"roadrunner" poems
Something happened this morning
when I awoke to you lightly breathing.
It was sublime.
My chin rested on your shoulder
the skin so soft on my cheek.
I couldn’t help but kiss the sweetness.
On nights when I sleep alone
it does not matter how many blankets
wrap my restless body.
I wake cold.
Nothing is as warm as your arms.
Like that of a Texas breeze
on an August night.
I can only think to kiss
your unshaven face.
The kisses are planted gently,
first your cheek,
then your temple,
and your forehead,
when I come to the tip of your nose
you stir slightly,
but I cannot stop.
I want it more then
the ocean waves need
the shoreline to crash upon.
Looking at your face
I smile at the odd way we met.
With a breath of *** and an intoxicated
grin we spoke.
“I don’t like you”
“Yea? Well I don’t like you first!”
Like children picking
on their first crush.
Tying to fight back the giggles.
Our childish ways still
run strong.
In your absence I sit
and watch the ticking minutes
laugh at my uneasiness.
Hours with others
are mere minutes with you.
The clocks envy
our cherished time
and tick-tock more rapidly
when we are alone.
All our time
would never be
enough.
When we get lost in each other,
the way the lonely roadrunner
looses himself as he runs
up and down
the oak covered hills,
it is love at its best.
This morning
when the soft breathes
you took woke me
and my chin rested upon
your shoulder,
something happened.
As the kisses fell
and your eyes continued to sleep;
I realized that this
is where I belong.
Drifting slowly
into love with you.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC
Sunday:
Ant Pills
Bear Traps
Cobra Feet
Monday:
Dolphin Lungs
Eel Soup
Frog Limbs
Tuesday:
Gecko Suits
Horse Pie
Inchworm ***
Wednesday:
Jaguar Barbed
Koala Beer
Lynx Lynch
Thursday:
Monkey Chips
Narwhal Fashions
Otter Drugs
Friday:
Porcupine Rehab
Quail Map
Roadrunner Piano
Saturday:
Slug Party
Turkey Slop
Urchin See
Sunday:
Vulture Guns
Walrus Tongues
X No
Monday:
Yellowjacket Fever
Zebra Clowns
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC
I'm running
from the mirrors
of my brain
I want to be a writer
I want to be a novelist
I want to be a writer
running
running
running
my brain is the roadrunner
it catches up to me
and strangles me in daydreams
til' I die
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
you're drinking, and then you can't control
the reaction upon entering the tetragrammaton...
one h is for hushed up laughter, for sighs (ah),
and then the alter deja vu
is a cocktail of:
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
yeah, so many, so you can look at it rather than
say it... it's a sunny day, go out and play
or something... leave me with the anchor of ****
humanity dragging us down, or simply basing us
in the underwater fudge of mud to a standstill...
it's sunny, go out and play, ride a bicycle or something...
you know, living 20 odd years in an english society
i never had an english girlfriend, i'm told she's a real
firecracker fortune-cookie... my hands are cold,
i swear by the oath of the old Bailey i never touched
her thighs... scouts' honour, cross my fingers
and wear woman's underwear with a bowler hat
to match my serious demeanour...
yep, an Abbey Road's standstill... a fifth beetle
chatting cheeky chat chat of a chirp...
gurgles of fizz in carbonated wine known as champagne,
well that's me... or as the roadrunner said to
speedy Gonzales... hark a sayonara when changing
the gears to a 100m sprint world record.
the Mayan disease? ah right... excess spontaneous
laughter, unstoppable like a tide;
got chatting to a ms. khan... Genghis' great great...
great great great great great... great great granddaughter...
a doctor from pakistan... nice english accent
gets you all the pleasantries so everything can
go to hell... the sleeping pills prescription is waiting...
now the sick-note... so i don't crash a plane
into the Swiss elevations by "accident"
while sitting on an arm-chair of nails while everyone
else is farting into cushions.
honest to god, the tetragrammaton is like a brick
wall for vowels, you hit the ball against the four
walls, and the vowels are either ****** up
or they extract the consonant stability of the four letters,
and your safest bet to express them is
to laugh;
well, i do call it a Mayan disease... because
my stomach is aching from building a six-pack with
the giggles.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
Where we live it is no desert for the rains still fall.
Where we live the cacti stand tall,
proud and green Men and Women
defending rocky slopes of heaven.
Where we live the bat flies with the nighthawks,
dog fights at twilight against hordes of insects.
The lizard and snake fear a Greater Roadrunner
who laughs at passing cars, for it shall outlive
The Petrol Race centuries forward.
The Sunrise seems like The Mountains'
live birth to a bright blazed star.
The Sunset bombs a horizon
filmed with faraway layers of dust.
The milk cloud of stars and cosmic debris.
The Moon rising, a pale beacon beyond The Mesquite.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
I can’t help but mourn the frogs, flattened
like Wile E. Coyote after the inevitable boulder
plummets from a great height, leaving him
mashed on the pavement while the Roadrunner
speeds off - vroom, vroom, beep, beep.
I try to steer around them, but they blanket
the road in biblical numbers during the rain
and it’s like some impossible video game
weaving through masses of randomly hopping life
a certain amount of death is unavoidable.
When I walk the road I can’t stop
counting one, two, five, ten, twenty
cartoon-flat bodies littering the pavement
where I extinguished their glittering
copper and golden-green existence.
Last night, on the panes of every lit window
frogs of all sizes and colors gathered
outside, they covered doors, watering cans
even lined up single file on the coiled garden hose
like they were climbing the ladder to frog heaven.
Through the glass, I admired their rhythmic
throats and soft, creamy, underbellies
one, two, five, ten, twenty
fragile creatures seeking warmth
in the hastening darkness.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
Am I the only one that grew up watching ****** tunes?
I loved those animals much more than the ones in the zoo
Daffy, Bugs, porky, and Elmer Fudd,
got me laughing as a kid, even when I was in a rut.
But my favorite toon, if you couldn't guess
was Wile E. Coyote, and Roadrunner, They to me were the best
Would He ever catch his prey? as a kid I only fashioned a guess
with each and every failed trap, showing the Roadrunner was blessed.
Now to use these two metaphorically
I'll be Wiley, and Roadrunner would be
amour, you see.
Now in every episode I keep trying to pin it down
but just like Wiley, I get blown up, flattened, or otherwise hurt while it roams around
maybe it's fate
or a strange genetic trait
all I know is sometimes living in a cartoon *****
WATCH OUT OF THAT TRU POW!!!!!!!
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
I golfed with Byron yesterday. And no, he didn't "kick my *** as promised. It's always an edifying round with Byron. On the links he looks more like Dorf than Frodo. Sometimes I glimpse the top of his head when he's in the rough, or see a cloud of sand, like the Roadrunner hitting the ground after the inevitable fall. Our conversation (his conversation) gamuts from his re-constructed porch to life on Mars. He'd like to build a porch on Mars. He is an Everyman almanac. His back swing is like a tilting windmill, and I, his Sancho, suggesting which club to use. In fairness, he makes some remarkable shots. Here are some I've heard:
"To pinch one off, inhale, then cough." This sums up Byron's intestinal fortitude. He takes heavy doses of codeine and morphine for his back.
"Don't swab your ears with asparagus spears." This is the extent of Byron's relationship with veggies. He's more a plant man.
"During *** if she wiggles her toes, she's still wearing ***** hose." Byron gives a full belly laugh at the double entendre.
"If you pick your nose choose the best plastic surgeon." Yeah, I know. Cute. Byron himself sports a double car garage.
"Men who manscape must **** or go ape." Pure irony for Byron. Nothing sharper than the bearded axe approaches his iron.
"Ladies, when you quin manicure, design it with a touch of ***** That's Byron. Discrete, gentle and quizzical.
"If you ********** get to the point. Don't hesitate." Byron would never admit to such self-indulgence.
It was a gorgeous golf day. Byron seems to make the sun shine a little brighter. He promises, next time, he'll kick my ***
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Where every thing is black and white
in technicolor;
Where no matter how absurd,
things turn out well;
A cruel place,
but not systematically so;
Where one thing is sure:
when the coyote treads air--
pedaling as fast as he can,
gravity prevails.
Beep, beep.
Oct 7, 2021
Oct 7, 2021 at 8:16 AM UTC
Some nights I spend sleeping
Other nights I’ll spend resting my head down on a keyboard
Drowning in updates and refreshing pages
Trying to find reasons for being up
so **** late
Lately, these nights that I worked a long eight hour shift
Waiting to escape retail in hopes
My friends aren’t busy, wanting to retell some stories
The nights my friends hop restaurant to restaurant
“We have no place to go"
We’ve been riding these desert streets for hours
Resurfacing our stories to heal our wounds
Or maybe our laughter only masks it
And we like to think it’s both
You can ride these streets as fast as you like, trying to forget,
but tonight,
we write
we ride
we eat
we share
tonight, the moon plays catch-up with us, it’s desert wonderers
the sun, tonight she’ll rest
tonight, the roadrunner
walked
crossed the street with a lizard in its mouth
looked me in the eye and swallowed it
The desert bird didn’t serve its name’s purpose
We’ve realized that sometimes, society, doesn’t serve it’s intentions
but when so
"we have no place to go"
We’ll turn parking lots into neighborhoods
Cars into homes, with kickbacks and house parties
Turn songs into poems
Become poetry ourselves
Become trilogies of our most battered loved lives
Find excuses for where the stars lie
And sometimes we’ll swear they lie in our ex’s eyes
And we’ll become what we don’t want to be in the dark
vulnerable
walking roadrunners
poets who don’t write
but in that moment, were just teenagers
"with no place to go"
We swear this summer is ours,
That growing up doesn’t have to be synonymous with change
That human beings aren’t equivalent to seasons
That poems actually can be never ending
if only we have the courage to
write the beginning
That Denny’s will always be a hotspot
Cafe’s are temporary
Dollar Menu’s are forever
We’re everything but hungry
Only starving
For inspiration in a wasteland
Unquenchable thirst for dreams of doing
something in empty parking lots
Trying to fill voids.
Tonight,
We replace our heartbreaks with these nights
The nights we walk across roads
Unknowing the other side, with lizards halfway down our throats
Tonight
We write, without looking both ways
~
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Why do we laugh at 'cartoons,'
other than because they are funny
Is it the hopeless pursuance of...
catching a Tweetybird.....or
a Roadrunner.........or
Yosemite Sam outwitted by a rabbit....or
Michigan J. Frog singing "Hello My Baby!"
Think about it-
we are laughing at ourselves -
After all, it's their human traits and foibles
we gave them......that make us laugh.
"Blame it on Aesop, he started it!"
r. riddle: September 01, 2016
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
I remember when we used to sit on the swings, we would laugh and play with the sky. I watched your legs as they flew through the air wanting to touch the unknown, eager to feel freedom from the ground. I remember when we would lie on the grass and feel diamonds in our backs. We never moved and we wore sunglasses because the sun exploded as we turned our heads to talk. I remembered how much I love you, I remembered how I would look at you from the corner of my eye so you wouldn’t see, and wince at your beauty. I remember you being beautiful.
There were many memories to keep and lots to discard. Everyone feels this way, everyone feels lost at what to do. It’s ok, you know, to feel, this, way. I imagine you thinking of this, as I do of you. There is some old time 50’s tunage seeping through the background to this picture, it spurs me to get to my feet and dance with you. Your hand in mine, feels like I am touching a firework; like there should be a warning label attached to your *** Whoa girl, do you know what you just did? I am the coyote, you are the roadrunner. You are the music, I am the encore. You are, you are, the be all and end all. You are the night-time that the day awaits. You are the star in my shine.
You make me feel like this is possible, even to write these words makes my mind blow like a dandelion in a august hurricane. I never knew rumours would grow into whispers. I never knew my heart would ache like you had hit me with a truck, full frontal, BAM. I never knew your lies. I wished I had listened. I wished I had taken the time to not know better. I wished you had taken the time to know me before the cigarettes and the alcohol and the late nights where I wished you would dance with me instead of watching, waiting and seeing. I got lost somewhere, your words lost their meaning.
I wish you a beautiful happy ending, forever ever after
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
suddenly, up out from his hole, the lizard crawled
crawled and wriggled over the dirt searching for it's prey
the prey that would sustain him for the rest of his life
he didn't know that it would be his final meal
he didn't know that behind that cactus stood a roadrunner
a roadrunner, who delights in savory lizard treats right from the desert floor
he had no chance...
the cycle of life circles on as the roadrunner scurries away with the lizard dangling from its beak
Brian Hill - 2020 # 176
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC
you see another girl who wants attention
you see another "glad it's not me"
you whisper to your friends how she's just overreacting
you could take it if you were her
but how can you say that when
my head is an oven and someone keeps turning up the heat
my eyes are faucets and someone doesn't care about the water bill
my skin is a flimsy sweater and i'm in antarctica
my ears are the static on the television in the middle of the storm
my hands are your 90-year-old grandmother trying to lift a bowling ball
my legs are the roadrunner on a treadmill
i'm trying to breathe but i'm underwater
i'm screaming for help but everyone's deaf
but you don't see that.
no, you won't even try to.
she's no longer human
she's a caged animal at the zoo
just a dog at the pageant, waiting to be judged
say what you want, someone was going to anyways
but remember
some people are like water balloons
they can only take so much before they burst
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
*her affection
can't be expressed
hmm
she will reach you like...
..............RoadRunner
she irritates like Mickey Mouse
short tempered like a Cat.
she may walk like Donald Duck
with a gun...... but for
only to shoot the misunderstanding
Sometimes
to fear whether she was whole Himalaya's
such kind of silence.....
who knows she may come back
as a sage.
am waiting....*
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC
This face is a paper
white bright and empty
You painted a cipher
of joyous summer
And off you disappear
like the roadrunner
leaving me dizzy
and confused in wakes
of your love smokes
I look in mirror
at this cipher
keen as a gaper
been on a popper
And I wonder
if I can ever
get all of it together
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
isn't it sad we'll always remember the coyote from roadrunner because of his attempts at violence instead of his extremely realistic tunnel paintings?
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
The wind moves like a roadrunner
That running around fast like a car
The wind moves like a runner that rushes to get to the finish line
The wind moves like a airplane
Lastly, the wind move like the ocean
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 9:02 PM UTC
A Roadrunner worker who has chores
The only thing that the Roadrunner doesn’t do is cleaning floors
However, it is office details
The copy center with paper trails
Creating a financial report that doesn’t fail
Delivery of mail being on time
It’s a wonder in between I am not drinking wine
Yet the Roadrunner is not on a road
It is the Executive Floor
It’s the Roadrunner’s responsibility in not to ignore
There seems to be always a rush
Yet it is quiet with no need to hush
Procedures the Roadrunner himself must abide
There is no absolute reason to hide
It’s the quickness and urgency that the Roadrunner must provide
There is everything to prove
Making the office run smooth
But what if the Roadrunner wasn’t around?
What do you expect would be found?
Functions not be done
There wouldn’t be any Roadrunner among
In fact, the Executive floor wouldn’t be fun
So Roadrunner, keep doing your thing
Speed and efficiency is your sling.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
You promised to kiss me at
each stop light we encountered.
Each one.
With each daring red light
we stumbled upon,
you promised to lock lips,
and steal the stumbling words
off of my tongue.
But dear, the drugs I've been taking
has stolen the red lights we came across
for it's kept me up for nights on end,
and stolen my sanity
like an alley robbery,
and theses voices that followed
the influx of serotonin
left me depleted and void
because all I want now
is to come across a red stoplight.
I need a second to breathe,
with the walls closing ,
I'm searching for a door which might as well be the pack of pills
or the touch of your lips
but darling I am a roadrunner and I haven't stopped since
my mother recommended I went for a run,
and my heart weighs me down , and the thoughts cause me to drop
my chin in the face of my father
because when you kissed me the first time,
it hurt more then anything I've ever experienced.
When it comes to negativity,
I never believed it was possible to stop,
so I kept going.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
I'm a parakeet, a tiny bird with an awfully loud chirp
but no tweets from me when I'm hurt.
I'm a penguin, winged and feathered, yet to the ground I'm tethered
I yearn to leave this barren cold, see the sunshine and take hold.
I'm a blue-jay, brightly colored, with pompous dress.
yet when I expound my toil, the world roils and is left a stark gray mess
I'm a hummingbird, fast and agile, seen here yet never really there.
I'm harder to see the harder you stare, so from your gaze I sever.
I'm a roadrunner, from coyotes and care I flee
Cant you see this disease? I don’t know what me, me is to be, so that I can be, the best me I can be.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
The night calmly, quietly departed,
Letting the sun nudge in the dawn.
A new day often brings joy;
But not today, for Carrie has gone.
A torch has suddenly been extinguished;
A candle's flickering flame has gone out.
As hard as we try to hope against hope,
Some things we can do nothing about.
Full of life, exuberance, and charm,
Carrie touched many hearts with her spirit.
Try as one might to match her vitality,
Few people could ever come near it.
Her matchless energy filled us with wonder.
Her gregarious character was bubbly and hearty.
As soon as Carrie entered a room,
She became the life of the party.
A struggle-free path she didn't have;
A few demons madly pursued her.
Despite occasional challenges,
Death was the only one that subdued her.
Subdue her? No, that isn't right.
Her inimitable energy exists
In the turbulent, blowing desert winds;
In the cool, soothing mountain mists;
In the majestic, glorious New Mexican mesas;
In the gently rising hot air balloon;
In the crest of the regal desert roadrunner;
In the calm, peaceful face of the moon;
In the gracefully blooming yucca flower;
In the crisp, caressing autumn breeze;
In desert blooms; in the pinyon pine;
In the autumn colors bursting from trees.
I will not say good-bye to Carrie.
I'll just take in a breath of air,
Hear her voice, her songs, her laughter,
And feel her presence everywhere.
- by Bob B
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
I once saw
Someone knocked
Through a wall
To be fair
The walls are
Pretty dam thin
But still
It was like
A roadrunner
Cartoon.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
You delighted in the chase
It was indeed intriguing.
But when reality struck
And demanded your clock,
You fleet gracefully
Like a roadrunner.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC