"overhaul" poems
•
Fix
me•
Mend
me•Stitch
me•Overhaul
me•Amend me•
Alter me•Modify me
•Enhance me•Patch me•
Adjust me•Heal me•Correct
me•Reform me•Shift me•Renew
me•Remedy me•Rebuild me•Aid
me•Assist me•Change me•Rectify
me•Troubleshoot me•Revive me•
Assemble me•Calibrate me•
Service me•Love me•
Repair me•
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
A beauty that comes from within
is a beauty that age cannot wrinkle
Not distracted by a simple pimple
But a radiant face of joy and pleasure
A woman of inner beauty
Is a life full of love and bounty
Her sweet smile will never fade away
For the Lord is her security
She longs for a pure heart
And wears a cheerful countenance
She does not need a color to overhaul
For her beauty is within after all
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
I'm a nature boy, nature boy,
Breathing in this nature joy,
Listening to this nature noise,
While walking with this nature poise,
Move with the wind when I begin,
Sunrise smile with a sunset grin,
Keep on skating when the ice gets thin,
Stars in my eyes earth In my skin,
Carrying worlds on overhaul,
Ain't broke no sweat not phased at all,
Walk the line while standing tall,
Simply born a natural.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
steel
oil
engineering
labor
converge
round a
Rocket 88
dead man’s
curve
prescient
precocious
capitalists
concoct
Edsels
Vegas
Chevelles
leaping
Impalas
leak
oil
staining
every
American
driveway
Pintos
chase
Gremlins
across
The Great Plains
gassing up
at
Rt 66
fillin
stations
scramblin
Midnight
Ramblers
detour to
take refuge
with Goats in
Big Sky
Indian
garages
440
Mustangs
nip
327
Stingrays
and
Mach IV
Cobras
get
snake bit
by Dart
wielding
Mopar
muscle
cars
long fins
chrome bumpers
and round fenders
still get bent in
Havana
but
Motor City is broke
nations outta gas
whole **** country
needs an overhaul
Ike Turner/Jackie Brenston: Rocket 88
Nelson Riddle: Route 66
7/19/13
Oakland
jbm
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
I Jammed the pain inside, to wait for the defects to reside. Today strays and wanders away until it's stuffed down inside the void of discomfort. Let's roll our imagination onto light able paper, light it, and watch it burn..
See because that's what addiction does. It overrides your body latching on your inner artistry for its fuel. Pretty soon you become a machine, something mindless. Fasten your seatbelt because your on auto-pilot.
Now the transactions of your body really start to inaugurate. Your internals no longer has what it takes to fight, to resist, so now come the alterations.The tips of your fingers go hand in hand with the tip of your tongue. How your saliva's lust for substance dismantles the chemical compounds. Your taste buds loving that all too familiar feeling. Your greed full blood consuming every inch of it. As the destruction slowly trickles down your throat your anxious. Then the finale comes, the moment you've been waiting patiently for the manipulation and overhaul of your brain and your reality remodeled, your home.
In those seconds pain is never an option, never a thought. Your lost out at sea. But that's all it really is, seconds, minutes, sometimes hours, just a little more time to stick the dysphoria on the back burner. When in truth you've just deepened the scar and exposed it to infections. When it's gone your left with broken thoughts that feel unrepairable.
Addiction doesn't just come from pre-packaged materials, they come from every entity you wish that blocks the truth out. They come from unfulfillment , pain, and soak themselves until you are left with no control. You have to fight, fight for your life. Face the music
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
fifteen hundred Starbucks shuttered
by a maintenance miscue.
How will I face this morning
without their bitter brew.
Their water filter system
was due for an overhaul.
Now this forced decaffeination
has me climbing up the walls.
Where's my choc o-mocha latte,
topped with whipped cream
cooled with skim?
Without those extra calories
I'll soon be down a chin.
I miss my blonde barrista, Jill.
and her great good morning smile.
Rakeesh at Dunkin Donuts'
lacks her figure and her style.
I'm reduced to getting coffee
from a roadside hot dog stand.
why he doesn't have free WI-fi
I'm at a loss to understand.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 7:11 AM UTC
I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.
Your skin is tight,
Your eyes are bright,
And yet
You loose your teeth at night.
I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.
You don't walk
With a cane,
Wear a diaper,
Or leave a stain;
Usually you
Recall my name.
But then you have
Some nose hair
Like late September grain.
I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.
You don't wear knee-highs
In Bermuda shorts,
Your moles are hairless,
You hide your warts,
Yet you don't play
Outside sports.
I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.
Your hair's not blue,
Your ears are hairless;
There's things about you
That seem ageless.
I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.
You swagger like an actor
On a curtain call;
It's hard to gauge
The age you wear
Since your overhaul.
I don't know the half of it,
But you don't look your age.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
See here: I’ve been to Arkansas, and New Orleans at Mardi Gras. I’ve traveled south of Panama, did Dublin, Thames, and Wichita, I went, I saw, though full of awe, I couldn’t help but find such flaw in everything and all. An outlaw in my old rickshaw I draw my paths and highways, y’all, and always come back home. I’ve seen the summer, felt the fall, I love the fields and hate the mall I rob from Peter, pay back Paul and haven’t found the wherewithal to turn **** in on time. I do recall a cell phone call, and built up walls to break the fall, lose a little, lose it all, the breaking down, the overhaul, now take me up to Montreal, I’ll see you in the spring.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
open ended, carved under the sky,
before night arrests our bated breathing,
a long line pulls taut.
a single glimmer, thirty
seven degrees to the horizon,
devolves in absence; here,
a heaviness.
you tore the center of a
dripping plum clean to
ripples over fading plains,
corners of streets where
i stand, on one foot,
against this architect's second-best:
perfect still, bearings, city centre.
lost.
a kite string north, slight east,
the rotation of points demarcating
this pasture, a
long line becoming cycles,
tying tree-trunks like
your handwriting in switchblade font;
static inanimacy, a
song for nothing, a five
minute overhaul, the only
meaningful composition the
world will give up.
years.
taking up a pair of scissors,
you make soft moves;
kiss someone new a little longer
kiss someone new a little
kiss someone new,
smile,
skin as parchment,
fine paintings, forwarding addresses,
symbols glowing through the depths of night;
a candle, alight,
to have read you by.
a short line comes loose,
i fall down.
empty.
you fall asleep,
smile.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
How low do you have to be? Stuck in a crawl
Stuck in a place, counting cracks on walls,
Wish my tears would run like waterfalls
I need my mind treated for a full overhaul.
Can’t seem to speak or say what’s on my mind,
People use me; my weakness is being to kind,
I only wish I could speak up sometimes,
So I don’t lie when I say I’m fine.
Atheist, was never saved, I wonder about karma,
My mind builds up, erupts, thoughts flow like lava,
I need to become my own mind master.
Choose to wear an emotional balaclava.
© Emma Johnson
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 2:39 AM UTC
Unite in your unions!
Unite in your unions!
Unite in your unions and throw yourself face first in to your work!
Don your shirt or overalls,
Overhaul your boundaries to concreted foundations,
Regardless of what nation you adhere yourself to.
Still you work yourself to the bone so your home can pull through.
Pull through what?
This so called "economic catastrophe"
Will work turn into something done for free?
Used to create social links and acquaintances to support our future selves.
Favours like cans, stacked on shelves.
Cashed in for food to much,
Blankets for warmth,
A place to rest and huddle and slump.
As positive as it seems surely that'd backfire.
Paid work becomes something where few are hired.
An explosion of willing workers in their millions,
Forcing tired feet into the smallest of doors.
Hives of men and women, children, fathers and mothers,
Striving for space while engulfed by their brothers.
Enclosed in forecourts once commercially used,
These families that hustle and bustle get bruised.
Although this exists in the present, and past,
It's a consequence of utter nonsense.
Hopefully (and I say this wholeheartedly)... Hopefully...
Our "leaders" will cut out the rotting impurities and corruption in this economy.
Allowing us to be what our full potential shows us we could be.
Like countless Sci-Fi shows on TV.
Intergalactic human beings,
Where all politics are subdued by feelings.
A plethora of nations on orbiting space stations.
So unite in your unions people of Britain,
Unite in your unions people of China,
Unite in your unions people of Russia,
Unite as a world and demolish these dangers!
Goodbye.
Zàijiàn.
Dasvidaniya.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 8:09 PM UTC
My lover’s eyes no longer navy pool
bleached paler by years of beating sun
His nose over ****** dominion rules
and skin with liver spots is overrun
A dandelion man, confused and tall,
a long thin stem and a puff of white hair
Unsteady gait, joints need an overhaul
the crack and creak of cartilage wear
His views are fixed and often dogmatic
expressed in cold voice with power and force
He never cares to be diplomatic
preferring a more a belligerent course
Yet, he is my love and ever shall be
as long as the tides rush in from the sea.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
All your friends are demons, I think I know
The past won’t let you settle as you grow
You don’t feel you can make life-changing moves
Half your life to fighting terrors you lose
There’s little you can do to take control
Put your smile hidden in a pigeonhole
Your emotions decline into freefall
Let’s give your heart and soul an overhaul
I can give you all the tools you will need
The hunger that dwells inside I will feed
I can give you love and trust hereafter
I can turn the pain and tears to laughter
I’ll help reach in to find the real you
Harmonizing with congenial you
We will fight, we’ll curse, we’ll scream, we will cry
In this war it’s only the past will die
Now and then, when they rear their ugly head
I’ll be there to put those demons to bed
When you say maybe I don’t understand
I will simply be there to hold your hand
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
I have fallen by the wayside
everything has went sideways
who is the one who plays guide
in this place where the guide plays
it looks like overall
this place is all over
we need an overhaul
we need a haul over
if someone tries to outshine
they put the shine out
we need a new outline
to let this line out...
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
Walking down the city streets
Wearing a fresh new pair of pleats
See a dame with a dog in a purse
I know that soon I'll be in a hearse
Dog springs out and clutches my face
Looks like a bat flyin into a vase
Whips out the claws and scratches me up
I fall to the ground an throw off the pup
Late that nite I wake up in a fuss
Break down the door an leave in a rush
Jump in the car and punch the throttle
With my hand wrapped up around the bottle
Hauling down the streets, **** the cops
Try to stop me an I'll pop your top
Drive right up to the tallest hill
I'm feelin ill, needa pop a pill
Take a look up at the moon
And then I yell
Ahhhh oooooo!
Ahhhh oooooo!
Drop on all fours and sprout some fur
Cravin some mo so I let out a grrr
Ears pop out
That's what I'm talking about!
Sprint down the hill
And I'm ready ta ****
Pounce on some civilians
Cuttin em down by the millions
Chomp at the fools bleed em out at the throat
Bodies falling by the river, watch em all float
Spot the cops drivin a by
They don't know they're soon all gonna die!
More keep on comin
So I keep on runnin
Nowhere to go so I take a last stand
Load up on guns just like an Afghan
I whip out the gat
Make it go ratta tat tat
Pinned against the wall
I take it to overhaul
All out of bullets, **** my gun
The old fashioned way is a lot more fun
But I don't last long, shots puncture my skull
Flies out the back of my head leavin a hole
Fall to the ground in a ****** mess
But I got one last thing to profess
Werewolves in Compton!
Ahhhh oooooo!
Ahhhh oooooo!
Next up is hell!
I'm comin fo you!
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
you don't like my words
and when they escape
unbidden
through my *******
thumbs
(they never would through my mouth)
i cannot take
them
back
without sending more
words in their
stead
thus
i keep finding myself
in this situation
where as i see each
letter
escape
(my eyes with a look of terror
down at my thumbs)
i hear the sound
of glass shatter
and i think
"no!"
"words, please stay in my mind
where you belong, until you have
gone through filtering
and levels of security!"
"we don't know who you are yet!"
"if you are a poem, we will know it,
we will feel you churning,
and we will not be horrified
or ashamed
at your revealing."
"words, if you are our normal
thoughts, you filter yourself nicely
without leaving the body
through vibrating tongue. of this
we have always been proud."
"but words, why, why, why?!?!?"
"why do you act so rash and youthful
and jump the fence and
go straight to our thumbs
to tap the virtual keys
like some kind of punk?!"
"of all the times, this is NOT the time
to ramble on…unfiltered…like
some kind of fool!"
"brain - why aren't you helping us? we don't
know how to restrain these
words gone rogue…
so out of character…
unrefined
and permanent."
"we can feel you and you seem to
be struck dumb - paralyzed -
watching those ******
creatures scamper by like you
can't stop them. and you know you
should, brain! YOU KNOW as it is
happening yet you do nothing!
in fact, you seem to assist
the thumbs in
typing faster!
what kind of wizardry is
going on here?"
"brain, you are misrepresenting
this whole operation. please,
for the love of the light,
stop the thumbs!
fix the chemical messengers,
overhaul the whole
structure if need be,
just get control of your men,
******* it!
it is these young words,
full of vigor
passion
and life
that cannot be trusted.
squash them at ALL COST.
refine them into
poetry
if you must
but do not allow them
to escape
unfiltered and raw
through a mobile device."
"brain, words, thumbs…are we clear?!"
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
Ahem....
We had 104 days of summer vacation, then school turns to life just to end it
So the annual problem for our generation is finding a good way to spend it...
LIKE MAYBE:
Working and working until you are sore, only to come home and plop in bed
Forgetting your taxes 'till the last minute or getting pulled over by feds
Surfing the internet, pinning on Pinterest, or downloading pirated songs
Get halfway through a book, changing your kid's diapers, and watch TV to see there's NOTHING ON!!
As you can see, growing up just ain't easy, but we're in for the overhaul
But we can sit back and laugh at the fact WE DON'T HAVE SCHOOL IN FALL!!!!
YES WE CAN SIT BACK AND LAUGH AT THE KIDS, 'CAUSE WE DON'T HAVE SCHOOL IN FALL!!!
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
The retired vaudevillian engraves his love's epitaph while eating caramelized clusters
The local sodomites huddle around and mourn outside the morgue
Waiting for the body of their **** to be handed over
They've given her body an overhaul
She looks more alive than when she was living
Hobnobbing with the well-to-do
The retired vaudevillian comes to collect the body of his deceased wife
He looks down at the sodomites
For their outlandish appearance and choice of employment has resulted in mistrust
"Oh my love, why couldn't you have been the driver instead of the passenger whose body was jettisoned into the air and smashed upon the asphalt?"
"She could do ten thousand breast strokes, paint masterpieces with one brush stroke"
The sodomites began to taunt the vaudevillian
Calling him washed up
He retorted back calling them toothless heathen ******
A mercenary was called to end the dispute outside of the morgue
He killed half of the sodomites and tasered the vaudevillian
The undertaker wheeled out the body bag on dolly
But he lost control, and the body went careening down the hill into a cloudy bay
The party of mourners grouped around the bay and watched the body float on to the afterlife
She left behind her has-been husband and her **** ******* cohorts
I bet she would have appreciated this little organized dime store wake
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
It is said in time,
That beauty to the beholder is a sensation.
The most powerful statement of forgiveness to a human being is the ability to behold and practice creation.
Ice figurines can’t hold under heat,
Yet their demise creates life sustaining substances,
Like dangerous chemical concoctions,
Company never really felt completely perfect.
We kept masks on when we gathered,
It seemed like my friends could have always made it to Hollywood,
The way our lives were just mere performances.
Highlights of high times,
Quality, picture perfect film reels burned into cyberspace,
But the ladled space between our fingertips became foreign as the next new emotional overhaul was just fingertips away.
Obsessed over why perfection isn’t an issue yet imperfections are celebrated,
Yet not the ones you have.
What is desire if the object sought is someone else?
Elsewhere, the first half of the year is spent trying to remake the second half, pretty in pink,
Only when it didn’t rain.
So soulless, our bond became,
The hollowed Ravens became vultures,
Clearing the pathways to prepare for a feast,
Not caring whether death would actually take us,
But what would be broken would cause the death of our own ways,
Our own souls terrified,
Shocked to the security of a coffin.
Do we merely search for what is rightfully ours?
No,
For we are dream catchers,
Simply grasping for a reality that would be a shame to the creator,
Formed by the realtors,
Sell your self worth for a secular sense of selfishness,
Steal the dream,
And be complacent.
The worst part wasn’t when I lost you,
It was what became of my dreams when I lost myself too.
My first half is done.
I wish no longer to live the second half in misery through.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
Across rivers,
mountains.
After days
in love;
lost.
Overhaul.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
The system breaks
disintegrates
the walls come crashing in.
the damage done
repair men come,
fit new plates and it once again
disintegrates.
It needs a complete new overhaul before the system kills us all or that being done the repair men come and fit new plates.
I arch my back and watch it go, cool cats you know have nine lives so
I watch it go again
again.
I watch the system come to its end and I pretend the system that emerges from the dust will and must be better than the one that went before, but it's just as I anticipate another break and disintegrate.
Lies designed to disenfranchise, built in comfort for the nine to five, six lives down and three to go I watch it go and go and know the last plate left is the one that's so
predictable.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
BIRDS,BEES,RELEASED
Busy bird fluttering on my soul, hidden meaning what will be it's role
Caged for contempt unwilling to repent ,inept inside desiring early release
Facing a failed future ,forced into a silent interior,should we seek a new goal
Flexible figures can face the wind ,standing upright, will the doubt decrease
Taking daily tests trying to remove the torture,join the pieces to make whole
Face to face before & after has become a lifelong race,pain will only increase
Left looking out leaves more room for doubt,daily ritual takes it's toll
Left lingering ,restless then mindless meandering, but also time for a new belief
Seeing them soaring leaves my mind exploring ,will new visions need an overhaul
Bees countless trips produce plentiful pollen,requiring endless work but bringing great relief
Taking a new view mind partially askew ,past lessons played out ,but ready to remain open and face each new squall.R.C.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
You all tell me to get help, I can do it on my own
I've been there and back and history will show
The is not the first time, I promise I’ll be fine
They all try to help, I can do this on my own
Try to find the cause, my stressor
The annoy and pry, I fester
There ain't a thing
You can say to me
No doctor, pastor or professor
They're telling me to get help, I can do this on my own
I really hate to brag, there's something you lack, I already know
Tell me I need common sense, oh my family and my friends
They're telling me to get help, I can do this on my own
I ask myself, "who do you think you are?"
"And how did you get this far?"
"Your on the verge of losing your mind"
"Put this off for to long"
"On the edge of suicide"
"Just have your self a nice cry"
They told me to get help, I could do it on my own
I picked up the slack and now I’m back, coming back home
Is it some kinda disorder
Am I bipolar
Or am I just depressed?
I'm my own doctor
Get inside my mind
Lesser men have tried
I told myself to get help, I had no where else to go
Beaten and sad, confused I've gone mad, I'm about to blow
A massacre in my head, take six shots, go to bed
Will I ever be okay?
God I hope so
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
7/5/19
If time is a racetrack,
This lap is far from over.
If time is a river,
I’m swimming against it like a maniac.
One day I’ll be out of time.
Which is sad, but by that time,
I’ll have to say, “bye,” to that time,
It’s lost; I can’t buy that time.
If time is a classroom,
I’ll always be tardy.
If time is a party,
I’m hiding in the bathroom.
I’m powerless to overhaul,
I can’t fix it – certainly!
Life goes by so slowly,
But I can’t remember me at all.
If time is my master,
My contract will always remain.
If time is a drop of rain,
I’m dry ground circled by water.
Plot twist- I’ll live forever,
Yet time affects me and my effects,
I continue, while it’s rule infects.
Oh, Lord how much longer?
If time is an elevator,
I’m opposite the top.
If time is a mop,
I’m the unfortunate floor.
Comparatively, I’m very young,
But I’ve always felt for “this generation,”
Treated like fools in corroboration.
You with experience, hold your tongue.
If time is a book,
I read the first and last page.
If time is a cage,
I’m in it, like a crook.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC
HUNGRY PRINCE
It is the year One-Reed, and on this date
Lord Quetzalcoatl, from this earthly throne,
Long, long ago departed for the East,
And on One-Reed it’s known he will return.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
One-Reed: It is a fatal year for kings.
Our scriptures teach that when a murderous streak
Finds black Tezcatlipoca, lord of chaos,
On year One-Crocodile, he hunts our elders,
One-Jaguar or One-Deer, he claims our children.
But if he strikes on ominous One-Reed,
Death swoops for princes.
MOTECUHZOMA On that jolly note,
I open business for this syndicate,
Myself presiding. All may find their seats.
Now Tlacaelel, venerable friend,
What progress on the state’s scholastic front?
When last we met, the annals of our past
Were deemed due for aesthetic overhaul.
TLACAELEL
Lords, as you know, our eldest histories
Have painted base and barbarous accounts
Of our bewildered, wandering origins
As meek and muddy natives, which- though true-
Do not keep pace with our notorious present.
Those earth-born tracts have all been commandeered
And each one cast to char in heaping bonfires.
Ah, what a purifying blaze that was!
The inks of black and reds were rarefied
To sheets of flame and wells of fluid coals.
Now is our culture cleansed of heresies!
So far from mourning that scholastic loss,
The rabble whooped, and, singing rowdy reels,
Made merry at that bedtime barbecue.
And now, to re-devise those lowly annals,
I move that we enlist our liveliest dreamers
To craft extravagant and stately archives
And claim the pedigree that we deserve.
For what are histories but wrangling theses,
Or dogma, but the darlings of a moment?
So on this same authentic evidence,
Let’s breed imaginary ancestors-
Or ***** their deeds out- with a flourished pen.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC