"racetrack" poems
Depression is not sadness
Depression leaves a hole in your chest
Depression ***** everything out of you
Depression is not having a bad day. A bad day, a bad week, even a bad few months.
Depression lingers for years. There are no good moments. Moments of feeling "better" do not ever exist. Depression does not leave.
Depression will become your best friend
Depression will always be there for you
Depression is the tunnel with no light at the end
(Or at least, the point of view is)
Depression is not hope
Depression is not sadness.
Anxiety is not nervousness.
Anxiety is the sweat that bubbles to the surface of your palms
Anxiety is the clenching of your jaw
Anxiety is the shaking of your hands
Anxiety is not a few butterflies in your stomach
Anxiety removes your stomach
Anxiety makes you feel like it is not there. Food is out of the question.
Anxiety is dark circles under your eyes for months on end.
Anxiety is being over tired. Exhausted. But not being able to sleep.
Anxiety builds an Olympic racetrack around every part of your mind.
Anxiety then holds the next races there. Day races, night races, races that do not stop.
Anxiety is not one panic attack. Or even two.
Anxiety is not nervousness.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
The Viet Nam era was a witches brew.Mission creep in Saigon
The evening news brought the ****** trips stumbling into
my TV dinner, kicking over my Tang.
Bouncing Betty went bang
Beans and ***** out the can.
Guys in my age bracket knew it was safe cause 18 was the magic Number.
RESPECT
Simon and Garfunkel ,The godfather of soul.
What we.
Had Here.
Was.
Failure to Communicate.
We were reaching for the stars with one hand and
squeezing of rounds with the other. Bobby was in the crossfire
Martin would retire,
I remember.
Guys slinking back home with broken minds
Baby killers all. No love ,No jobs. COMBAT FATIGUE. PTSD Came later.
Got a monster habit, Nose running of like a racetrack rabbit.
Oh yeah Asian Strain Gonorrhea.
Penicillin
Penishmillin. WTF
Hendricks.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
*She was way too tough for me.
no it's more I was not hard enough for her.
The old ***** brick houses
of Englands industrial north
caught between industrial revolution
and social unrest .
I was just a youth back then.
The big war fading from memory.
I stopped at my friend's back yard
it was a hot summer back then.
His souped up bike was gleaming
like a prize racehorse.
She pulled a flask of *****
and took a long pull
her bright red hair
like glowing coal
her eyes as black as darkness
she was hard pretty.
Her mini skirt flashing
her shaply legs.
a stray dog big and hard
just like her.
jumped up and licked her face.
she Laughed
they were like two
kindred spirits
like sisters by nature
wild and drifting and free.
She had *** with me
the first time I met her
and told me I was not
rough enough for her.
I just was a bit scared
of telling her
I wanted out of it.
The kick-started bike roared
like the steel lion it was.
She squealed in delight.
then the stray dog peed
on the concrete.
she lifted her skirts
like the hard ***** she was
and peed next to it.
she jumped on the back
of his bike and they
went off at full speed.
To test his bike out
at the racetrack.
I hear they shacked up together.
and we're very happy.
I dated a nerdy young woman
quiet and conservative
who became a librarian.
We got married
four years later.
had two kids
and a housetrained dog.
She never once told me
I was not rough enough in bed.*
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
Down at the Shipyards people are *Waiting for their "Ship-to-come-in". At the Ballpark people are *waiting for the "Home-run-hit". At the Racetrack people are *Waiting for "Their winning horse". At the street corner people are *Waiting for the "Light -to-turn-green". At the office people are *Waiting for "That-Raise". At the restaurant people are *Waiting to be "Waited-on". At the bookstore people are *Waiting for *THAT "New-book". At the the Shoe store people are *Waiting to see if "The-Shoe-fits". at the Doctors office people are *Waiting in the "Waiting-Room". At the grocery store people are *Waiting to "Check-out". And it's been said, that folks today,have No-Patience ! WELL, Excuse me, just the few illustrations above, clearly demonstrate, THAT somebody is *Waiting for something ! What are their intentions of asking for Indulgence, Tolerance and Unity. AND,, don't dare Upset the Apple-Cart ! Down at the Coffee shop people are *Waiting for that "Java-with-Ummph". At the corner people are *Waiting to be "Taken-for-a-Ride". Downtown people are *Waiting for a place to "PARK & WAIT" ! "Pray Tell,,,WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR " ?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
The only lit open signs at 1:08 am
are hanging in
the windows of whataburger, cash4gold,
and the racetrack down the street.
Foggy but awake,
I'd like to stay that way.
I'd like to stay that way.
And doesn't everyone eventually die by suicide?
Fake granite countertops biding conversations
on drugged up new years night.
No sleep can fix the negative,
acceptance beats grit-teeth hopelessness.
Foggy but awake,
I'd like to stay that way.
I'd like to stay that way.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
De Camptown ladies sing dis song -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
De Camptown racetrack five miles long -- Oh! doo-dah day!
I come down dah wid my hat caved in -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
I go back home wid a pocket full of tin -- Oh! doo-dah day!
Chorus
Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day!
I'll bet my money on de bob-tail nag -- Somebody bet on de bay!
De long tail filly and de big black hoss -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Dey fly de track and dey both cut across -- Oh! doo-dah day!
De blind hoss sticken in a big mud hole -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Can't touch bottom wid a ten foot pole -- Oh! doo-dah day!
Chorus
Old muley cow come on to de track -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
De bob-tail fling her ober his back -- Oh! doo-dah day!
Den fly along like a rail-road car -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Runnin' a race with a shootin' star -- Oh! doo-dah day!
Chorus
Seen dem flyin' on a ten mile heat -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Round de race track, den repeat -- Oh! doo-dah day!
I win my money on de bob-tail nag -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
I keep my money in an old tow-bag -- Oh! doo-dah day!
Chorus
2.3k
The only time I'm not stressed
Is when I've worked myself past the point of breaking
Being too tired to feel is my comfort zone
I feel so at home in running around
I don't rest while I sleep
Instead to-do lists and unfinished problems are scripted into my dreams
Using the backs of my eyelids as a whiteboard for tomorrow's tasks
I can't tell if this constant state of movement is Newton's Law
Or a feable attempt to be enough--for no one but myself
I second guess each right answer, every step forward
My thoughts get a racetrack in lieu of a bed
I know this isn't normal
So imagine what I'd do to be in the moment I'm living
Instead of the somewhere else I always am
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 11:37 AM UTC
Time passes so slowly while living
But when you look back
Life is a racetrack
Things happen so quickly
The times you lied to your parents
Laps you time and time again
We lose ourselves
In the lives of people around us
We must stay in touch
But words fly sour
When spoken without a mind.
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 11:33 AM UTC
Swirl devil wind,
reek dusty havoc.
A mustang watches.
Silly hermit crab,
try on a new home,
a Budlight can.
Longacres racetrack,
ghost horses called to post
by Boeing trumpets.
I would decoupage
our love.
Life for art's sake.
My hanging fucshia
attracts a humming bird.
The nectar's on me.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
We use them so often.....and I believe at times without thought.
You can't return them like an unwanted gift that someone else has bought.
They don't linger in the air like a bird who hovers up above....
The heart is often damaged by words that are supposedly uttered out of love.
Kids getting called names at school and nobody knows the hurt that resides inside.
This has been going on for a few years.....a pleasant school year reduced to tears.
You're too skinny....you're too fat.....you know that those shoes don't go with that....
Hey everyone! Did you know (insert name here) mom is addicted to crack?
She makes her living by laying on her back.....I think that was her underneath the bleachers at the city's racetrack.
Your lips are too big....that's not even your real hair....listen as the insults continue to pollute the air.
The negative atmosphere effects the attitude of anyone that steps in.....
How can I win?.......if the words said are defeating......it's like trying to put on weight....but you aren't even eating.
The pressure is steady building.....like soda in a can. The emotions have been shaken up ......and eventually it will explode.
The adults who were oblivious to the situation or just brushed it under the rug when they were told.......
Have encountered a horrible situation.......something from the words uttered is about to unfold.
The room of a victim of unkind words and horrendous names.....decided to play a Russian roulette game.....written on the mirror and bullet:
"sticks and stones may break my bones....but names will never hurt me.
THAT'S A LIE! THEY DO! NOW LOOK AT THE PAIN I JUST BROUGHT YOU!"
No one listened as the individual went through a silent Hell........along with the thoughts that began to take life.....they began to feel that maybe their tormenter was right.
They decided to become the judge and jury.....and cut off the lights.
Father....please help those of us who fail to display empathy. We are so judgemental ....even though you have told us not to be. Forgive us Lord....and give us to encourage each other......not tear down each other. We all have to live together.......Amen.
Words.....use with caution or think before you speak.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
The sign said no entry,it meant me,I know it,I rode on right through it and thought that I knew it
all.
The policeman in a court date said that I, just would not wait for the lights to go green and he'd seen me do eighty in a thirty mile zone.
I was sent to a home for the wayward and flighty,a light sentence upon me,could not believe I was not free.
See me, on a saturday and I'm back on the racetrack,known as the M thirty motorway and I'm clocked at a ton by the feds in the lay by,who with sirens mad blaring came a tearing along after me,nicked,apprehended me and again,I could not believe I was not free,
I got four months in Dartmoor which get a poor recommendation,it's no picnic park for the youth of this nation,released in September,though it should have been May and soon after that in a 93 Fiat with go faster stripes,I was striped up quite rightly by the boys in blue and tightly,
handcuffed and roughed up and locked up again.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
A smoke-filled room, a loud gaffaw, the barmaid pours a beer,
the pub is full of country blokes and Aussie atmosphere.
Some 'Chisel' thru the speakers, the racetrack on the telly,
pool table sending iv'ry ***** to its underbelly.
Walls adorned with history, and heads of native birds,
the Nation'l Anthem in a frame, 'cause no-one knows the words.
An ag'ed man sits in the corner, sipping at his ale,
his teeth are stained, his liver's shot, his ragged skin is pale.
Young buck swaggers in and, as the room lets up a shout,
he tips his head in mock salute and takes his earnings out.
Good mates standing at the bar as jugs are passed around,
the yarns are flowing freely to impress the growing crowd.
The old man in the corner holds his voice above the din,
"You boys want a story, eh? Well, buck up and listen in.
Jus' the other day this feller was sat here at the bar,
he held his glass with steel hook, his cheek, it had a scar.
That scar, it ran from ear to chin, ****** it was shockin',
angry, red and all inflamed, he'd taken quite a coppin'.
With legs the size of tree trunks an' a barrel for a chest,
he looked as though, with just one blow, he'd put a man to rest.
I ventured on the happenings, and nodded to his claws,
he turned to me, quite wearily, and spoke, after a pause."
As if to emulate the mood, the old man waits a bit,
he squints his eyes upon the crowd and makes a show of it.
"This bloke is felling up a tree, 'bout fifty foot or so,
a lightning bolt, he gets a jolt, the chainsaw he lets go.
It backs up from the branch and lops off both his paws,
then, before he thinks to catch 'em, they hit the forest floors.
He’s with them soon enough, as the rest of him descended.
I shakes me head, 'Christ!' I says, tryin' to comprehend it."
The crowd is leaning forward and the air is getting tense,
the old man lights a cigarette, just to build suspense.
He slowly sips at his beer, then lifts his head to speak,
"Me eyes then trail from steel claws to mark upon 'is cheek,
'That how you did your face in, the chainsaw misbehavin'?'
He took a pause, held up his claws, and shrugged, "Cut it shavin'.""
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 4:02 AM UTC
Save me from nothing I plead
As I waste away my days
Nothing has become my need
When something gets in my way
I turn around and walk back
Walk back to where I began
I’m scared of adversity
He’s always on the attack
Failure’s what he demands
To be my identity
Help, save me from this nothing
It is consuming my life
I promise I’m not bluffing
It would make me feel contrite
Please, save me from this horror
Monotony’s got to me
I want to divert this road
Or bomb it with a mortar
Because I just want to see
My failures die alone
Please, I just need to be saved
I cannot seem to escape
This road that’s already paved
A path that won’t terminate
A path that is like Ping-Pong
Back and forth, and back and forth
The only two steps I take
Like singing the same **** song
I am running out of worth
When my whole life’s at stake
I’m walking on a racetrack
And life is racing past me
Just constantly being lapped
And I can’t seem to gain speed
What else is there left to do?
I need to find an answer
But this test’s impossible
It was made by a voodoo
Who controls all the answers
The key’s stuck in a lock hole
This nothing-ness is scary
There’s nowhere for me to go
I’m asking you to spare me
From this state of vertigo
Staring at a map that’s blank
North is south and south is north
What is this supposed to mean
I have nothing in my tank
My future path has been scorched
Fumes are all that I can see
I don’t know how I got here
I really wish that I did
But I can’t seem to see clear
Farewell is what I should bid
This is rough, I can’t take it
I would like to try, but why?
Why try if I’ll only fail?
Help save me from this abyss
I just want to see the sky
And maybe meet some angels
If I had a direction
Or a light brighten my path
And show me my complexion
I’d take without being asked
But if I took some matches
And soaked them in gasoline
I couldn’t ignite a light
Even on my dry patches
So that obviously means
My path will never be bright
Nothing is what I’ve become
It must be what I deserve
From all the nothing I’ve done
Failure’s the spot I reserved
I don’t want to move forward
My motive lacks passion
Which gives me no where to go
So I’ll just skip the torture
Put my plan into action
And receive nothing I’m owed.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
This shady-bar
gave you more ***** than mixer,
cheap spirits & rot gut elixirs flowed,
some did lines of flake on the teak.
By eight, most dates were sloppy drunk,
buzzed, frazzled to the gills,
schmoozing the feline-walk,
talking **** listening to
Floyd or Skynyrd.
It was a circus of sorts.
Back in those days
we called the cops 'fuzz',
they'd make their rounds
every couple of hours,
it made it look like they were
using tax-dollars wisely,
but we students knew better,
******* establishment.
The parking lot was a mix
of racetrack & boxing ring.
Cars jammed, roared,
cruised, honked
their way
through the fistfights.
Once, I saw two sweet-babes,
real rough-cats scratch and claw
themselves to near death.
The flowered-blouse
on one was ripped clean off,
one of her ***** hung out,
it looked bruised.
Blood streamed down
both of their faces,
ruining their mascara.
When I look back,
it's quite amazing
any of us survived
that freaking place.
Now come to think of it,
the last time
I saw my buddy Marcus
was outside that
nasty-drinking-establishment.
He was ******* amongst
the drunks & excrement.
I really wonder how he survived,
if he made it out of that city
in one piece,
alive.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Forever racing down the highways
of madness in the mind
I scuttle and scare at the engines roar
tossing the needle into overdrive
red bursting at the seams of gravity.
Fully entrenched in the fast lane
I swerve to avoid articulated trucks
filled with layers of reason on why
I should humble myself in this societies
black hole of boundless depravity.
Given the delicious curve of the racetrack
and the one hundred reasons for delectable
togetherness, I shift to a slow rhythmic pulsating finish
savouring every moment I spent in your clockwork
seduction.
Fuelled and fantasy driven I polish
and promote my car with all its grunts and bruises
and speeding tickets, near misses
and conquests as a dangerous drivers
logbook of mysteries and miseries.
This model is old and antique
but oils well and grunts its way to stardom.
Price tag-negotiable!
Author Notes
Is this a anything like a fancy car?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
I made note of my run
Marked it in the leftmost lane
Speedy Gonzales Saturday mornings
with the radio on
drown out my panic
and the caricature of my self-loathing
with a schedule
song, speech, song
forgetting the nostalgic
High pitched sounds of
Getting anywhere
Too quickly to measure accurately
I'm already halfway there
My destination highlighted
On the map in my dad's old truck
Tucked in the pocket behind the seat
Curled gently and careworn
I know this route
It has your name on it
and I'll be there soon
you just got there in a hurry
fast as lightning
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
i’m sorry i wrote about you.
i’m sorry i tried to immortalize you by placing your existence
in my heart and having it bleed out in black ink.
i’m sorry i fell in love with you.
i’m sorry i made you feel inspired and desirable, when you have
someone who probably loves you very much waiting for you
every night when you get home.
i’m sorry we can’t be together.
even though you haven’t made a decision yet, the silence between us
tells me all i need to know.
you’ll choose her.
you’ll always choose her.
i’m sorry i wrote about you.
even though i’m not, really
when i say that it’s more of an apology to myself
for letting your presence completely dismantle
any idea i’ve ever had about love.
don’t pick up the pieces. leave me scattered.
this is my mess to mend.
you’re on a never-ending racetrack
with no real intention of stopping for anything, let alone
a heartless hitchhiker like me, waiting for you
to put your life on the brakes.
i get it.
i’m a meaningless distraction,
a pleasant diversion,
a secret flower you keep hidden underneath all
the things you’re too afraid to say.
i will never be more than that.
i get that now.
well i’m sorry,
but my thumb is getting tired.
from now on, i think
i’ll walk home.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Dont say it'll be fine
when we both know you're lying
My racetrack mind was never supposed to cross the finish line
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
I fell asleep
and trusted my soul to keep
but then I entered a lush garden
which I entered without a pardon
over at the far end
yes just around the bend
was a women standing
on a marble landing
her back was turned to me
and I could see
snakes in her hair
yet her skin was quite fair
and she had quite a nice derrière
I turned to flee
but that's just not me
she had the snake hair thing
but I heard that wow could she sing
a lonely broken hearted song
about so many things that were wrong
I looked again
around that bend
in addition to the skin, voice and ---
her body had more curves then a racetrack
so adapting my best tack
I picked some red flowers
by the big ivory tower
and walked up to her and bent on one knee
presenting the flowers I said see
this is for you
because your song was sad and true
she turned and said arghh now you turn to stone
but instead I said I do not wish to spurn
but stone is not really my thing
I can show you my yo-yo on a string
or perhaps juggling maybe a little mime
I can do many wonderful things if you have the time
so she pulled out a gun
suprised I said no no thats no fun
then I looked as cute as I could
and stayed as still as wood
I don't understand she said why you don't attack me
you are a hero and I am hideous can't you see
I said nah handing her the flowers
you are quite beautiful here by your tower
I would rather take you out for coffee and cake
so I leave the rest of the story out for you to make
;)
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
the silence in my head is stifled
by the deafening tick of the clock.
in the past month of my life,
I've had to grow up too fast.
the trigger of the starting gun was pulled,
and I was shoved onto the racetrack.
it's like trying to keep grip on honey,
running through my fingers,
coating them in sickly gold.
first, I learnt that love and lies
have a more faithful relationship
than we ever did.
they stroll around a paradise island,
away from the world and the truths,
hand in hand.
they drink the untouched juice of coconuts
and feed from the flesh of mangoes.
I hope that one day,
they become separable and learn to thrive on their own.
for now, I observe love and lies
in awe and jealousy
and let them wild.
they have my blessing.
the second thing that I have learnt
is to believe in ghosts.
for, there was a ghost beside me
confined in the four walls of my room.
a crumpled, lifeless body,
her hand limp in mine,
her head too heavy for her shoulders.
she tells me between tears and short, rasped breaths,
that life isn't for her.
I watched her leave my house,
and step into the air, floating away.
she's a balloon,
desperate to join the clouds in the sky,
but I hold the string,
keeping her at arms reach for just a little while longer.
Third, I learnt that friendship is a flower that grows in the dark.
it's beautiful too, and strong,
with a thick sturdy stem holding delicate petals.
the most beautiful flowers have the sharpest thorns
and I've been pricked too many times.
it's watered by the salts of our tears
and feeds from our raw laughter.
within me is a greenhouse of wilted flowers.
lastly, I learnt love is everywhere.
in the air that we breathe,
in the hollow cry of a guitar,
in the incandescence of a flame.
in the juice of coconuts and the flesh of mangoes,
in the eyes of a ghost,
in the roots of a flower.
in the shove to push me onto the racetrack.
love is a constant even when time is fleeting.
the deafening tick of the clock is what reminds us to be alive.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
none of you are strong
or independent
how many do you rely on for your food?
your gas? electric, and the roof overhead?
this is a fixed system
a racetrack
where all the horses are doped
all i can say is,
stop running
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 10:05 PM UTC
"Get a degree
a high G.P.A.
a piece of modern adult identity.
Drive onto the racetrack with a real job--engine revved,"
say the boys:
Washington, Dad, and you.
Voices loud
Ears Deaf.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
The floor howled
in the last
lazy binge
of bronzy sun
before I broke free
to go running
the two miles
to the hospital
in Georgetown
where Dad was.
As I ran, I thought of
The Wreck
of the Old 97
which played on
the car radio
when Dad
drove us back
from the
Charles Town
racetrack
where I kept losing
the same $20
while Dad
placed exactas
and trifectas
to win
dinner money.
Turn it up
turn it up and listen
as the Old 97
engine over-coaled
and waving
with heat
races beyond rule
a bright streak
down the hill
down, always down.
The Icarus myth -
the father disappears
while the son melts
in the exploding face
of a memory.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
1. MISSISSIPPI II
Keesler Air Force Base
Sergeant will **** you
Crocodile got to eat
2. SAN FRANCISCO QUAKER
Not a bad place un-
til looters step on
the bookshelf that fell on you
3. L.A.
The real ***** Holly-
wood is just the pump
shooting sin into it's vein
4. WYOMING
Don't sit on the yell-
ow stone. That's where the bears
went after picnicking.
5. VERMONT
Red necked wooden
Boys always looking for
a fight from a Yankee
6. NEW HAMPSHIRE
Charlie and Kathy
are from here. They're nice to
know if you can find them
7. MASSACHUSETTS
The prettiest girls live
in Boston. They have mouths.
Some worse than truck drivers.
8. RHODE ISLAND
Such a little place
to cozy up to the
over crowded rowdies.
9. NEW YORK SHUFFLE ?
Buffalo girl moved too
Saratoga Falls. Hasn't
Had a dance since last fall.
10. HONEYMOONER FELL-ER
Took my girl to Niagra
Falls took my ******
Maybe next time
11. DELAWARE
Overcrowded racetrack
Casino lots of
swampy grass derelicts.
12. MARYLAND
Ain't no place to
Stop off 95
For this' lilly white man
13. VIRGINIA
Had them Japanese
people eating fish.
Didn't know it was lunchtime.
14. WASHINGTON STATE
All that rain and snow
Can never compete
With it's powerful blowholes
15. OHIO
OH HIGH OH
OHIOH
OHIO
16. ILLINOISE
Birthplace of Lincoln
and Chicagoland
Nothing much else but farmland
17. ASSISTANCE?
I wanted to help
the homeless so I fed
them government nonsense
18. INDIANA
Same old flatland lit
up at night Lincoln's
Hiway taking in the sights
19. WINDS OF CHANGE
Big bad wolf tried
to knock down my house of hay
today.. I knew he blew.
20. COYOTE TRIED
Leader scolded me at five
Better off dead
Amen coyote cried
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC