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Gonzo Oct 2010
Well I drive the speed limit,

When I'm on the blacktop,

Because ya ain't gonna know,

If yer gettin eyeballed by the cops.



When I see the gravel,

Comin' up around the bend,

I turn the corner, hit the gas,

And my tires start to spin.



I get my get 'em up stuck,

In my pickup truck.

The gravel gets my guages,

goin' up, up, up.



In my pickup truck,

Ain't no slowin' me down.

I love my pickup truck,

Kickin' up dust clouds.



If it's rainin', you're complainin',

About the mud and the muck,

But ya know that I'll be playin,

In my pickup truck.



I get my get 'em up stuck,

In my pickup truck.

The mud gets my guages,

goin' up, up, up.



In my pickup truck,

Ain't no slowin' me down.

I love my pickup truck,

Throwin mud around.



When your rollin' around,

On the ice and in the snow

Sittin' in the ditch,

your car don't wanna go.



Who's the one ya call,

To get ya unstuck,

Ring-a-ding-a-ling-a-ling,

Ya need my pickup truck.



I get my get 'em up stuck,

In my pickup truck.

The winter gets my guages,

goin' up, up, up.



In my pickup truck,

Ain't no slowin' me down.

I love my pickup truck,

Haulin' people 'round,



Time to move is here,

And I back up to your door.

Packing out your things,

Until my truck can't fit no more.



I get my get 'em up stuck,

In my pickup truck.

Helpin' friends gets my guages,

goin' up, up, up.



In my pickup truck,

Ain't no slowin' me down.

I love my pickup truck,

Helpin' friends movin' 'cross town



I can't get enough,

Of my pickup truck.

If I had to do without it,

then my life would ****.



Ya know my life would ****,

Without my pickup truck.

I would feel like half a man,

Without my pickup truck.
Terry O'Leary Nov 2013
Ah Consuela! Invoking vast vistas for visions of green Spanish eyes,
I discern them again where she left me back then,
                 as we kissed when she parted, my friend.
Through those ruins I tread towards the footlights, now dead,
                 where I’ll muse as her shadows ascend.

                  .
                          .
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she teases the mirror with green Spanish eyes;
her serape entangles her brooches and bangles
                 like lace on the sorcerer’s looms,
and her cape of the night, she drapes tight to excite,
                 and her fan is embellished with plumes.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching as spectators savour her green Spanish eyes;
taming wild concertinas, the dark ballerina
                 performs on the music hall stage,
but she shies from the sound of ovation unbound
                 like a timorous bird in a cage.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she quickens the pit with her green Spanish eyes;
as the cymbals shake, clashing, the floodlights wake, flashing,
                 igniting the wild fireflies,
and the piccolo piper’s inviting the vipers
                 to coil neath the cold caldron skies.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the shimmering shadows in green Spanish eyes
as I rise from my chair and proceed to the stair
                 with a hesitant sip of my wine.
Though she doesn’t deny me, she wanders right by me
                 with neither a look nor a sign.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the stage with her green Spanish eyes,
(for her senses scoff, scorning the biblical warning
                 of kisses of Judas that sting,
with her pierced ears defeating the echoes repeating)
                 and smiles at the magpie that sings.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching faint embers a’ stir in her green Spanish eyes,
for a soft spoken stranger enveloping danger
                 has captured the rhyme in the room
as he slips into sight through a crack in the night
                 midst the breath of her heavy perfume.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she gauges his guise through her green Spanish eyes
– from his gypsy-like mane, to his diamond stud cane,
                 to the raven engraved on his vest –
for a faraway form, a tempestuous storm,
                 lurks and heaves neath the cleav’e of her *******.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the caravels cruising her green Spanish eyes;
with the castanets clacking like ancient masts cracking
                 he whips ’round his cloak with a ****
and without sacrificing, at mien so enticing,
                 she floats with her face facing his.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the vertigo veiling her green Spanish eyes,
while the drumbeat pounds, droning, the rhythm sounds, moaning,
                 of jungles Jamaican entwined
in the valleys concealing the vineyards revealing
                 the vaults in the caves of her mind.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching life’s carnivals call to her green Spanish eyes,
and with paused palpitations the tom-tom temptations
                 come taunting her tremulous feet
with her toe tips a’ tingle while jute boxes jingle
                 for jesters that jive on the street.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she rides ocean tides in her green Spanish eyes,
and her silhouette’s travelling on ripples unravelling
                 and shaking the shipwracking shores,
as she strides from the light to the black cauldron night
                 through the candlelit cabaret doors.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she dances till dawn flashing green Spanish eyes,
with her movements adorning a trickle of morning
                 as sipped by the mouth of the moon,
while her tresses twirl, shaming the filaments flaming
                 that flow from the sun’s oval spoon.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she masks for a moment her green Spanish eyes.
Then the magpie that sings ceases preening her wings
                 and descends as a lean bird of prey –
as she flutters her ’lashes and laughs in broad splashes,
                 his narrowing eyes start to stray.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching fey carousels spin in her green Spanish eyes,
and the porcelain ponies and leprechaun cronies
                 race, reaching for gold and such things,
even being reminded that only the blinded
                 are fooled by the brass in the rings.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she shepherds the shadows with green Spanish eyes,
but as evening sinks, ebbing, the skyline climbs, webbing,
                 and weaves through the temples of stone,
while the nightingales sing of a kiss on the wing
                 in the depths of the dunes all alone.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the music and magic in green Spanish eyes,
as she dances enchanted, while firmly implanted
                 in tugs of his turbulent arms,
till he cuts through the strings, tames the magpie that sings,
                 and seduces once more with his charms.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, the citadel steams in her green Spanish eyes,
but behind the dark curtain the savants seem certain
                 that nothing and no one exists,
and though vapours look vacant, the vagabond vagrants
                 remain within mythical mists.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching as lightning at midnight in green Spanish eyes
kindles cracks within crystals like flashes from pistols
                 residing inside of the gloom
as it hovers above us betraying a dove as
                 she flees from the fountain of doom.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, distilling despair in her green Spanish eyes,
and the bitterness stings like the snap of the strings
                 when a mystical  mandolin sighs
as the vampire shades **** the life from charades
                 neath the resinous residue skies.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the ledge with her green Spanish eyes,
for the terrace hangs high and she’s thinking to fly
                 and abandon fate’s merry-go-round.
At the edge I perceive her and rush to retrieve her –
                 she stumbles, falls far to the ground.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the sparkles a’ spilling from green Spanish eyes.
As I peer from the railing, with evening exhaling,
                 I cry out a lover’s lament –
there she lies midst the crowd with her spirit unbowed,
                 but her body’s all broken and bent.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she beckons me hither with green Spanish eyes,
and I’m slightly amazed being snared in her gaze
                 and a’ swirl in a hurricane way,
but the seconds are slipping, my courage is dripping,
                 the moment is bleeding away.

Ah Consuela! I touch her - she weeps tender tears from her green Spanish eyes;
as the breezes cease blowing, her essence leaves, flowing,
                 in streams neath the ambient light,
and the droplets drip swarming, so silent, yet warming,
                 like rain in a midsummer night.

Ah Consuela! I hold her, am hushed by the hints in her green Spanish eyes,
while her whispers are breathing the breaths of the seething
                 electrical skeletal winds,
and the words paint the poems that rivers a’ slowin’
                 reveal where the waterfall ends.

Ah Consuela! I’m fading in fires a’ flicker in green Spanish eyes,
as she plays back the past, she abandons and casts
                 away matters that no longer mend.
           .
                  .
And she reached out instead, as she lifted her head,
                 and we kissed as she parted, my friend.
           .
                  .
                          .
Ah Consuela! I’m tangled, entombed, trapped in tales of your green Spanish eyes,
in forsaken cantinas beyond the arenas
                 where night-time illusions once flowed,
for the ash neath my shoulder still throbs as it smoulders
                 some place near the end of the road.
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
(Omaha to Ogden - Summer 1870)
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)

I can hear the whistle blowin’,
two short bursts, it’s time to throttle up.
Conductor double checks, with tickets punched,
hot glistenin’ oil on connectin’ rods.

Hissin’ steam an’ belchin’ smoke rings,
inside thin ribbons of iron track.
Windin’ through the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
along the banks of the river Platte.

A summer’s breeze toss yellow wild flowers,
joyful laughter an’ waves goodbye.
Up ahead, there’s a sea of lush green fields,
belo’ a bright, blue-crimson sky.

O’er plains where sun bleached buffalo,
with skulls hollowed, an’ emptied gaze.
Comes a Baldwin eight wheeler a rollin’,
a sizzlin’ behemoth on clackin’ rails.

Atop distant hills, Sioux warriors rendezvous,
stoke up the locomotive’s firebox.
Crank up the heat, pour on the steam,
we’ll outrun ‘em without a shot!

‘Cross the Loup River, just south of Columbus,
on our way to Silver Creek an’ Clark.
We’re all lookin’ forward to the Grand Island stop,
where there’s hot supper waitin’, just befor’ dark.

On our way again, towards Westward’s end,
hours passin’ without incident.
I fall asleep, while watchin’ hot moonlit cinders,
dancin’ Eastward along the track . . . . .

My mind is swimmin’ in the blue waters of the Pacific,
dreamin’ adventures, an’ thrills galore.
When I awake with a start an’ a **** from my dreamland,
we’re in the midst of a Earth shatterin’ storm!

Tornado winds are a’ whirlin’, an’ lightnin’ bolts a’ hurlin’,
one strikes the locomotive’s right dash-***.
The engine glows red, iron rivets shoot Heaven sent,
it’s whistlin’ like a hundred tea-pots!

The train’s slowin’ down, there’s another town up ahead,
must be North Platte, an’ we’re pushin’ through.
Barely escape from the storm, get needed provisions onboard,
an’ switch out the locomotive for new.

At dawn’s first light, where the valley narrows,
with Lodge Pole’s bluffs an’ antelope.
We can all see the grade movin’ up, near Potter’s City,
where countless prairie dogs call it home.

On a high noon sun, on a mid-day’s run,
at Cheyenne, we stop for grub an’ fuel.
“Hookup another locomotive, men,
an’ start the climb to Sherman Hill!”

At the highest point on that railroad line,
I hear a whistle an’ a frantic call.
An’ a ceiling’s thud from a brakeman’s leap,
to slow that creakin’ train to a crawl.

Wyomin’ winds blow like a hurrican’,
the flimsy bridge sways to an’ fro.
Some hold their breath, some toss down a few,
‘till Dale Creek disappears belo’.

With increasin’ speed, we’re on to Laramie,
uncouple our helper engine an’ crew.
Twenty round-house stalls, near the new town hall,
up ahead, the Rocky Mountains loom!

You can feel the weight, of their fear an’ dread,
I crack a smile, then tip my hat.
“Folks, we won’t attempt to scale those Alps,
the path we’ll take, is almost flat.

There ain’t really much else to see ahead,
but sagebrush an’ jackalope.
It’s an open prairie, on a windswept plain,
the Divide’s, just a gentle *****.

But, there’s quite a few cuts an’ fills to see,
from Lookout to Medicine Bow.
Carbon’s got coal, yields two-hundred tons a day,
where hawks an’ coyotes call.

When dusk sets in, we’ll be closin’ in,
on Elk Mountain’s orange silhouette.
We’ll arrive in Rawlins, with stars burnin’ bright,
an’ steam in, at exactly ten.

It’s a fair ways out, befor’ that next meal stop,
afterwards, we’ll feel renewed.
So folks don’t you fret, just relax a bit,
let’s all enjoy the view.”

Rawlins, is a rough an’ tumble, lawless town,
barely tame, still a Hell on wheels.
A major depot for the UP rail,
with three saloons, an’ lost, broken dreams.

Now time to stretch, wolf down some vittles,
take on water, an’ a load o’ coal.
Gunshots ring out, up an’ down the streets of Rawlins,
just befor’ the call, “All aboard!”

I know for sure, some folks had left,
to catch a saloon or two.
‘Cause when the conductor tallies his final count,
we’re missin’ quite a few!

Nearly everyone plays cards that night,
mostly, I just sit there an’ read.
A Gazetteer is open on my lap,
an’ spells out, what’s next to see –

‘Cross bone-dry alkali beds that parch man an’ beast,
from Creston to bubblin’ Rock Springs.
We’re at the backbone of the greatest nation on Earth,
where Winter’s thaw washes West, not East.

On the outer edge of Red Desert, near Table Rock,
a bluff rises from desolation’s floor.
An’ red sandstones, laden with fresh water shells,
are grooved, chipped, cut an’ worn.

Grease wood an’ more sagebrush, tumble-weeds a’plenty,
past a desert’s rim, with heavy cuts an’ fills.
It’s a lonesome road to the foul waters of Bitter Creek,
from there, to Green River’s Citadel –

Mornin’ breaks again, we chug out to Bryan an’ Carter,
at Fort Bridger, lives Chief Wash-a-kie.
Another steep grade, snow-capped mountains to see,
down belo’, there’s Bear Valley Lake.

Near journey’s end, some eighty miles to go,
at Evanston’s rail shops, an’ hotel.
Leavin’ Wahsatch behind, where there’s the grandest divide,
with fortressed bluffs, an’ canyon walls.

A chasm’s ahead, Hanging Rock’s slightly bent,
a thrillin’ ride, rushin’ past Witches’ Cave.
‘lot more to see, from Pulpit Rock to Echo City,
to a tall an’ majestic tree.

It’s a picnic stop, an’ a place to celebrate –
marchin’ legions, that crossed a distant trail.
Proud immigrants, Mormons an’ Civil War veterans,
it’s here, they spiked thousand miles of rail!

We’re now barrelin’ down Weber Canyon, shootin’ past Devil’s Slide,
there’s a paradise, just beyon’ Devil’s Gate.
Cold frothy torrents from Weber River, splash up in our faces,
an’ spill West, to the Great Salt Lake.

It’s a long ways off, from the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
to a place called – “God’s promised land.”
An’ it took dreamin’, schemin’, guts an’ sinew,
to carve this road with calloused hands.

From Ogden, we’re headin’ West to Sacramento,
we’ll forge ahead on CP steam.
An’ when we get there, we’ll always remember –
Stops along an American dream.

“Nothing like it in the World,”
East an’ West a nation hailed.
All aboard at every stop,
along the first transcontinental rail!
This is one of my favorite poems to recite.   I wrote this after I read the book "Nothing Like It In the World" by Stephen Ambrose.  The title of this book is actually a quote from Seymour Silas, who was a consulting engineer for the Union Pacific railroad.  Stephen's book is about building the World's first transcontinental railroad.   Building the transcontinental Railroad was quite an accomplishment.   At it's completion in 1869, it was that generation's "moonshot" at the time.   It's hard to believe it was just another hundred years later (1969) and we actually landed men on the Moon.   "Stops Along an American Dream" is written in a style common to that period.   I researched the topic for nearly four months along with the Union Pacific (UP) train stops in 1870 - when most of the route's stops were established.    The second part of the companion poem, yet to be written, will take place from Ogden to Sacramento on the Central Pacific railroad.   That poem is still in the early formative stages.   I hope you enjoy this half of the trip on the Union Pacific railroad!   It was truely a labor of love and respect for all those who built the first transcontinental railroad.    It's completion on May 10th, 1869 opened the Western United States to mass migration and settlement.

Jim Sularz
mark john junor Oct 2013
she begins to swing her hips
and flicks her bick to overload
her lips on fire with the words
her mind is a furnace comin unglued
see the images leaking out the seams
rivets slamming the walls
as the ***** busts a nut
she is full on now
aint no stopping
aint no slowin down
what are you crazy think you want her
spreadin roots in this state of mind
like unleashing a hailstorm in a paper cup
this version of the girl aint for bring home to momma
she swims out of her eyes
and bites the natural world
but she is an artwork on two fast feet
she is the cover of time pasted on a cereal box
eat that walter cronkite

any questions

his hand a tangled knot
in the handles of his life
and the he begins to bounce on his feet
as the tune rides up onstage
the crows parts to let the kid roll
they can tell this one is gonna burn the carpet
he  calls out the things on his mind
the funky thing crawls down his mind
and out the dancing in his legs
heavy steps like rolling thunder
light ones like flashes of lightening
see the music speak with this
poor fools broken form bouncing
but see that ear to ear grin
that ain't painted there
its live and in person
cause this is living
when the music shakes to your soul
long into the night as the band onstage
plays through their list
plays all the favorite ones
and some for the silly little ones who think
its so cute to wear weekend Tye-dye
these two got the dance-floor sweating
these two stretching the flesh
and greeting the sky
one star at a time
people can you feel the heat
coming off her
shes gonna give birth to a lighting rod
and its gonna explode allover this dance-floor

all  too soon the band is pulling out the encore
fare thee something
and her exhausted smile is filled with love
for every note she has made love to
this night
and his laugh is for the trails of mind light
that he has danced with and ran with
they wind it on down
they meet in the middle
and hold eachother
as the music finally fades
the rest of the world goes home to sleep
these two
will lay down to relive it in visions
for a lifetimes in a dream
goodnight prince of the river
goodnight princess of dreadlocks
dedicated to Jay Bianchi and Quixotes True Blue...a piece of sunshine eternal
Jimmy Desire Jul 2011
lost in my train of thought
music is guidin me
no signs of slowin down
snap me back to reality
cuz baby i'm cruzing
where i'll end only i will kno
unless we stay connected
follow me
intertwined with my mind, telepathy
see what i see
life movin fast
billboards displayin moments in the past
bluring out negativity
regret's a strong *******
its been holding on too long to me
a tear streaks down her face and it tears down another side of me
a shadow encases her whole and suddenly i can no longer see
i can her whisper the words
"please just stay away from me"
until she fades
moving on...
a young man approaches me
I shake his hand
finally ready to face the world he decides to turn his back on me
stunned i look on
until i realize he's no longer within my reach
another door closes...
another one opens and i'm blessed with a childs laughter
the silhouette struggles to stand trying to find balance
if only he could comprehend the lessons being taught to him
he falls and regardless he tries again to accomplish what he sees others have acheieved
determination...
I turn to find a wall
texture is rough but presense is familiar
strong and unbreakable
and yet i chip away at its will as the years fade
cold, no longer as strong as before
easily breakable
no longer can you defend us
stand behind me
let's see what i'm made of,
please let me try
I can't stand to see you fall and i know i never say it but
Mama you mean too much to me...
Found but still lost
a mirror in front of me
confused to discover
exactly whats become of me.
you left me  like rotten food,
bitter and sour too,
cause you couldn't savor to the flavor of love that I catered you, never betrayed you,
So why? did you leave?
The only peace I have is ******* with these purples trees,
And I smash almost everyday mary jane,
Blazin on these leafs,
and still hurt all the same , I cant rid all this pain..
I thought we would be true with no masks, but your love had different plans boo,
Left me itchen a rash of questions while cutting myself too.
Ignorant to think we would last,
Lost in thoughts starring thru a wine glass.
The gates of life in the past were it haunts me and not you,
Feeling like straight trash , too much to mash and you knew.
All you did was laugh..
use me, abuse me,
Toss and threw me out..
Like im nothing
just cutt me off
am cast me out, and didn't unlock the coffin.
Any ties and every lie you told me, i thought was true, was straight bluffin.
Now its a surprise how i lost you and now im confuse everything that was about you is now more of me too.
Growing in pain, slowin in sanity, Dancin in the rain..
Looking at the sky wishing to die But I wont,
im Stuck up in the earth esteem lower than dirt
all I feel is hurt, how can i make it work?
I don't know where to go,
everywhere is close doors
all I do is feel, and the real just breaths thru my pours feeling so sore,
drinkin and thinkin more and more outta place,
cant find my face, Cant find the line to trace, Cant sea the shore to be sure
that ima just make it..
So ima just fake it, roll it and blaze it,
live thru the phases, work out these mazes,
and escape this fate to print my own destiny on its own pages.

BY: Emmanuel jv Hernandez
7/6/13
click clacks that's the sound of my gat
rollin on ya like the Pats
check the stats
fifty and Zero so ya know
**** aint never been rented
everythang paid for
from ceiling to floor to the shores hataz galore i adore
scents of **** indeed
hands tryna feed off greed
but my money in jealousy
cheatin' cuz i got foreign currency and *****
comes to me
like cats to milks
smooth em out like silk
real slick **** once my rifle hit
the ***** holes
my inches below make ya fold
though O
slowin role O no
this aint a love ballad
we coming at it
raw and rugged
and if you dont love it
you shove it
up yours with ya shaft
im makin' blood baths as my muzzle laughs
im talkin my guns that make ya
Body dry
Like when clothes pen hungs
on the flat lines no rewind
death is permanent
should have known
******* i cant stand it
when they  try to kriss kross me
but i live and die for hip hop g
no jermaine dupri
but i break em off properly
like an assist from John Stockton see
my flows is critical like Leviticus in biblical subliminal
smooth stocky criminals
Turning all federals
Into funerals
Jessica Jarvis Feb 2018
When I look into those green eyes
all I see are stops signs sayin'
"chill out and breathe."

When you look at me,

it
seems

like this world is slowin' down, but
my heart keeps beating.

I can't
breathe.

The butterflies are way too much, yet
you keep on speaking

I don't believe you understand
how much I wanna hold your hand.

You call me beautiful,
well, guess what...

You're beautiful too.
Written around April, 2016.

An immature, cheesy, and incomplete attempt to a love song that I cannot forget.
Matthew Rankin Oct 2018
Its Fall.
Maple trees growgrowgrow.
Down town towntowntown.
Birds sing english unslumped.
And green grass
Grows.

Maple leaves drop.
The sun’s slowin’ down.
And all the way down,
And dropping upwards smoke.

Maple leaves smoke.
Its Spring.
The maple lot croaked.
Wind did nothin’ wild but
Time allotted it a seat and spoke.

Maples leave smoke.
It’s water. Water that broke.
the Maples all prespired.
An empty lot learned to choke.
sage eugene zumr Oct 2020
forbidden rituals comended sitch of stix
im the britches you place upon
so call your ***** inside the basment ****
take along a hit you snake a song
hate the wrong right flippin tight
hit the mic with a statement strong

convince no other like the fitz
fritz fizzy lickin nips
seconds latent intwixed thats
furry flip burried bitz pix hurry
quick youve made them silent kits

scitz inside the ritz ive eatin too many
all these souls convoyantries
im boyant in the poetry i clip
no butter cup could kick
lick the mother dusk of nix
yall never heard those names

im the sane inside your dame scit
wont claim another aimed in
ill own every tame dinner
like a kitten quickly drips
theirs a moment full of bliss where
no one understands the hungered man

lightning in the thunder can
blunderbus ive underland
wonder what the summer has
another laps im tousk
musk elighhn mine sight
wolf amongs the sheep of fifths

never was it ray who hadent his
i see the shades of gray into fray
this the day admists those munchkins
double dutchin hush hundred
fourth ladder that i summon this
is nothin like a buimpin biztks

dunce i loved the days
other plays hey talk of tay
you get them ditches diggin
quick i know the cards behold
the hardest roll to play im
goin motions slowin till i play
alpha told me stay at bay
i come from places youd have missed
kromwellfarkus Feb 2020
Happy birthday kid
You made it this far
May as well keep on goin
Cos time aint slowin

The years seem faster
And the months fly by
A second seems shorter
Than the blink of an eye

Before I kick off
With the festivities and such
Just know, I have always
Given a ****

This is the calm
Before the storm
I won't be home
Until the morn

Keep a light on
So I know where to stagger
10th birthday of a 40 year old man
But, that doesn't matter.

May the hangover be kind
And the drugs be pure
May my friends all get along
You *****.
Before the night of my 40th...

— The End —