leave my house in just a robe.
I want to make a space inside you,
A place for me and all the things that never grow. My cement stains the grace within you, then falls against your legs beside that home you've never known. Instead of pain my paint is thinning, while parents shake their heads while you've spent so many years alone.
Hold my face like the beginning. A devil doll, white skin, blue eyes and little legs and quiet moans. On a park bench where we went living, no words, no places hands would never go. Inside the rehab where I found you, the splinters and the quill we wrote each other letters late into the night. Until the space inside us melted, I snuck you out, I hid you in my scars and wrote you into bedroom. Bestowing me your skin and miranda, your record player gave plus ones for parties we never threw. My odometer met the sidewalk's end, my blackened threads. Where I woke alone in my robe.
I want to save the space inside us.
I want to keep the room where we used to often go.
And if I could keep you,
I'd keep my mouth shut instead of breaking up our home.
Little death spread onto silence, the ails of *** and flesh, where hands and eyes could lull. I've lit a million little matches, I've set a dozen fires to guide me, but everywhere it seems there's nothing left to glow.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 12:44 AM UTC
That is what I have got
This mileage leash pulled very tight
It is ok
I just won't come home tonight
I will save my mileage for a morning return trip
But then again you will be alone
I hope you enjoy all the Control
you think you have
Because if I really wanted to I could take a cab
Go ahead and take my keys
Nothing I ever do will ever please you
Everything I do ever do goes past your eyes
You see nothing good, you pick only negative
That is why today divorce is my objective
Setting my odometer back to zero
just made you my personal hero
Now I will drive straight to the court house
YOU pumpkin will turn right back into a mouse
Cinderella is leaving your castle
Living with you is too much hassle
In 55 miles I will be gone
leaving you nobody to pick on
Enjoy yourself defeating ways
While I POSITIVELY
Go on my way
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
leaning on the fender
of someone else's dream
am i really in here
or just pretending to be
not ready yet to wake up
please don't pinch me
the owner of the dream i think
looks at me and smiles
rust on my britches
this dreams been here awhile
i glance at the odometer
it's got a lot of miles
no wait, he's a dream salesman
asks if i'm here to buy
says this is one of the best of them
go ahead and kick the tires
i go ahead and kick the tires
this guy is not a liar
now i'm in my very own dream
spinning down the road
never really had a dream
i could call my very own
90 miles an hour
safely tucked in my bed at home
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC