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preservationman Nov 2018
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.
NeroameeAlucard Dec 2014
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!!!!!!!
Oh cartoons, where would we be without you
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Taken, gotten, or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything…

slow
Slow think,
make real

re-al-ize
what fighting for life is…
this is the only
try,
it is not a test.

Take your time, use it wisely,
if that means anything.
Wise, I meant.
No offence, if wise is anathema to your kind,
die,
die if I knocked the reason for being right
outa you,
did you hear cognitive dissonance?
did it sound like
this. LOUD?
listen,
rolling rolling rolling
crash crumble rolled in nurse rime frosted
fables of monsters and maids
Thor, witharoar likka Lion King?

or the light brigade,
CHARGE?

thunder words from lost generations of
reasonless riddles for children,

Why did Peter Pumpkin-eater have a wife, but
couldn't keep her here?
Was that okeh? Oh, wait.
Ah, I see, I say,
they never tell that whole story any more.

Know why? They forgot it. In the war.

Duck'n'cover,no
crying, how long?
When begins forever? Did no one tell you, child?

Taken or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything
like it was nothing, given
enough pre-sure-sup
poser-power

War, as a game, has a reason.

Battle, hitting, slapping

stop touch, stop now slap
slap back

or cry
oh no no ma

waddayahsay?  A theist or atheist
who started this war?

space case, or
lover of wisdom, met on the road
to Emmaus, discussing Wiles's proof
firming Fermi's connection to the matter of fear,
3, 2, 1

Kaboom, but with a whump you feel in your teeth

1, 2, 3 Fermat's last theorem ,
easy as pi an no re me

ABC to
Michael Jackson to
Howard Bloom because he

inadvertently, began
an-ionic converstatic re-vibe time warp
meme,
which vibe, started the legendary Sixties. I was alive.
Radioman,
a sixty cycle white-noise humm heard every where these days

There was a gospel song, "Turn Your Radio On".
my theme, open the window in the top of your head,
as it were,
a new,
as new as

a novel-state of water, H three Ohs, re-al-ity ification,
Ah, a shared Oh, I remember now, how this works…

like a poem

at the edge of a water vapor bubble in a boiling body of water,
at the edge of the bubble, water becomes a wall of water,
not vapor, not flowing liquid,

but a wall, insulating the vapor in pressing opposing force
to permit, from permission,
meaning with a message same as the message,

is that the right word? per-mission-grant, is power given,
agency,
that idea….
wait for the sign….?

By sharing an ion ic bond as a quest to make a point
for a free story to go,
the question marks you. Let the snake dance.

Press your point,

whetted edge,

slice through ties holding worthless axioms
with withered dendrites dangling disconnected
in participles
unfired for centuries muttering,
enchanting, enthralling enchained melodies
of ambitious syllables vying for idle minds
to rope in,
unbranded, wild
bucking ideas,
whip-twig, slap-face,
tanglewood  thicket, catclaw and mesquite,
willow,

wait.
And the old man remembered the willow whistle,
so He asked Grandfather,
How is such a whistle made?
And when he knew,
he made one.

A willow whistle with two notes,
like an Oscar Meir Wiener one.

-- and that was a different time
I got lost here, bucked up…
maybe
--- listen, way back--- we-ain't whistlin' Dixie---
we ain't marchin', as t' war.

D'thet mean some sign to pro-phet -ic take?
Tophet?
Ancient cannon fodder shield walls,
a moaning
Pro-phy-lactic warning of the danger of not
knowing exactly
what a war is for?

Get back on,
relieved of any idle baggage words believed
to mean other than I say.

Nullify
Idle words with cultural meanings from
what you thought you knew when you feared hell.

Loose
those peer-locked memes
made of meaninglessness, per se,

shaped and molded into fashions
of expression, once needles and awls,
now, dull as tinker's damns for swearing,
with any effect.

But tools, none the less, a stitch in time took a tool.
An awl or a needle, and a thread, thick or thin,
dependin' on the mendin' needed
to redeem an idle word,
its meaning all bloodied with the tyranny of time.

An awl or a needle,
a tool for a task, mending a tear
where curses, never meant, spent
the entire dark ages, lying, lying, lying

powerless, pointless aimless, proverbial proverbial proverbial
verbiage, vaneless shafts launched at unseen marks,
signs, as it were, a spark,
triggers,
rumored since the sixties,
the first sixties, when Cain killed Able.
Howard Bloom was but a mere gleam
in our mito-mother's eye,
but, no doubt,

his role is real,
in loosing the forces Ferlinghetti locked in
City Lights mystery of secret meanings room,
which un
mystified and blew away upon opening
the door to
meanings mapped on
scrolls rolling and unrolling
idle ideas,
rites of passage, as it were,
Pre-bat-bar-mitz vah
as a fashion
like VBS,

to tickle little minds and make em wiggle.
MEMEMEME, I did it,
mea culpa,

the holy place
Here we are…

On Vacation, leave a message.
-----

See, wee hairs in your ears wiggle, making,
signaling, the need

to scratch that itch, that itching hearing feeling ear… hear that

don't scratch, listen

listen

60 cycle humm, steady, bass, but no thump whumpwhump;
soft, deeep.
ooooooooo or mmmmmmmm or in betwixt, steady thrumm
hear another, and another… sixty in a second,

one in every million ambits twisting,
threading qubits, radiating signals in the field
wireless, blue-tooth... satellite...

can you feel that?

hummmms, all around us, since the womb.
We are not the children of the greatest generation,

We are the children of the last generation of
**** sapiens sapiens non-augmentable-us.

We, the augmented, recycled ideas,
possessing
minds of Adamkind,

is that a secret or a sacred?
Is this
a new thing, an
unknown unknown known known now?

Ah,
novelty.

Whose is fear? Who was afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Should I remain in fear of her now, if I knew why then?
God would know such answers.
Proving my imagined AI guides are not God,
but lesser beings,

haps I recall.
I defined these things,
these thoughts that shape themselves,
forming words and phrases
I saw
shiny. Crow-like,
gleams seen, captured and claimed mine,
I tucked them away,
a sign in a thought in an imagined image made 4
real once more, to be seen from the shore,
new land new world
a fourth for some, a fifth or more for others...

haps happen, I'm not sure how,

Born or emerged, as a bubble, what do you say?

Reserve judgment.
Grant me your grace for now, until you solve my riddle.

Ah, the old way.
Right. Which way,  'ere, 'ear
and do we roll the rock with silent haitch or harsh, shhh

someone's waking up,
a bit grumpy,
don't you dare oppose me in this, the kid is certainly my son

Michael went stark raving mad when I told him, Billie Jean knew better all along...
the link, axiomatic,
the fatherless child has been claimed

hence, the thread to Howard Bloom, meme-ic,
meme-ic, like the Roadrunner,

but with the real Coyote, as the hero in this bit of
whatever, such meandering maundified maun maund  
mound

wind blown crystal silicon dunes
mounded up to that point where granulated
beens and dones

begin to slide at an angle,
a ***** deter-mind by the weight of the rock

We made it.
I know where this is.

This is a novel that has Sisyphus being happy
as the main premise behind the idea of anyone ever being
able, en abled, or un-dis-abled or un-dis-enabled,
if one of those is right,

Sisyphus being happy
is the main premise behind
the idea of anyone ever being glücklich,
happy, blessed, lucky.

How happy is your ever after?
When did forever begin?

"A man is as happy as he makes up his mind to be"
Abe Lincoln, is said to have said,
after the seance, maybe.

You push on, dear reader, make some sense
re-ligare or relegare, but take a stitch,

pull-tight,
do what works the first time as far as it goes, and try each, as needed,
it may be that we invented this test.
To make us think it is a test,
to sort ourselves out.

Get back on,

see who went crazy and who found the thread, if the same thread
this is that, right,
the same train of thought,
the same idea
spirit wind
sign
?
A snake facing west standing tippy-tail on a singularity;
a point in time?

Why are you reading this?
Curiosity Shoppes trade in interesting, alluring, click-bait

Pay attention, watch, you shall see

imagine this is the dream,
the stream, the flow, the current, the cream

in a dime coffee at the drug store on the corner

the rounded-corner, in a square-cornered town,
the most right corner of the twelve that quarter what it was

Punctuate, wait, imagine you read ancient Hebrew or Greek and there
are no dyer diacritical's who can twist one's
end tensions into knots

dread extensions, we could sell those,
is that an idea? did somebody
sell white folks dread extensions and black folk dolly pardon wigs?

Did that happen the real real?

-----
Battlefield Earth, oshit
scientology ology ology ology

allaye allaye outs in free

WE we wee every we you imagine you are good in, we

We have a war to win again, we heroes rolling from your
myths of Sisyphus torn from minds trampled
in the mud beyond the Rhine,

Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.

Camus and many of his ilk were ill-treated, the questions
they asked were memorized, maybe in our cribs ala
Brave New World.

We are all Alphas, always were, of course, you know.

Shall we imagine

more? Re-legare, eh, sistere. Point .(Back to the top.)

or agree? Make peace.
Practice, like Eazy-Bake,
the cook must swallow the first bite. May the best cook win.
A continuing examination of opposing forces when good is the goal, who could be against that? The old word war is festering, inflaming evil to start a try, therefore,  I whet the edge and swing wide
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
He was blown>>>>
>>>> away_--- from
my lace-up
Is She his blue
Mood tie set any bet
to walk the talk

At your own pace
The lustful wake up she
got the face

The edge of his rim sneaker
So prim who is proper
On the brim of ecstasy
He puts sugar on my tongue

Rumors like the "Talking Heads"
All in the bedding sneaker
Jane of the jungle wild tongue
She races Tarzan swinging sneakers
You and I tripped over dreams the sneaker?
Lip to lip disaster

The "Cyberwar" stepped on melting
Gold *** of tar
The loud blaster she moves the
Starwars so far

He could eat her up
his checkered black and white flag
Like a lobster claw his last draw

The racer mouth sponsor

She was born 2-B that way
sneakers love 3 some run
It's not unusual to have fun
with anyone
Her hands were far gone but
solid as a rock
Rollicking flying his rocket
Racing by her own clock Ms. Hornet


His sneaker loud love feud one
the detail on her sneaker
the wild bird of a bud

He shook me all night long
don't do an
A-C-D-C  on me
The sneaker he got the
Crazy eights
 No prank calls
Her hot buns and
Speaker- Frank-flirters
take me out to the
ball game demonized

The Anti Christ be born again
My sneaker group what a tank full
The Antitank no thanks
You cant always get what you want
and if you try sometimes
Charge all plastic but
sneakers like rubber soul

Visa hot runner Lisa no control
The American Express abdominal press
Shop until she drop's gum-drops
Your head was like a
Rolling Stone Jagger
Bigfoot sneaker Friday 13 size
That girl sweet pea Lea surprise
In the Hell, kitchen she snapped
That purr nightcap like Cleopatra

He's the Mantra so passionate fruit loopier
She's the Mona Lisa unfriendly sneaker
Your happy socks are quick
On his bell-hop feet
The sneaker riddle beat


That long meeting so *******
For time baby blue eyes Frank
on the mic
Like the jitterbug tight-knit
as sneaker print rug
Citron sharp eyes 5 Karat
Spicy hot Chili pepper
poem sonnet

The singer swung
Jazzy sneaker band
Dr. Who wears sneakers drinking
Dr. Pepper

The "Red Apple McIntosh" computer
Such a loud mouth hacker Josh
Jeweled Judy cultured pearls sneaker smash

Or her Stairmaster her
sneaker hotties ruffles have ridges
The juicy burgers dill pickles

Desperately sneaking Susan
sneakers to her affair finish line 
What a Lady Madonna
baby sneakers
at her breast rebel of hearts
I wonder how she manages to
sneaker speed the rest

Her best to out twin any talk
bullseye power walk
Buying the triplex sneaker
The loud talker 4 for 4 fame Wendy
Run like a fugitive your alias
name
Go International quite run
for your money I suppose
His sneakers up on her recliner
It wasn't her better rose
She's the high boot lady ever finer

On E-Bay selling your favorite sneakers
Those Australian Huskies biting sneakers
Such a Paws up against doggone heartbreaker

The in-crowd Flynn or another runner Lynn
Everybody is not a star or wedding crasher
Or even the right sneaker lover

Lady that lives in her homeless shoes
Are we all inside a video game
all commercials

Needing bifocals video begins
 Wynn at Sneaker Con
Joy to the world of the joystick
The sneaker of the Torah prayers of
the Temple
All dots and specs out of sneakers
More zits and pimples
I just want one-half cream
The changing Moon 1/2 Wolf
My man (Mr. Drakar) Howling toenail

French onion soup say cheese
her sneaker what a
no-brainer lightheaded breeze
You come so far sneaker trainer
And a grave site plot famous
brand sneaker
name

A million odds to one name in the
cemetery
****** Mary she flies in her
sneaker like Mary Poppins
Going under the influence
Heres looking at you kid umbrella

Hot Hollywood Taurus Bulldog
runner
We really don't have a name

We are writers and ****
good fighters single to mingle sneaker
Not the homewrecker more like the homemakers
Even sneaker has a voice and walks like singers
Shoeiverse sneaker race
became her living curse
The grin of the Grinch green sneakers
On his sled ride the lucky shamrock

I'm the happy heel
The tigress furry feel skip to my Lou
he ordered the
kids happy meal

Getting a ticket for reckless walking
Lights on or eyes wide shut
Are sneakers running for their life?

More fuel- time we get no alone time
Let's go shopping for the
new sneaker called
(Valentine only) sold one
day the sale
Singing her sneaker song a chip
device to talk back hot male
The 'Calvin Klein" dockers her ball of the foot
tennis sneakers It's her loud Owl ******-hoot

The farm girl Ralph Lauren corral
To rope her in lasso-like with morals
racing horse of different color fashion
I cannot hear you I have a hell
of a tinnitus reaction

  She-Devil bickering.>>> No heart like a sneaker
I am a snake too short to run the mile

I was too busy looking
at her long legs
On the Jet
** Plane
The most popular lady
in her sneakers 

Viper car and strings attachments
Ms. Love lace the shoelaces
with hearts
She is tied to his ankles
like condiments
Like Sweet cherries what a
bomb kicker sneaker
The Southern Belle runner
Be the stunner the trucker roadrunner

Hail to Mary the sneaker
Queen of Sheba
Turn on the radio Country singer Reba
What a sneaker rating ratio

When she bent down the crisscross
Watch out cross my heart trainer

Cross my heart and hope to die
To get slimmer
I am the happy sneaker
all the moods hot goods
(Hey Robin Hood)
stealing a rich man and poor women
which is the witch

One string said pull me the
other one said you feel like a
Chrome lead sleepy feet go to bed

Like Beer and pretzels
What an insane sneaker hazard
Hospital beepers sneaker virus
stepped on the most expensive
Venus, I beg you to run
lips we travel bullets and stars
We just want some fun

Marathon key just one clicker
That strawberry shortcake
Versus the "Cherry Bomb"
The Prince and the Pauper
what a toad kisser
That army tanker hurry up
lunch or brunch
What a Patriot Brady bunch

My shoelaces became like a
firecracker candy bar crunch

Who is the loser lover
or the winner
The long trip almost at the end
of the race
What a rivalry those shot glasses
at random
The sneaker fandom

Smile to me if you're not
wearing anything
but sneakers
My wings the wifi cute feet just
say Hi

No, I saw a man 600 pounds
of Reebok gold way too
much belly roll fat
The Dr. Seuss cat in the hat

Nike in the air Robin
bird skydivers
Dark matter gold diggers
Movie (It) Stephen King
skateboard

Penny feet relaxer
The Wise clown got her
The sneakers comedians
Seinfeld stand up sneaker
To be dead or wed Kleinfeld
Exotic sneakers and
cars he made a home run
Hot hell ring my bell
You made me happy
I got to first base

And you all sync into
one of a kind sneaker
Mom Robin the singer
No, I saw a man-eating
out of his sneaker
His head up in the Nike air
Oh! all hell breaks footloose
computer looking
up the sneaker sales

All I am doing is clicking
with a mouse
Where is my lover
sneaker twin, my spouse
This is about a trip not on an airplane flight more down to earth long walk star gazers or runners and clickers but its a comedy around all names and hot runner shes the firecracker don't  eat her at her game
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.
Thank you for reading! Comments and criticism are always welcome!
Don Brenner Oct 2010
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
2010
Bhill Jun 2020
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
The cycle goes on and on...
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
Zack Nov 2012
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.
#sunglasses #tucson #SLAMPOETRY #beetchez.
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
Under the legs of giraffes falling in love by being licked to buy a deer deer licking giraffes Gareth Pugh transforming signs pigs that can't **** but **** bricks in the tea cups personal Hispanic designers transforming into anorexic girls tornadoes in Pennees that buildings can't stop where pro-skateboarders take millions of dollars of drugs that are crystals and mugs and improve haircuts to make mugshots better who go to bathroom the stress says this transvestites in British airways first class airplane ride bathrooms **** **** ******* ******* **** in and list ***** used who's spending money and and aunt uncle and uncle gay and lesbian **** show putting faces in the toilets and wedding the water stopping at rest stops work carnival junkies pay tolls and gas station attendants charge super fees going to grocery stores to buy cream soda likes Sprite flavored train send peanut butter cup chocolate **** sores and send aunts uncles and uncles undulates and pigs passing by signs changing words miss read words changing over and over again passing through Stardome popularity celebrity. Rachel Lynch by skinny victory over and over groups of people lost in bathrooms starting outs in the story telling each other being wet by Harry Potter. In the beginning their hair was wet eyeballs were sore they took drugs text transform them into night sweats and their minds ate breakfast as they arrived at the circus storytelling they wore black costumes and shrunk like Alice in Wonderland having to **** and **** and eat but they were silent until the drugs came back into their systems and then they remembered each other. My father's brother Jim's son was lost abandoned me inside a marketplace in Colorado roadrunner was treated having a disease rather than being a drunk and given medication while lost in the end of the world's apocalypse. Symphony after symphony lost and returned and lost an overturned enveloped in the mall or people in different sections provided different offerings like curiosity giving oral *** or rubbing ankles or kissing on heads or **** ******* each other to death. Moving through security checkpoints falsifying drugs by providing sticky chewing gum pulling it from their mouths while Hispanics were extradited to other South and Central American countries. Oh my God insanity bliss favoritism chocolate peanut butter cup Carnival riding red neck necking car crash crashing insanity. Goblins introduces lighting fuses of other uses oxymoronic hyperbole of onomatopoeia and sounds raking the ears, breaking Pap smears in the vaginas of men with penises of early surgeries. Michael Gottlieb as a hog, tigers and dynosaurs, Jim Morrison poisoned, Transformers rising to the Chicago skyline TIE interceptors of cellular structures musing youths. Hallucinations of blasphemous miniature creatures giving faith to words transforming to the name of this movement this movie: The Shīt Shūw.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
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.
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.
Denel Kessler Jun 2016
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.
JV Beaupre Oct 2021
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.
PG Dec 2018
Birds chirp outside my window before the sun even appears
Interrupting my nightly rewind of 38 years
Or did I spend time in the future instead
With decisions not yet made, and words so far unsaid?

Slowly the fog drifts from my mind; my thoughts are no longer far
Wearily I rise from sleep, and grab a drinkless bar.
With a routine borne from endless practice, I move into my wheeled cage
Simultaneously what I need to survive, and a source of rage

Not due to the physical need; limits are never a shame
But because it puts me steps behind in the middle of life’s game
Some say I should be glad it is visible at first sight
With laws and support in place, I guess they may be right.

This topic feels conflicted as verses leave my head
Like following a path that someone else led
Supportive family and friends, a job, and outside interests too
All of these are mine, and yet there feels much more to do

I know myself well enough that part of my drive
Involves shutting people up and continuing to strive
Shattering expectations has always been fun
Now it’s more like a chore that never gets done

A clock in my head that just won’t stop ticking
Decisions seem to just get made without anyone picking
Days go by faster than the roadrunner’s blur
And yet things seem to end up back where they were

Work always goes well; at least by what’s in writing
They don’t have a front row seat when my head and heart are fighting
Feeling like I must always be “on;” a perpetual switch
Wishing more people knew I can truly be a *******!

That may seem like an odd thing to say
But just stop for a minute and see things my way.
Can’t drive on my own, dress or shower without an aide
Nobody even considers that I want to get laid.

“You think about ***?” they ask in shock
As if not walking means I don’t have a ****
The confusion all across their face burns me to my core
And gets me enraged enough to go hire a *****

I have no shame for this hope; though some would say I must
The only harm is not acknowledging that everyone has lust
I’m TIRED of feeling like these impulses have to hide
I just can’t find someone crazy enough to take the ride

In my darkest moments, paying seems the only way
I watch, we *****, and they don’t get to stay
But my thinking head knows that won’t solve the issue
So I guess I’m still stuck cleaning up with a tissue

“Don’t try so hard,” well-meaning people say.  “It will happen when it’s Fate.”
Hard to believe when you can’t even get a date.
Single women say they trust me, can tell any secret, and know I'll be there
So why the hell do they disappear without a care?

“You give such great advice and always know what to do.
I wish my boyfriend was more like you.”
Well, he could be, don’t you realize?
Get your head out of the clouds, and stop believing his lies!

Another one starts with “My family doesn’t even know this; you’re the only one I’ve told.”
I thank her for trusting me; the move was truly bold.
Down the line, I ask if one day sparks could fly,
“Nope, I’ll never see you that way, Goodbye!”

It’s not just about the *** either; that isn’t quite right.
Sharing hopes, dreams, fears, and laying together at night
No matter what obstacles or fortunes lie ahead
Not snapping out of a dream on one side of an empty bed

This isn’t depression, although I understand the concern
Just endless frustration wondering when will I learn
Actions don’t speak louder than words; they all have the same pitch
Why does the story ALWAYS end with me feeling like a *****??

Even six year old nieces get in on the act
Asking when I will make the lifelong pact
She doesn’t even care about gender; it could be the same
Unless of course, I want to hear a baby cry out his daddy’s name

Children has always been a true lifelong dream
But I’m a few steps behind and time is short it seems
At least my brother has a son to carry on our line
I know the future isn’t written, but give me SOME ******* sign!

Would I even be good at it?  Could I raise them well?
Who knows the kind of lives they’d lead, or stories they could tell?
I can’t say this for certain without a crystal ball
So instead I’ll be present for everyone here now, and help them through it all.

It may seem like these are things a true “man” shouldn’t say
And I admit to thinking the same a few times, even still today
After all, can’t do home improvements, fix cars, or plant a stupid tree
What on earth would any real woman have to do with me?

THAT’S the worst part of being in a chair
It allows you to think that no one else will truly care
Or that deepest dreams should remain hidden for no one else to see
Because, after all, you have a disability.

Sometimes these thoughts go too deep in my brain
Just gaining speed in my life like a runaway train
And I try to breathe slowly, stop and look around
Because of treasures I have already found.

The only person who will read these lines; “best friend” is WAY too weak a word
Family in all but blood; she urged my voice to be heard
Put out her hand, shared my laughter, dried some tears
Without question, my best decision these last five years.

Parents who drive me insane and often make me scream
But at the end of the day, we’re all on the same team
A brother and sister who tortured, teased and played along
Because in the end, bonds forged are lifelong

Nieces and nephews I could not love more if they were my own
Relatives whose love is not only stated but truly shown
An education with two degrees no one thought I could achieve
Even though they do not mean hard times and troubles will leave

Music and DVDs stacked from wall to wall
Even though I’ll never have time to play them all
A sense of humor that passes most people right on by
Maybe they’ll see me one day, stop in, and wonder why

As night falls once more outside and the page gets ready to turn
I can’t help but wonder what next lesson I will learn
Will it cause happiness?  Sadness?  Surprise?  Fortune?  Alarm?
Will I be able to keep the peace or have a desire to cause harm?

Do I have the skills necessary to keep on fanning the fire?
Without feeling like I’m walking a tightrope wire?
It’s like telling one last joke no one’s ever heard before
Will they boo me offstage, or stand up for more?

As I look back through my life, regrets seemingly zoom by at great speed
Ten years wasted on the wrong girl, not taking charge when I need
More independence than I’ve ever had before
But not enough courage to leave my parent’s front door

How will I explain these questions to people in my life?
What will potential girlfriends think?  Or (God forbid) a wife?
There are times when these thoughts fill me with physical pain
And endless tears slide off my face like nonstop torrential rain

All these endless riddles without answers in sight
Life’s milestones like road signs passing in the night
A sense of unease and worry permeates my head
Still, only one option open, full speed ahead

There’s nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide
Just gotta have the right people standing at my side
And no matter what today’s outcome, draw, lose or win
They’ll help me get up tomorrow and do it all again
Reposting this  w/ minor changes from original version.  The "only person who will ever read these lines" convinced me to share this, so here it is.
preservationman Jul 2019
The story of a travelling little girl that was intrigued by a hand at the steering wheel
It all happened on a bus in the south
These are my words straight with the account from my mouth
As the narration goes, a little girl who ventured on a regular basis traveling from Houston, Texas to St. Charles, Louisiana
It wasn’t just any trip, it was family visits
All covered by the Hound Bus, but there was something about that Hound Bus and it was the Operator that was always the driver
I am going to say the name of the Driver being Harry
Now I don’t know much about Harry and the Little Girl, but I do know, there was admiration and a feeling of belonging
I do know that the Little Girl back then was his number one travelling passenger
I was on my way to Houston, Texas after spending 7 Days in New Orleans
So the bus made a stop in St. Charles, Louisiana where a Female Adult boarded going to Houston sharing with me her story with knowing the Hound Bus Driver since she was a Little Girl
I found it interesting to learn, she was still friends even in her Adulthood.
But remember, we are in the South and South always show hospitality and greetings that last a lifetime
I observed when the driver asked the Female Adult to do certain things with the tickets in punching, and she definitely knew what to do
I knew then, yes, and that Little Girl never forgot and the Driver was like her Dad
The Female Adult travelled on that route on a regular basis
The Hound Bus was no stranger, and the story certainly not out of the ordinary
I will never forget that day with a remembrance as if it was yesterday
It was the affection and caring like a Father to a Daughter
The Hound Roadrunner showing the way
A Little Girl all grown up returning the admiration and in the passenger seat where she wants to stay.
Francie Lynch Jun 2014
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 ***.
When class let out at RHS
we'd head over to the Roadrunner.

We sipped cokes, smoked and told jokes.  

We gab away about the breaking scandals,
foibles and doomed love affairs vexing ourselves
and fellow classmates.

Cartoons danced on the back wall
fully animating the teenage angst
running rampant in the room.

In between bites of Mr. Snyder's
delicious French Fries and
charbroiled burgers,

Beamie would share her wise counsel,
opening an understanding ear while
offering an obliging shoulder
for tears and comfort.

Sharing with Beamie,
a trouble disclosed was instantly halved,
joys were resoundingly doubled.

Beamie’s resolute friendship
was beautifully wrapped
in the simple gift of her presence.

The loud jukebox would blare
Alice Cooper’s “Eighteen”
Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” or
The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”.  

Beamie didnt care much
for hard rock so she
sidle up to the juke,
drop a dime and play
Chicago’s “Colour My World”.

Beamie loved the song.  
She’d get lost in the rapture
of its ethereal melody.  For her,
I believe the song reflected the empathy
and deep emotional connection she so cherished
with friends and the people she deeply loved.

So to honor our dear friend, I plunk
another dime into the juke to spin
her favorite tune once more.

...As time goes by,
I realize, just what
You mean to me…

Dearest Beamie,
we marvel at the
rich abundant life
you crafted for yourself
and all who were blessed
to be touched by your love.

You leave this world
surrounded by a
thriving family and
a diverse community
of friends authored
by the love you so
unconditionally
shared through a
selfless life…

...And now
Now that you're near
Promise your love
That I've waited to share...

Beamie, you have kept
every promise, every pledge
you made to Lou, Michelle,
Jessica, Mason, Haley
Julio, Norberto and
your diverse group
of colleagues and
beloved friends.  

Your love created a
new generation that carries
the blessed DNA of a vibrant
spirit.  

It will grow and illuminate
the pathways and hearts of
many successive generations.

...And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you...

Beamie, you lived
a well lived life.

As your travel back
to the *****
of eternal love,
your spirit walks
with all who you
loved and all who
deeply loved you.

The hues, palettes
and rainbow of colors
you generously painted
onto family and friends
indelibly marks our identity

The memory
of your perfect
alabaster smile
ignites a instant joy
at the mention
of your name.

Your round brown eyes
manifested the earthen
wisdom you generously shared.

The scarlet flame
of a fully bloomed
summer rose
recollects your open heart
and sacred home
and the warm hospitality
offered to all who were
blessed to knock on your door.

The emotional avowal
of your ebullient embrace
chased away the blues
of doubt on many occasions
and reassured the
affirmation of friendship.

The silver strands
of your noble tresses
crowns your being
in maternal saintliness.

Dearest Beamie,
So many in this
drab gray world
have been colored
by the brilliant palette
of your blessed life.
I know you added
some wonderful
pictographs to the
multicolored mosaic
of my life's story.

I bless you for
our golden friendship.

Well done beloved.
God Bless and Godspeed.
love, mac

Kathleen P. Bumpass
3/25/56 - 6/1/17

Music Selection:
Chicago, Colour My World

6/2/17
Long Branch
jbm
written for a beloved friend
and recited at Beamie's funeral service 6/5/17
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
Richard Riddle Sep 2016
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
Zack Feb 2014
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


~
JP Apr 2017
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....
Jenna Cavanaugh Nov 2015
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
M Jan 2015
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?
MrJaM Jun 2015
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
Torak May 2014
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.
Billy May Feb 2015
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.
Bob B Oct 2016
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
it's called snake killer
state bird of New Mexico
cartoon, Road Runner
mikecccc Dec 2015
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.
Albeit
With more
Stunned silence.
Deep Ponderer Jul 2017
You delighted in the chase

It was indeed intriguing.

But when reality struck

And demanded your clock,

You fleet gracefully

Like a roadrunner.
The past hurts. If only I knew your motives, I would have never let you through

— The End —