"speedometer" poems
Love:
Affection, Admiration, Lust, Adoration...
There are at least 65 different definitions of the word.
Feelings that inspire books of poetry or expressions of love unheard.
How is it measured?
Perhaps with a caliper
to measure its depth and breadth.
Or with a sound meter
To measure the volume and decibel or the whispering of a breath.
Could you measure it in pints or cups or ounces in a measuring cup?
"My cup runneth over"
Can it be measured with a thermometer?
"I'm burning up."
How heavy is true love - can it be weighed on the scales?
Can you measure love with a compass - to what degree does love prevail?
Can a speedometer track the speed by which one falls in love?
Or an odometer measure the distance at which love can still be felt?
Can you use a syringe to limit your doses of love before it's lethal?
Can you attach a heart monitor and check how a lover's heart beats faster
or the health of their love - strong or weak?
Can the rhythm & harmony be counted out on a metronome
Can a polygraph test prove it is true?
Can the magnitude of love be measured using a microscope, binoculars or a telescope - maybe Hubble. How does one know how to bring it into "focus"?
How mysterious that love is so indistinguishable, so immeasurable, so evasive & yet SO BIG!
Yet no one - except for God - knows the true measure of Love & its ability to heal, to hurt.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
Words without
Unspoken truths
Cut in neat pieces
Sharp like knives
Plunged deep into yesterday’s drivers seat
Intoxicated
The sweetness of wine
Time took hold
Tastes grew old
Drank straight with ice
A barrel aged whiskey with bite
Involuntarily, my body shakes
Like it was trying to run away from the feeling
“I didn’t know you would make me so drunk”
Stumbling and fumbling with my keys
Scratched drivers side door
Attempts to unlock what shouldn’t be
It left chips in the paint
“F*ck” murmured beneath my breath
The engines low rumble grumbled and sang
A stereo left on too loud came alive when I turned the key
Busted eardrums, slow trickle, ears that bleed
Silence spoke the loudest after that
The nights drive turned sideways
Cherry red lights matched with blue
I could outrun them if I tried
Pressed petals in between pages
Pushed gingerly to the floor
The speedometer creeped to new heights
That annoying flashing brightness followed me
Threat to freedom and a refusal to give in
Twist and turns
The chase ensues
I finally feel like I’m gaining distance
Little was known, encroaching on a dead end
Blew past a warning sign
Wrapped my car around a tree
Crimson red soaked shirt
“Why is my face wet?”
A steady stream of life giving fluid pumped through a **** in my forehead
Dizzy, it made me dizzy.
I sat and waited, not for help
But for time to be taken away
I understood that sometimes a mistake is made, and I can pay the price with iron clad bracelets and a night spent on a bench for a bed.
You taste like wine and then bit like whiskey, when all I wanted was coffee black on a crisp summer morning with the sun rising up to meet a lovers lust in my eyes.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 1:33 PM UTC
The four wheels that carry my family
Into the path of the moon.
We're away on a hairline breeze, he says
Dashboard shoulders jumping
With every bump on the road.
The earth is never far enough for him
Sea shoes well worn from perpetual wading
Sand in the sun lines of his eyes.
I hurtle Father.
Fists, teeth; I have forgotten the art of talking
Too wrapped up in the headlights growling,
Swearing apart confidently.
All my smiles like a train waiting.
Never fear Daughter.
Those are fireflies that wind their way
above the speedometer
And we'll make a space prophet of you yet.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
I miss the open highway
I’m besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair?
When my foot’s on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that’s the rush I’m after.
Where are we going?
There’s just no knowing,
and no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.
One thing was guaranteed,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.
I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the speedometer edged past ninety
how my escort, Charles, would glare at me.
I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn’t freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.
Feb 11, 2023
Feb 11, 2023 at 12:41 PM UTC
It’s 12:08 on a Saturday night and I can’t help but notice the stutter in your breaths
as the speedometer ticks 45,
50,
60.
The wind whips across the top of the open Jeep making both of our hair fly as you turn to look at me.
I looked up at the dull constellations in the sky
trying to avoid the stars I knew were in your eyes.
There’s a tickle on my leg and I look down to see your fingertips tracing tiny circles on the skin above my knee.
The pressure on my thigh gets tighter and I look up to see everything
swimming in your eyes mimicking the look you had when we used to talk ourselves in circles.
The car runs over the rumble strips forcing you to look away and quickly becoming my saving grace from the question I knew was coming:
what are you thinking?
Slowing down to 15 below the speed limit, swerving left and right
in a lame attempt to avoid the never ending *** holes on a back road I didn’t even know existed, we sat is silence.
It’s 12:43 as you put the car in park and say you want me
happy, say you’re ready to commit,
that you know things are different now but that’s not good enough reason to quit.
The full moon shines light on the black silhouette in front of me defining your messy hair, nervous look, and everything eyes.
I whisper I want you happy too, but your fear hasn’t died,
and that there’s nothing romantic about a joint suicide.
We’d crash and burn, get lost in our teenage addictions without caring who or what we hurt.
It’s 1:37 and you pull off again except I remember this spot from the summer after junior year.
Unlike now, it was warmer that night we were last here when the crickets echoed our conversations of love, loss, and regret.
With two simple clicks the headlights were off and the world around us seemed to stand still. I could hear your breathing
getting heavier and faster as you gently cradled my face in your hands
duplicating the night we earlier said that we regret.
Taking in your dimly lit face, you pull my forehead to yours as that song comes on talking about how we used to be so young and self assured.
I realized a rush like this doesn’t come from caffeine
because before I knew it,
you were all over me like we were back at 17.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
Cotton is everywhere,
it's on the ground;
in the ditches,
all brown and soggy like
wet hairballs; in the wheel wells,
the rotor tiller;
the SNAPPER'
the squash;
your wife's ********
tingling her constantly;
the speedometer,
the pulled pork,
collards,
mashed potatoes
and most definitely
the gravy;
it's in the eyes,
makes them red
and explosive,
it's in the dark loam
and gloam; the unwashed streetlights,
the blue dark
and even bluer
lampposts in the middle
of fields black as oil;
the pink sun,
white clapboards
and redwood siding
of that burned-out homestead;
the cotton is everywhere;
thrown up by the slaves;
a ceiling made just for
February lovelessness
as I pull on my Marlboro
and crook my arm
like the cornices of a power station.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
Every soul I come into contact with
leaves an impression onto me.
But I don't believe in souls,
so how can this be?
How can I taste the flowerless
nature of a coke nose
and find it to be an eternal bloom?
For I, to without and before sunset,
**** the shadows that mask the morose
and keep the victimized stalwarts close.
See thy honor in the trauma of the night
and transient beauty of the light
that shines in all that I touch,
not enough or, perhaps, too much.
To break my empathy would be shimmerless,
but I'm dimmer, thus, a shallow crest
of what I thought was best
on the Earth's grass
and in the brain's broken glass.
Intermission:
Soda Pop and Popcorn in the lounge.
****** in France,
you like coke and being other people.
You tried to **** yourself with your car
but it only went as far
as the saliva leaping from your mouth,
when your head hit the horn,
and blared until your ears popped,
with your spit splatting against the speedometer.
Because what is fast isn't fast enough.
The EMT told you this when you saw the lights flash
across your eyes. Focus. Focus. Focus.
Follow the light with your eyes.
This isn't god. Do you have parents?
What is your name?
Your wallet melted in the heat.
What is your name?
You think you hear rusty bone saws
but they're trying to cut your friend out of the vehicle.
There isn't enough time. Time is never enough.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
Maybe it's not meant for this
Driving for miles and miles
Stuck in the same intersection
Indecisive on the turning point
Speedometer at 10
Not able to go faster
Down the yellow brick road
To have the curtain torn away
Or maybe the compass is pointing North
Going down a curvy road
Confused and alone
But maybe that is inaccurate
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
12:53am
The car clock blinks at me
i feel its judgement through green digit numbers
I cannot remember if it is running fast or a few minutes behind
but I know the bars are starting to close
and apartment lights begin to die off
I accidentally think of you
as I purposely forgot to secure my seat belt
headlights off, i peel out
the cracked screen of the stereo stares
reminding me that I must deal with my screaming thoughts
with no ****** pop songs to hide behind
I still taste it on my lips, a whiskey kiss
but how long has it been since my lips have touched yours?
I calculate the hours
and my speedometer climbs
the line of trees smear into a blur of brown
I drift onto 26 from 45, coast on 322
bear right until i don't know where the **** I'm going
roads like veins winding around to endless possibilities
but this telephone pole look so **** inviting
you were the one who helped me to learn the color of my eyes
but now my bleary blues shift to passenger seat
to see nothing but a pack of 27s
I expect the seat belt alarm to sound
but then I remember that it's not you
i toss the warning label away
how can something be so toxic
when the exterior is wrapped in gold
but i still feel your tarnish in my lungs
I miss the turn to my house
so i decide to drive on
inching closer and closer to you
wherever the hell that is
as my gas supply dwindles
i hope it's coming into my lungs
I pull over and throw up out the drivers side window
the strain of my gut is not enough
to rid you of my system
if only my body recognized you as a toxin a few months sooner
but God knows
no hangover will ever keep me from coming back
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Sleek smooth sharp
screaming down the road
gears clicking
engine whining
silently shifting up
faster faster faster
country side a blur
racing time itself
air rushing by
increase the speed
faster faster faster
speedometer topping out
maximum velocity achieved
senses heightened
one with the bike
faster faster faster
motorcycles
machines meant to fly
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
Blistering between the false hope of liberty
and the dream of a destiny
beyond the stars and the cosmic intricacies
of filtered rituals of nonsense, I stayed stymied
on the crutches of traditional customs
and conventions of writing.
Even the telescopic vision of a faraway
fantasy did not change rapidly
until the burning smell of a laissez-faire life
drove me into the strange new highways
of poetry.
Before too long I re-directed my attention
to writing, reading and contemplation
all of which came together
in an implosion of thought.
I wrote my first poem at the tender
age of twelve
and never stopped racing down the
roadways of writing
tyres burning
and speedometer ticking
Who can stop a getaway wordsmith
from breaking vocab records
for daring the unimaginable fantasy?
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 8 hours ago
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
My sports car’s bumper is redder than your pale lips,
And it’s Parrelies blacker than your silver flecked hair.
The TSW mags are genuine chrome, not only the lightly rooted tips,
And the smooth, glossy bonnet not wrinkled like your dial from care.
The seats are a plush tan, not a stark, unsightly white like you,
And the V12’s rev is an unmistakeable sound.
The speedometer reads 360, if ever beaten, only by a few,
And when I’m done it resides in splender, and not six foot underground.
The shatterproof windshield is clearer than your misty grey eyes,
And its model number reads 2004, not a dozen and three score more.
The Ferrari I own is the best that money buys,
And it makes me proud to say, “It’s mine!”, not a nuisance for 40years I’ve bore.
Now when Top Car says Ferrari 2005 I’ll need another,
But my love for you is timeless and can be filled by none other!
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
Top down on a rented convertible
The directors, the tabloids,
The husband and kids— leave them
with the city traffic.
The humming of the engine
makes my toes vibrate
as I nudge the accelerator with my
size 11 foot.
I want to see
Azure skies, desert landscape
Lizards basking on rocks.
I’d adopt a coyote
He would teach me how to sing
Because he admires my long nose.
On the road, I feel the
power of abandonment—
Infinite. Priceless. Immortal.
My excitement rises with the speedometer
I would make it to Mexico City by nightfall
The birthplace of my mother.
I write her name in the sky
It waivers with humility
Condenses into streak marks
on my windshield.
Her reflection winks back at me
in the rearview mirror.
Ahead, I see dusk and
the milky colors of city lights.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
Autumn squash soup sits on window sill of cardboard boxes.
Pumpkin pie wafts down alleyway
sits against a house.
The earthy colored scarfs. The brown boots and the blue glow from the 360 degree moon.
All look beautiful on you.
The speed limit is 30 miles an hour here
But i've been going 45 And I never look at my speedometer.
When the cop lights shine behind me glowing white and red and blue
I'm reminded why in fall, the color orange doesn't scare me.
I get a knock knock on my window from a man dressed in blue.
And when he asks me if i'm guilty i can't help but dream of you.
It's still fall season.
And I don't have snow tires yet.
But the weather man in my head said i've got time.
Mr. Officer in response to your question
Yes, I know why you pulled me over.
It seems that i'm on roadside trial for daydreaming.
And that slightly blue glow from the 360 degree moon sure does look great against your blue suit.
Mr. Officer. The color orange doesn't scare me.
Pumpkin carving flicker glow
Lantern guide you too your child home
While your there is there a rope swing?
Is the grass cut? Are you dreaming?
Is there a pie in the windowsill?
Because the baker inside.
waits for me tonight.
And i've been apple picking lazer tag
Holding soft hands in a graveyard.
Singing showtunes in our costumes that we struggled to sew together.
Mr officer. Do you even like pie?
Do you dream the scent and flavors?
Does it linger in your mouth?
Because to be honest
I think I'm going to love her.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
To the starry eyes who wink in the night,
lurking over empty solitary roads--
groaning pleas locked in impalpable shackles.
I unsteadily balance fear and prayer--juggling them
over each bony knuckle protruding
from ghostly white skin.
As I anxiously pull the wheel,
spry eyes dance between the hungry road
and the speedometer...
I fear the patient embers waiting to ignite in the darkness--
shall the chariot of fire roar from the gates of Hell tonight?
(I feel the weight of earth's calamity and Man's eternal sinful nature
amass atop my vessel,
sagging through the invisible tier,
mashing me farther and farther
beneath the wheel--
til I'm grounded meat within the gritty boulevard.)
And the embers snicker and flicker in the shadows of the endless night;
they prey on my fear like red-eyed vultures perched on scraggly branches--hunched, crooked spindly necks
crane menacingly into my windowpane.
But you, oh winking eyes of innocence who silently approaches me,
dragging across the gravel path on ****** knees--you like the presence of God in the burning bush, and I the meek shepherd in the wilderness!
Your urgent warning comes to me,
eclipsed within a single gesture--
in the brief moment the road swallows you up in darkness
as you shyly close your humble eyes in sincerity.
(The embers they know not of your betrayal,
with your back erected sternly towards them.)
In that instant I hid my face from you
and removed my sandals to stand atop holy ground.
Darkness soon broke, as your eyes again opened,
and in its radiance, an irrevocable axiom:
*It is when a person walks at night that they stumble,
for they have no light.*
It was then that I saw the light;
and in doing so I weaved the vitriolic embers--
those desperately seeking my spark to their ignite.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
I feel fuckin' restless.
There is too much noise in my head as my thoughts rush by like cars on a freeway.
I can't make them stop going 90 miles an hour
And I can feel the anxiety rising with the speedometer.
I'm running out of gas but I just keep going
Faster..
Faster..
Faster.
The car in autodrive,
I'm just waiting for the crash.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
A train leaves a station with a speed of 60mph
It accelerates to above the speedometer's capability.
Trailing through,
a path of flames scorching
innocent tinder.
The conductor peaks in the mirror
and there is no sight
of damage;
only clear paths.
Did the train go off tracks as it sped?
Only he can know when it halts.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
Sallow lights irradiate the snow as it caresses the windshield.
The heart pumps faster as the car is pushed
to the speed limit,
the speedometer hovering
before sliding across the line.
An inquiry is posed by the silence of the speakers,
as flickers of red still wash down from the rear view mirror.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
I was screaming.
It was like
Smashing my fists
Into a brick wall
Hoping it breaks.
I was screaming.
And you just kept driving
Like it was nothing
Like you did this
Every day.
I was screaming
And looking
At the speedometer
To see if you
Were speeding,
If you let this
Affect you at all.
You weren’t
And you didn’t.
I was screaming
And you didn’t hear a word.
Jan 7, 2024
Jan 7, 2024 at 2:19 PM UTC
Down on Tulsa Oklahoma,
A problem starts to rise.
The birdwatchers try to solve it
Thinking they'd stop demise.
She sits there in her throne in capsule
Gazing down on the blue.
She starts to notice quite a ruckus
And it affects her too.
"Oh god, please! Major, are you there?"
She doesn't hear a sound.
"Please at least give us some message,"
The watchers gather 'round.
Now over onto Jupiter,
The girls runs out of air.
A once-joyed planet below her
Has not one person stare.
She checks the speedometer
Traveling at great speeds.
Surprised before air ran out,
The red planet still bleeds.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
Silence can be so loud,
And that’s what drives you mad.
The fact that I don’t care anymore,
And you lost something you never even had.
Now the pedal’s to the floor,
Driving all through town.
Yelling you can’t take it anymore,
You’re becoming lost and I’m nowhere to be found.
You begin to panic,
And wonder what went wrong.
This is how I’ve changed.
Loving you has made me strong.
Speedometer begins to climb,
You ask and ask.
But I’ve disappeared forever,
Gone like whiskey in your flask.
You buy another bottle and you drink it down,
While your speedometer continues to soar.
You speed around this ghost town,
Eyes grow damp and tears begin to pour.
Your vision begins to blur,
So blurry you can’t see.
Inside, this feeling is familiar.
I remember, every time you laid your fist against me.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC
it read sixty-five miles
per hour on our way out
of town. My heart was happy
and so was I, (the two are
so rarely spinning in sync.)
it read zero when we reached
the next town and let our feet
move us instead. I can't tell you
how fast we traveled then but my
heart was running faster than the
most technical speedometer could
hope to even guess.
the drive home was forty-five, much
slower and with much purpose. and
as the familiar lights came into view
I realized that I wanted nothing more
than to be 30 miles backwards, in
the unfamiliar town, and stay there
with you
longer.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 7:48 PM UTC
The still air sets off into a run when the speedometer reads 100.
Nothing really matters at those speeds. The only thing that seems real is that beautiful harmony coming gently out of a few speakers.
At 100 nothing really matters because if you worry you slip.
If you slip you run off the road.
If you run off the road you die.
Death is good for figuring things out.
But this isn't about death.
It's about life
That beautiful fleeting thing,
Where everything matters and doesn't at the same time.
That Klondike bar looks good and this song is hitting me just right. I love you too.
That's all that matters right now, but by the time anyone sees this I'll have forgotten what this was about
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC