"parka" poems
I set my cruise on the highway and
am passed by a red AMC Eagle.
This red rusty AMC Eagle has a
wind shied covered in frost because,
I'm guessing, the defrost motor burned
up in a bakelite mushroom cloud from the
dashboard.
It is held together with duct tape
and grit. The pilot sits behind his cardboard
console ludicrously warm in winter parka,
scarf,
hat
and gloves.
I pass him waving dressed
in my tshirt and shorts.
Driving in my new, awesomely
economical car.
Four dashboard vents dump lava warm air
to keep me pleasingly toasty.
The pilot will never understand that I wave
not at his expense, but in envy. The billboard
on my right says it all,
If I have to explain you wouldn't understand.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Its faded pink parka,
Stretched tight across its shoulders
Even in the summer twilight,
Crinkles, stale newspapers and plastic bags
Cacophony with the rhythmic
Thud of shopping cart wheels.
Its rotten malt liquor stench--
Astringent ammonia sweat
Runs in rancid rivulets down
Decaying skin on decaying face.
Pimples and pus and
Meth-notched teeth.
It offers a drink
In exchange for change.
My pockets jangle noisily,
But I offer only empty hands.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 9:09 PM UTC
..and talking of snow which you know I adore
I went out snowboarding
with the old lady next door.
She came out all dressed in a parka and trews
and wore green spangled stockings with six inch heel shoes.
We raced along alleyways which we made into trackways,
then she turns and says,
'where are the brakes?'
I said,I don't know
and so we carried on skateboarding the snow.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
The red of cigarette ashes contrasts the white upon the snow.
The expanse is unbroken as his gaze wanders lonely plains.
He takes one puff; then another; then another one so
he can forget her face, and remember how it feels to live again.
His parka is unzipped as he breathes in air so cold,
and cigarette cherries reach his palm and burn away cold contemplations.
He smiles at the Arctic gods' cool ministrations; their fervent consolations
for the love he is smoking and forgetting in the snow.
He zips up his jacket, tosses ashes far below.
He turns away, his footsteps marking the white waste.
They are the only remnant of his remembering ablation,
and soon, they too, are absorbed by the plateau.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Gloria, latex snap. Opaque lipstick.
I should press holiday stamps
over those big blue eyes of yours.
Misspelled spoken word, whole hunting
from malignant orange ,
crosshairs and et cetera.
*** on me - stellar hardwood floor ;
the last unicorn was a battered woman
with certain dysmorphic symptoms.
My boyfriend thinks it's **** when
i read the dsm v the way i eat jello shots.
Still, I don't **** him how I would the
surrealish ***** in a polyester uniform.
He knows there's been a cowboy in a parka on the corner for days
politely asking about the three legged race. I have no answers for him
or his handsome eagle co-defendant.
I really think
I'll marry my best friend for her
enameled heart and health insurance.
I took my multivitamin , tapping out
morse on old formica ,
while telling my dead dog im sorry for
letting them **** him.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
Its sun-bleached pink parka
Limply hung over slumped, thin shoulders
Even in the summer twilight,
Crinkles, stale newspapers and plastic bags
Dissonance with the jarring
Rattle of shopping cart wheels.
Its rank malt liquor stench—
Astringent ammonia sweat
Runs in rancid rivulets down
Decaying skin on decaying face.
Pimples and pus and
Meth-notched teeth.
It offers a drink
In exchange for change.
My watch has never been more riveting.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
Christmas was just two days away
The letters were all sorted
One of them was pulled on out
And to Santa was reported
A young girl asked a question
Dear Santa, she did say
How can you love most everyone
Each and every single day?
You have your list of children
Some are naughty, some are nice
You review the list quite carefully
I'm told you check it twice
Santa read the letter
It gave the old man quite a jolt
A question from this little girl
Hit him like a lightning bolt
She asked about the adults
How could Santa love them too?
Especially the bad ones
Who do the naughty things they do
What about the children
Who are not Christian in belief?
This short and simple letter
Was giving Santa Claus some grief
He thought about replying
Tell her how he felt this love
But, he knew he could do better
It was then push came to shove
He called down to the stables
Ordered Comet be made ready
He was told "It's nearly Christmas"
He won't be flying steady
Santa said "I need him"
"There's somewhere I must go"
"There's a little girl out there somewhere"
"And there is something she should know"
Santa went and got his parka
Comet readied for some air
Santa had to give his answer
He thought that this was fair
Two nights before Christmas
Santa set out, Comet too
To tell this girl his reason
It was something he should do
Somewhere down in Kansas
Sleeping deep inside her bed
The little girl was dreaming
Christmas thoughts did fill her head
Down the young girls chimney
Santa came without his sack
It was two days on from Christmas
And he knew that he'd be back
He crept up to her bedside
Leaned on in and whispered low
He told her, it was Santa
There is something you should know
I love all the worlds children
They are innocent and free
They choose to be so open
Innocence is the key
Innocence, it surrounds them
In time the innocence is lost
You aren't born to hate
Innocence burns off like frost
I love all the worlds children
Adults once were children too
They were born without their darkness
The same as me and you
I love on different levels
That is why I have the list
That's why I double check it
To ensure no one's missed
So, I do not love them always
But for a short time, I do
The change is loss of innocence
It isn't all that new
Believe and you will feel it
My love for all the world
Now sleep, and wait for Christmas
You are a special little girl
He left and she lay sleeping
He made it home by break of day
Comet went back to his stable
Santa put his suit away
He had a cocoa and a cookie
It made him feel much better
It had been a huge adventure
Started by a single letter
Keep the faith and innocence
In the season winter kissed
And know that every person out there
Is always on one list
Remember, write your letters
Ask your questions, do not fear
For maybe, maybe one day
Santa will come and whisper in your ear
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
I set my cruise on the highway and
am passed by a red AMC Eagle.
This red rusty AMC Eagle has a
wind shied covered in frost because,
I'm guessing, the defrost motor burned
up in a bakelite mushroom cloud from the
dashboard.
It is held together with duct tape
and grit. The pilot sits behind his cardboard
console ludicrously warm in winter parka,
scarf,
hat
and gloves.
I pass him waving dressed
in my tshirt and shorts.
Driving in my new, awesomely
economical car.
Four dashboard vents dump lava warm air
to keep me pleasingly toasty.
The pilot will never understand that I wave
not at his expense, but in envy. The billboard
on my right says it all,
If I have to explain you wouldn't understand.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
I didn't cry when I heard of your passing, didn't fall to my knees or scream at the sky, you would have hated that anyway.The world went on around me, daily routines soaking up time like a desert soaks up precious drops of rain. Your funeral had gone before I heard the news, no black-draped graveside gestures for me.
All I could think was "that's another one of us gone" both of you too soon but the tears didn't come.
Days turned into weeks, as they will...
Then came the music, funny how music can do that. My speakers spoke of Jesus riding a motorbike and there you were, dancing, or something like it. Your face radiating happiness as it always did when we misfits were all together, that grin, oh how I miss that grin, wide as the grand canyon and equally beautiful. I laughed, mascara black tears staining my cheeks, as a torrent of despair set forth, bleeding old wounds and cleansing my heart. I still miss you, even now, you with your ever- worn parka and your party tricks deemed unacceptable in polite society, I always will. I wrote you a poem. You wouldn't like it, because it's sad, the one thing you never were...
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
on the floor there is
a parka and
a pair of snow-bitten boots
a hat, a scarf, mittens
all frosted over
a cozy old sweater
a flannel
woolen socks and
another pair of socks
for good measure
a long-sleeved shirt
and jeans
and leggings
and everything is blizzard cold
and your hair's undone
and the temperature in the room
goes up by increments
of five
my heartbeat flutters and
maybe, just maybe
you'll open up to me
and then your underwear join
the ridiculous melee
on the floor
and once again
you are undressed
but not naked
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
I have memories
Of lying down in the backyard
Of my childhood home
Dressed in a hug
Parka, snow bibs, and gloves a size too big
The world had grown completely silent
All my fears held back
By a curtain of snowflakes
Sometimes
when the world is too loud
And everything is a little too much
My mind will wander off
To a snowy neighborhood
At night
In a small town
Often times this mental space
holds only darkness
All my developmental flaws
Packed away in moving boxes
Thick black smoke seeps between the cracks
Of pristine cardboard and plastic
Being loaded onto a truck
A size too small
It’s funny
That house never felt like a home
But sometimes
When the world was wrapped
In a blanket of snow
I felt peace and warmth
Out in the cold
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC
Take me, Satan, for I have sinned.
I fell down on the job, fell down on my sword
but with no real purpose or cause. A martyr
for the sake of martyrdom is as useful as a
parka in Mexico.
Slit my wrists with a freeform kiss.
Cracked teeth, cracked skull, saltine crackers.
Counting calories, skipping meals.
Did it hurt to ascend from hell, and
how did you wash away
the grime?
I want to believe that you love me
but the world is unkind.
I need a shot of reassurance like a shot of
eighteen year old scotch, neat.
Rapid fire rejection, thunderstorms
of doubt. **** me with a smile. Rebuild
my psyche, brick by brick. Mortar me,
babe, and I'll adore you for it.
Melt into my mind and live there,
the mice who currently occupy
the quarters are hungry for
touch.
Ride my metaphor like
a throbbing **** longing for
release; please, release me.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Steeped in frigid air,
The winter breeze thrills me.
This sweeping force of change
Has left the landscape unrecognizable,
And barren,
Devoid of people
And as still as the breath of dawn.
This dreamland of snow and ice,
As far as the eye can see,
Tempts me;
I long to abandon dignity,
Control,
And launch myself into a giant snow drift,
Or create heaven on a wind-blown sidewalk
Staring breathless at the starry sky above-
Or possibly assault some poor passerby
With a snowball to the parka.
I just want to soak in the glory of the quiet streets,
The glimmering clouds,
Hanging,
So still in the night sky,
To skip down the streets as though I wasn't freezing my **** off.
I want to pretend I'm a dragon,
Glowering at the pathetic humans
With their bundled ignorance,
And their pitiful resistance to cold.
I want to dance,
And leap,
And play forever,
Ignoring the idea that I'm supposed to be doing something important right now.
It is a wondrous feeling,
To live in the moment,
To revel in the small magic of recaptured youth-
But tearfully,
I turn away from the window;
The vibrancy of youth is wasted on me
In these bleak and stress-filled hours,
Slaving away like the pitied adult that I am.
I can no more abandon my learned responsibility
Than I can turn back time to my long forgotten childhood;
Like the winter outside,
I am frozen-
Stuck like a tongue on a flagpole
To this monotonous drudgery;
Day in,
Day out.
But today,
I think ill share a secret with myself;
I still have that awestruck child within me,
And I don't need permission to let it out
To scamper across the blank hills of snow,
Laughing and shrieking in chilly delight.
I won't be an adult today;
I will let the snow take me,
And like the snowman I used to build when I was small,
Mold me into a new shape,
From a forgotten age.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
I could hear her laughing
On the other side of the darkness
The echoes resonate in my ear
I float there like a carcass
Unable to produce an explanation
There's a certain sharpness
'Where's it coming from?'
I grab my ears like a harness
Pulling at it like a parachute.
I could hear her laughing
On the other side of the darkness
She takes the easy path in
Leaving me in an utter dark mess.
I could hear her laughing
The constant laughing like a kid
Wind escaping me, gasping,
She is a saucepan without a lid
Constant reverberations of laughter
Maybe she came to find her happiness
Her happily ever after.
I could hear her laughing
On the other side of the darkness
And I reciprocate with laughter
Nestling in between my parka .
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
reading
old material
from depressed
me is like walking
into hell with a parka
and an umbrella.
reading
old material
from pessimistic
you is like eating a
chocolate covered
pine cone.
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC
Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts
That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories
They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly
But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares
Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic
Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella
Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******
I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.
JJB
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Where has the summer gone?
it doesn't seem to have been here very long
Now all at once the nights are getting darker
There's a chill in the air
I must dig out my parka!
It was all over in a flash
now it's back to winter gear
get my boots out of storage
Where is the winter cheer?
Must winter always be full of gloom & rain?
but I mustn't despair
if winter means one thing, it's that my birthday is almost here
Tons of cake and presents too
Oh winter's not so bad
I get like this every year
It must be that seasonal thing called S.A.D
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Letters get jumbled and mumbled words spill forth
a fifth of gin would help me begin
to sort these thoughts into a sensible order
but I can't afford a fifth and my sixth sense warns me
that alcohol will destroy me
so I set out blind
unable to find the sentiments in sentences or paragraphs
and,
someone laughs out loud.
Me,
I'm not so proud now
can't tell you whether or how I feel and though I want to be real with you
deal with you on an equal basis
my face is
lost in the jumbles
mouth that still mumbles
stomach that rumbles as the the acid builds
filled with some fear that if you try to come near
I won't and don't know what to say or do
and do you never stop and think
how much easier it is to write out words of love in ink?
I think a pen is a godsend to those who could not lend their mouths to their words
and in words I can write,
I can write us of night in the bed
pen it in red
pen it in blue
that's what I'll do,
Send to you my love, written in lines and written of times when the mighty pen holds all the aces
even then my heart beats fast as I pace the floor real slow and the ink don't want to flow and I think there's something wrong with me
calamity.
I need some help to wander
then I need some more, to pen the words to make you soar
and will you marry me?
oh
the pen wants a wedding
shedding its ink into what I only think but have never said
penned in red.
If I used a marker
wore a parka
had a part time job as a fairground barker
would it be the same as any time I hear your name.
I freeze
and could you please unjumble me
unmumble the words I cannot say and let me be
a different pen and in the fountains where I spout
let me shout out everywhere
that you're my girl
but when?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Tell nature that she can’t fit
all seasons into one week.
She’ll laugh so hard that
she’ll make the sun shine on Monday
that she’ll rain tears on Tuesday
that turns into snow on Wednesday
and she’ll start all over again on Thursday
while kids sled on melting snow on green grass
down the hill on Lincoln Drive--
an act of joyous surrender
and you unzip yourself like
the parka you wore for one day
but keep for all seasons.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
up on the hills
the sheep graze
moving in wooly clouds
from green to green
if the wind blows the right way
you can hear their contented
baa-ing conversation.
down closer the duck pond is
teeming ducks all trying for the
bread and pellets, thrown by
a little girl in bright pink hooded
parka, mother standing beside
on the breeze, the smell of fresh scones baking.
in my hand, tea milky and sweet.
on my mind, the flavour
of jam, i will eat with those
oven warm scones.
saturday afternoon,
visiting old friends.
helps remind me life is good.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
Please always remember
bring a parka as it gets colder
tell me you realise
the closer you get to the skies
everything slips from your grip
like raindrops going drip, drip, drip
when you reach the summit
don’t be afraid, ******
you know that the peak is icy
but really, let your eyes see
what you would never know
underground, deep down below
a blizzard howls and roars
promise me
that when it gets chilly
that you will stay by the fireplace
warming up the place with your timeless grace
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
Entering forgotten sacred grove.
Before all; make sacrifice.
Waterskin filled with tears.
Empty gift into stream.
Become one; adjacent of Mother.
Kiss a leaf; covert fiber to ash.
Watch soot animate into air.
Luckily, favour is bestowed.
Invigorated, gaining great perception.
Seeing each foot step illuminate.
Prints of fiend and foe.
Auras of silver; some of gold.
Pulsing, accompanying each beating heart.
Lurk further, if not weak of mind.
Footing becomes treacherous.
Heels; weakened of frailty.
Parka too heavy.
Shedding skin, turning hope.
Colors looming; fading in, some out.
Fatiguing, yet desperate.
Swimming up, deprived oxygen.
Vines trip, knotted at ankles.
Trailing honey, scented guide.
Climbing higher, vision enduring infection.
Picking, chewing, freeing the whole apparatus.
Light reflects from above.
Tainted, the hand sinks down.
Grasping, something of power.
Sensations overflow.
Reality checks within.
Preciously ending.
White hands, angelically caress.
Bleeding no more.
Mending all wounds.
Awakening the fire.
Around pit, peers cheering.
Rite of passage endured.
One with nature, little child.
Flesh, bone, soot, ash, fiber.
Boy evolves to man.
Wonderous joy.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC