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Spencer Brown Oct 2014
Subaru
Subaru blue, gold rims
Whistles, Fights, Hides
Loves to eat muscle
Car
Micheal Wolf Jul 2013
Brian has a Subaru, he drives it very fast
He likes to see the people look as he goes whizzing past
Brian thinks he's special a celebrity of sorts
Tearing up and down the street with his oversized exhaust
The truth is Brian no one gives a toss
They look in hope and pray you write your ****** off!
Fat Panda Oct 2014
Blue Paint,Gold Rims
Your inside a god
The Car Roars with Pride
When the Tires turn You Cant go Back
Andrew Kerklaan Jun 2018
Glass ticking like cold plastic

My fingers thrum hopelessly in the hopes of drumming up a solution to a problem with an issue of loss.

This dilemma has found me at the end of my rope and I fear the knots in my stomach are only getting tighter as I squeeze you closer to me now.

Why can't I help me?

I won't let you do it for me.

But must I force feed you the truth?

I'm not hungry for this day any more. Fighting this sickness, I choke back another spoonful of medicine...
--And what am I supposed to do now then?!

Frustration consumes me.
I am bile. The emptiness inside, that fills me with rot.

I'm hollow!!

Somebody save me from myself!   I want to self-destruct and not be okay anymore.

I want to fly a Subaru into the sun on fire.
I'm just so ******.

Just leave me behind and maybe I can decompose into something useful and that actually wants to be here and maybe after that I can finally float away from here...

Wouldn't that be okay?
Why should I have to stay.

I never belonged here any way.
Poemasabi Jul 2013
I think of mom often.
Like when I read anything by Jack London
or Ernest Thompson Seton.

Her memory swirls around me when I see a dead opossum by the roadside
it reminds me of the one we had as kids.
Yes, we had an opossum.
It wasn't a pet as much as it was a wounded soldier,
convalescing in a field hospital close to the front and cared for by Florence Nightingale,
except the field hospital was our carport under a suspended Old Towne wood canoe,
the battle, with a Ford or Chevrolet, on the main road near our house in Connecticut.
Florence was Mom.

She peeks at me around corners in the kitchen when I make fish,
or soup,
because I hated fish as a child.
She made us eat it because it was healthy and the blocks of frozen Turbot were cheap
and she was a single mom at forty two with three hungry mouths to feed.
She tried to make me think it was exotic because it came from Iceland.
I thought Turbot was Icelandic for "more bones in your mouth than you ever thought possible".
Mom was, however, an accomplished homemade souper.

She's by my side as I explain wild things
to other little wild things which hang on my every word.
Words put into my head which make it seem,
to the under four foot set,
that I know everything.
Knowledge put there by her in our yard,
by the lakes of New York, the mountains of West Virginia or deserts of California.
She is in every frog that jumps, whippoorwill that calls or each stalk of Jewel ****,
which is a cure for poison ivy by the way,
that grows near a stream in the woods.

But then today
as my daughter opened the overhead sunglass holder in her car for the first time,
the Subaru she inherited from Mom over a year ago,
and Grandma's sunglasses fell out,
there were no thoughts of lessons learned
or knowledge imparted.
Today,
I just thought of her.
Ryan Willard Jul 2020
I swear the barber shaved my eyebrows off
like nothing happened. When he asked:
is this okay?
I moved my head like everything was fine.

It all was alright. After all, the mask
would gather more attention anyway,
and if you laughed that would be okay with me,
since this was all for you, anyway.

Even now I think of all we went through.
It is mostly what was expected.
And I still want that sort of life
with the walks and the slowness,
where I drive pass a Subaru
and go:
oh, look at that Subaru. And smile.

What I meant was I want that
with you. where your worries
and my worries
became a life weighed down together—
that slow aging away from wanting.

I can feel it even now.
Scar Aug 2016
I haven't felt this in a long while
That same old, beautiful teenage rebellion coursing through my twenty year old veins

Remember the grass we'd tread on during days of
Extracurricular activities all hungover and dread locked

Or the Saturday night in late September
When three girls first inched their way toward a mirror
In the thrift store and the coffee shop
Gourds and games and locking ourselves in the car to listen to that rust colored song
Amid the high school hoi Polloi
Three girls, still, getting closer to that mirror

There were books about the body in a Goodwill
About the diseases that afflict our tiny bones
And science hung from a rack while she put on an old mans sweater and fantasized about the death that could have taken place in each stitch

Catholic school boy bonfire
Doing donuts in the field because, well, life is a highway
And can you believe it? She hit her head again
Oh our blonde believer, knocking her brain out of her skull and onto the highway
While our other friends smoked secrets in the woods out past the driveway

When we parted from our dear doe eyed psychopath
And found ourselves a trifecta for the first time in months,
There was only one thing to do -
Admit there were robots among us, chug a beer, and say goodnight
spaghetti May 2016
You wonder why my name is spaghetti,
It's sounds funny to you.
Not quite a long story,
But it's all very true.
Our tale begins,
When I was quite young,
Right when spring,
had just sprung.
Living with my aunt,
At the age of two,
She brought me to preschool,
In her liberal Subaru.
My parents left me,
If you were curious.
They went off to help illegal-aliens,
which made me quite furious.
Anyway, when I got to my class,
We did a bunch of useless work,
While the teacher sat fat on her ***.
After reading some ****,
called Cat in the Hat,
we all went for lunch,
to eat some crap.
All was going well,
In that brick-enclosed hell,
but all went wrong with a single song.
Some ****** turned on,
Some pop music,
We all got mad,
At that stupid *****.
I had enough already,
Since my parents had left me,
And I was stuck with a woman,
Who voted for Hillary.
So I got out of my seat,
And walked right to the kid,
Took my lunch out of my bag,
And opened the lid.
Inside held the spaghetti,
That I was planning to eat.
I grasped it in my hand,
And planted my feet.
I grabbed the ***'s neck,
shoved the spaghetti down his throat,
And before I knew it,
He started to choke.
Through his espohogus,
very far down,
The blood gushed out of his mouth,
And onto the ground.
The kid's eyes rolled back,
into his head,
until they were white,
I knew he was dead.
Even though it was over,
I continued to go,
And throw his body,
Out the nearest window.
My classmates watched in horror,
as the body fell down,
Into the road,
without making a sound.
Then in the street a dump truck went by,
Running over the body,
And my classmates started to cry.
They will never forget that wonderful day.
"He killed a kid with spaghetti!"
They all started to say.
olivia Jul 2017
He drives a gray Subaru

I get in the passenger seat
He turns on nirvana
I don't want to
But I can't
Help it
I begin to weep
He asks what's wrong
I can't explain
He turns it off
I thank him
Until
Radiohead
Water falls from my eyes once more
I shouldn't be in this car

I should be riding my bike beside yours
writeboutlove
loisa fenichell Oct 2014


My father sits in the corner of his
living room with his mouth curled
and ****** hair drooping like a ******
up angel. His body is just like mine.
I have never hated him more than
I do now, with his gut hanging over
his knees like hot solid fur.  

2.

I sit in the passenger seat of a green
Subaru Forrester. Father drives. I am
trying to sleep and he won’t stop
talking and I realize in his voice that
the two of us are the same: we have
the same throats, like two blue
bibles.

3.

Father in his rocking chair sleeps
stilly like paved whispering. I picture
him with a snake in his lap and it is only
then that I am willing to cover him
in the plaid blanket that drapes the living
room couch. I leave him with my shoulders
bent like rusty metal, my mouth shaped
like guilt or a glass of milk.  

4.  

My father dies in 2006 in between
line of highway and line of trees. Subaru
Forrester beaten against the side of the road.
His spine bends his waist twists as though
he has just slept with the devil.
Kitty Parson Sep 2013
There you were on your camo Kawasaki
Riding leathers on, in racing position
Pacing the metallic beige Subaru
Pacing the vintage blue Volvo
Pacing me, in the back seat,
Hungover.
Maddy Oct 2023
Thanks and Gratitude
For dogs who wait forever for a loving family and home
No matter their handicap or situation
They want love and want to return it
If you are lucky enough to have a pet in your life
If you give your time, money, and effort to an animal charity
Heartfelt Thanks
Tail wags and cuddles
Thanks, Subaru for today

C@rainbowchaser2023
Danielle Shorr Jul 2013
You’re beautiful.
Every single piece of you is absolutely beautiful and I say absolutely knowing that you can trust me because i've seen it all.
And in all of the complicated beauty that you possess I see that you're hurting and that you’re lonely its almost as if I can feel you're sadness, but know that I love you no matter how many miles apart we may be.
785 miles to be exact but regardless of how far away you actually are I still feel like you’re just a few miles down the road I feel as if you still live in the same home the one where we spent countless nights camped out on your trampoline tracing the stars in the sky that would one day lead us here. I get the urge to drive by sometimes you know just to see what its like and who lives there and what’s inside because that house is where I used to spend all of my time growing up.
We used to curl up in your bed late at night talking about things that now seem so insignificant, but back then meant the absolute world to us. And I wonder if some other little girl is living in that room that we found so comforting.
But more than that house more than anything else, I miss you. I miss your presence I miss being able to call you up and knowing that you’d be here in seconds I miss the innocence that we used to have. Back when we'd have to spin bottles in the basement in order for us to kiss boys and sneaking out of the back stairs and trying out best not to make any noise and of course we did because we laughed for hours and didn’t know how to stop it, wed walk to the 24 hour 711 down the street and for us, it was like walking to the moon.
Those moments lasted forever and together we, were unstoppable. And I get choked up when I think about what could’ve been possible before we both went down the wrong paths, going down further and further with no intention of ever going back and we got stuck in quicksand somewhere at the bottom and still through it all you never once let go of my hand. And people can say that our friendship relied on all the things that kept us going but I know the only thing that really kept me going was you.
I remember when things started to get rocky, when we were both walking on a thin rope so close to falling off into a pool of nothing But we never did.
Because you had to pick up and leave everything that you thought you’d always need and start all over in a new town where nobody knew your name and knowing I had to finish high school with my only friend 785 miles away and it still makes me ache just thinking about it. Because I cant walk into the lunchroom knowing that I have someone to sit with anymore, because I know you wont be waiting outside my door with the keys to your Subaru ready to go on our next adventure. And even though we talk everyday I can hear the loneliness in your voice and I can hear the pain and I do my best to hide mine so that you’ll think that i'm okay but deep inside I think you know how much I miss you.
Because I love you more than any guy ever will and you could let me down a million times and id still be there because you were there for me. And so I see the beauty in you and I want you to know that if you or anyone else cant see it, its there. And that no matter what happens in our lives, I will always be here. Because I gave some of the hardest years of my life to you and you gave me yours and for you to be happy, is all I could ever ask for.
Anon Y Mous Mar 2014
Sitting on the front stoop in a cool spring breeze,
Counting cars like shooting stars,
Simple children's games not to be taken literally,
But focus on the passengers,
And perhaps you'll see,
The story behind the passing Prius or rushing Range Rover.

Perhaps you'll see,
A cobalt jaguar which holds
the tired lawyer in tight rimmed glasses and tweed jacket,
Driving to a large four bedroom,
three and a half bath house,
five kids and stressed stay at home wife.

The bills are getting harder and harder to pay as the economy crashes,
The couple is divorcing soon,
his law firm is going bankrupt,
The bills are becoming impossible to pay,
And all the stress is ******* him,
In a month he'll take his life.

Perhaps you'll see the pretty young,
16 year old blonde,
driving the second hand Subaru,
She is on her way to her high school now,
She is peering in the rear view mirror,
Trying to wipe the mascara trails off her face,
And hoping that her friends and teachers won't see the ghosts that haunt her,

Her mother died last month,
from a drug overdose,
And she was beaten again by her drunk father this morning,
and she will keep being beaten until she has the self confidence to stand up for herself,
but in the meantime,
she'll keep covering the bruises with foundation,
And wiping the tear trails,
apply  more mascara.

Perhaps if you look close enough,
You'll see the little red headed girl,
No older than four,
With large green, curious eyes,
Gazing out the window of a Honda pilot's door,
She is on her way to pick up her brother from soccer practice,
With her doting mother,

What nobody knows yet,
Is the little girl suffers from schizophrenia,
And she hears all the voices,
That tell her to do terrible things,
She has no friends in her neighborhood,
and her parents ignore her,
Focusing their energy on her all star brother,
she is all alone in this world,
just her,
The other her,
And her imaginary friend.

Looking at the passing cars,
And staring briefly at the passing passengers,
who never spare a second glance at me,
I can see these things,
or at least,
Pretend I can,
because perhaps it is easier to see the world this way,
Perhaps it is easier to agree upon the fact,
That we all have our own stories,
we face every day,
Our own struggles,
that lead us through a twisting plot,
perhaps we could all take the time,
to read other's stories,
Instead of trying to perfect our own fairy tales.

So you may say i'm like a child,
Sitting on this stoop,
but i'll just tell you,
To take a seat next to me,
and together we can,
count cars like shooting stars,
and read the passing stories.
Massoupial Nov 2013
I wish I was with you, under the canopy of your covered patio...
above parked subaru station wagons
next to aspens and pines, thick with pollen
and lazy concrete carrying joggers and cars and speeding bicycles piloted by the hormone-drunken youths of another sophomore summer
I'd forget, if I was with you
content to sleep in the morning sun and make love on the red porch of your red house....
Sarah Treaster Jun 2012
Courtney’s old subaru stuttered and stalled as she sat at the red light. The large blue duffle bag sat ominously on the leather seat beside her. She couldn’t look at it.
God, Luci. Why did you get yourself into trouble? Courtney’s mind was racing. Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. She ****** her head to look at the bag. It was bulging.
The bag was stained and dusty, ripped along the seams in some places. Courtney’s phone rang loudly. She jumped, and held onto the steering wheel with one hand and answered.
“Hello?”She was silent as the voice on the other end talked quickly. “No, I’m not there yet... yes, I’ve got it.. No, I haven’t touched it... Yes, sir. She’s very sorry... I know, sir. Yes I’’ll tell her.” She hung up. Her face was ghost white, her palms and forehead sweaty.
Many voices argued in her head. I shouldn’t be doing this for her. She broke the law. But Luci’s your sister! That doesn’t matter. She caused the whole family a lot of pain and money. And now I’M breaking the law. What the hell?!
She looked back over at the duffle bag. It sat staring at her accusingly. She turned away. Her car was getting awfully hot, so she rolled down the windows, letting air flow through. Checking her watch, she hiccuped with surprise. Her foot slammed down on the gas, her head pressed against her seat from the quick acceleration. Her car’s enging groaned with the speed, but she couldn’t slow down.
*******, Luci. I really hate you right now.
Suddenly, she saw flashing lights and heard a sharp wailing sound behind her. A police car pulled right up behind her, speeding along, signaling for her to pull over to the shoulder of the road. Courtney’s eyes were wide with fright, and her palms were sweating profusely, leaving stains on her steering wheel. Oh god oh god oh god oh god...Ohhhh my goddddd.
Courtney slammed on her breaks, pulling over. A man in uniform knocked on her window, and she rolled it down slowly. There was a loud noise from the passenger seat and Coutney’s world slowed as she saw the duffle bag fall to the floor of the car, the zipper breaking and the contents spilling onto the carpeted floor.
The policeman’s face was horrorstruck.
“Ma’am...” He stuttered. “I’m going to have to ask you to...step out of the car and put..put your hands on your head.”
in the passenger seat of your
tightly packed subaru
i felt as good as royalty
you as king, me as queen,
always wondering what lay in store
for me and you.

little did i know it would
come stammering to a halt
not that it should've
but i always found it strange
how you added salt
to your macaroni and cheese
not that it phased me,
no, i loved you all the same
your salt and all.

because i was taken advantage of
and you were salty as ever
and i was high off the ground
in a lifeguard chair as i told you the news
and i heard clattering on the other end of the line
you were done, you were no longer mine

and suddenly it was as if
the ocean had its own gravitational pull
begging me to come in, come and drown
i would go fleetingly, with nary a sound

but i grabbed familiarities instead
took the knife to my skin again
and it bled and it bled and it bled
i never wanted it to stop

i was surrounded by
people who knew what unconditional meant
and they wrapped me up, kissed my
wounds with their closing fingers
too many times
i should have died.

there is no requiem for a dream
there was no requiem for me
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
Her backbone is a long stretch of American western highway
I trace my fingers eastbound/westbound across the slats of her ribs
pressed against the skin ready to pop
She left southside Midlothian Virginia as soon as she was old enough to make her own bad decisions
sick of being looked at
eyes grading like the big fat red D's stamped on her math homework
She left by foot
bus
plain
train
that grey jetta with the scratch down the passenger side from where she parked too close to that ugly Subaru
she left me
but she needed to breathe some air that wasn't stale with mediocre pretension and the frat house odor of stale beer and sawdust
so run wild
fly free
may your lips utter cliches without fear of derision
go make your life an incredible story
beautiful
ugly
hard to look at
can't look away
make your life a story
and I'll record it
want more? find me at hbaxter94.com
I looked at the clock,
ticking, resolute,
like a man nailed to the wall
and glaring
but still only half annoyed
Three,
     Two,
           One,

Right on cue, the phone rings
I set down my magazine
dog-earing some page for a mushroom-soup-casserole

Harvey, my son,
it isn't like he's challenged or anything-
to be honest, I bet he could beat me at chess any day-
things just seem to

happen

With Richard
Harvey's father,
my ex husband
Harvey and he would be home alone all day
and **** would say that Harvey would whisper things to him
little things
about his mom
about things he had done as a kid and covered up, things he never, never talked about
silly things
Preposterous,
being afraid
of your own son
But still, it shook Richard up

One day, I come home and
and
and
God, I just have to say it all at once

Richardwassittinginthetubwithhiswristsslit
andHarveywasjust­watchingwatchingwatching
watching

No 2 year old, none
was supposed to see this
so innocent, so wonderful
I got the little angel out of there
and then called the ambulance

Richard paid his hospital bills.
He took nothing in the divorce.
I get the feeling he just wanted to get out.

Still, I personally have never had a problem around Harvey
With me, he's the perfect little angel
With most strangers too!
Something about him can just bring out the best in people
That's why I thought he would be okay in daycares.
He should have made so many friends.

Still.

It never fails,
within a week of his enrollment
instructors always want Harvey out
Fights just happen around him
they say
Temper tantrum rates are skyrocketing! He can't stay here
they claim
three of our volunteers have committed suicide in the last week
It is unsettling.
Imagine!
Being singled out for being a single mother!
Because that's what it is;
at first, I thought that it was a coincidence
but the pattern
repeated
and
repeated...
to think! in the 21st century,
that would still be happening!
I was outraged.

But I guess, there might,
might
be something
special.
So I took precautions.
This last program I signed him up for
it's for high maintenance children
And you know!
He lasted for two whole weeks!

But as I said before, the phone is ringing.

I answer it on the third ring.

And all I hear is screaming.

This isn't about Harvey, there's something very, very wrong.
Maybe a fire.
A break in.
Something.
This cannot,
cannot,
be about Harvey.
I practically throw myself into my Subaru
and almost put my foot to the road, I slam it down so hard
broke about 60 traffic laws
all the way to the day care center.

There were no firetrucks
no ambulances.
No signs that anything was wrong at all.
The children were squealing, almost like
recess.
But it wasn't right.
Those were not happy screams.
God forbid, if I'd had the radio on
I would have missed the difference between
Joy
and
Pain.
And there was something else
notes of adult voices strained in with the chorus of children
they sounded far away
I had to strain to hear them.

And the red peppering the windows.
That had to be finger paint.
It had to be.
Had to be.

The speed that had possessed me before
vanished.
My footfalls served as a metronome
to a chorus
from a Stravinsky and pizza fueled nightmare

This isn't Harvey
This isn't Harvey

I pushed open the door, and the smell is what hit me first.
Day cares never smell nice, but this was the smell of sewage and of
of pork chops.
of beef steaks.
of uncooked hamburger meat.
Clean, fresh,
meat.

Next I saw them.
Screaming.
Ripping off clothing.
Clothing that made sticky, slapping noises as they hit the ground and the floor
pulling apart the same way my old dog
would rip apart a rabbit or a groundhog,
But it was just children pulling of clothes.
And paper cuts.
Bad one,
but paper cuts.

And the teachers...
I can't lie about the teachers.
One was in the process of pulling out her own kidneys
obviously after throwing herself down the stairs
Her high heels laid
forgotten
at the top
and her legs
raw and ******
were twisted at awkward angles.
Well manicured fingernails cut through her face
and her ears dangled half way down her neck
from pulling

When she looked at me,
all I saw was fear.

THISISN'THARVEYTHISISNTHARVEYTHISISN'THARVEYTHISISNTHARVE­YTHISISNTHARVEY
I went into the art hall
Harvey's favorite spot
For a six year old,
he was artistic
and more skilled than most adults
paintings of angels
and one
one that I didn't hang on the refrigerator
one of a man in a bathtub

I found Harvey there.
Not a scratch.
He was humming, painting a picture of another angel.
Its wings were spread wide, and the stance was militant
yet his face was serene
like someone finishing a book.
In both hands, he held a spear
and with the left, he drove it into a goat
some poor wretch
howling in pain.

THIS IS NOT MY FAULT

Did you see them?
He asked.
I could not speak.

I'm making them pure.
Written from a terrible nightmare last year. When I found this again, it was hardly more than scribbles and my own drawings of angels. Took a while to adapt.
bobby burns Jan 2015
():
you've taken up too many characters,
a placeholder, 0, is all i attribute to you.

(I):
i lack recall enough
to call back when
we first reacted--
science fair, maybe,
mâche volcanoes
from wet bits--
(too little base,
a surplus of vinegar)
the only magma
with measurable
pH

(II):
made cattle to caffeine,
the pastures we frequented
have gone out of business
by now

(III):
spoke and wrote
with silly string,
messy, childish,
hard to clean up--
impossible to pick
every adhesive trace
from tweed coat fibers--
i draped it around you
and left quietly without
apologizing

(IV):
number four, morphine drip,
corruption (with a caramel center),
you took me to a courtyard where
you had scrawled your number
with a gold safety pin stuck
in the grain--
didn't matter as long as they
brought you plain grain beverages--
i can't say how long i must have
been unconscious for you to
have been able to fully affix
trusses, crossbars and artificial joints
between prostheses--
you made a marionette of me
in a grubby alley operating room,
with an empty bottle
across the occipital for anesthesia,
and a patchwork of phone numbers
staring down from the scratched
portrait in the wood walls
of office buildings surrounding--
keep your cloths on a little longer
keep yourself closed from now on
keep yourself close from now on


[V]:
think of whichever oath you hold
gravely, and think of me, promising
i felt just as illusory as you before--
saved a letter from you i read sometimes
to remind myself how first real loves
can be, so as not to lose faith to cynicism,
and cynicism/stomach lining to coffee grounds.
thank you

[VI]:
i met you only once,
it was enough.
i didn't make out your
last name as you introduced
yourself between zipping up
your fly and cinching your belt,
and even while you walked
inside, between dry heaves,
i could think only of
your Texan-tinsel-town namesake--
good luck streaming the past like
mother's ashes from the back of
your lake boat so many miles from home,
it's all anyone could ask

(VII):
i took that polaroid of you;
you had your hand over
a candle flame and the
shadows dancing between
your fingers illuminated
the spare patches of snow
remaining on the playground.
there was no mistaking
the draining of my swimming
pool of ego as i witnessed
you staring out from each
ice crystal reflection in awe:
your smile tumbled down
the slide and spilled into laughter
while
your voice lilted up the rock wall
and sang in triumph at the top --
i miss you, ganges girl

[VIII]/[IX]:
first time i knew,
second time i suspected,
finally broke me down,
now we laugh about it,
or preferably, don't bring
it up anymore

[X]:
i might still be in love with you
first and foremost, if that's how
things worked, but virginity
isn't a collateral asset, you did
me no favors,
but share in sunshine shoves
and pushes-- a beer down,
3g 'til the bottom of the bag,
alice and wonderland--
i can't watch that movie
without thinking of long hair,
self-destruction, self-deceit,
and naïveté--
you made me grow up with you,
and while you've been in college
i've been rotting.

[XI]:
i've whiled away a year of slacking words
in favor of those spouting from you torrentially.
a placeholder, for people i've written too much about already:
11.

[XII]:
unnerved me in the best of ways,
but you were always ****** up
and emptied of scruples--
had me once at your favorite album,
fooled me twice when you came back,
but you won't get another chance to
touch me

[XIII]:
snow-flakey,
corn comfort,
corn snake.
solid, supple,
untrustworthy.

[moscow]:
you spent a year abroad
so i had only one thing to call you,
and even though I brought my black
camo S&W; pocketknife,
when you told me ******
was cheaper than marijuana
in the motherland,
i knew i shouldn't
have soothed myself
into confident
complacency,
and instead
leapt from
the subaru
piled high,
tobacco-strewn,
littered by cremations
of victims before me.

[XV]:
i yawn and jaws part,
droop down lids,
the realist rendering
of a singularity in film
can't even keep me awake--
but when we get home,
and crawl into the satin
cascade of your mother's
sheets, god, i can't
even think of sleeping.
the moon was also full--
it wanes for awhile now
Zack Ripley Aug 2019
I don't need a Mercedes Benz.
I'd rather be surrounded by a group of friends.
You'll never hear me wish for a Cadillac.
I'd rather know someone has my back.
If you offered me a Lamborghini, I'd trade it for a dinner and movie date.
But they say love is what makes a Subaru a Subaru.
That's why it's my dream car for me and you
betterdays Jun 2014
when the world,
was much younger
and i was a stupid-crazy
girl-ly-chick, enamoured
with her youth.

i drove, a sunshine,
lemon, yellow bottomed, white pith on top combi van. coyly, cloyingly named Mello Martha.

it was...surfboards and swimsuits,
egg and bacon sangers,
early morning breezes,
after a blitz at the breadbox.

before... changing into
the structured, tortured baby, bank teller blues,
in the back,doors left open.

it was... rockin, knockin,
***, on credit,
to a promised future,
alluded to, but postponed,
for the moment.

it was... bruised back and
grazed knees,
harder, deeper oh god!
oh god! please... faster, fucken frenzies,
on a saturday night.

it was....running away to nowhere,
to find myself,
then finding me,
running away from,
the self i didn't want to know.
noway, nowhere, nohow.

it was... a barrel of monkeys, a barrel of laughs,
a keg of beer,
a box of wine,
under the crowded stars.

it was.... a roadtrip,
up the coast,
midnight bonfire,
midnight munchies,
playing hunches,
exploring reefs and reefers and such.

it was...far from family
and church rules,
a friendly rebellion,
of loud, proud youth.
totally and brazenly,
uncouth
it was... wham! and m.j.
cindy and boy george's culture club ,paperlace,
billy idol and the beach boys.
sung with abandon,
at spinal tap level eleven.

it was... peaceful, quiet, sleeping grace.
insanely in love with...
i forgot his name.

it was.... the birth of bodaciously me.
all brass hair and bosoms,
wild and carefree.

it was ....so long ago,

it was... yesterday night,

when i saw... Mello Martha's identical twin,
stopped at a traffic light.
it was... sunshine and lemon, bitter and sweet,
as she sailed off, down the street.
i sat and watched,
wist, full of recollect,
far and away, from my presently minded place...
sitting in, the driver's seat,
of my mom-blue subaru.
Sitting packed in the back
of a semi-decrepit white Subaru
belonging to the Swedish Harpist
driven by the Romanian Drummer
with a literal car-full
of perfectly tetrised musical instruments,
including:

Four cymbals, two toms, a hi-hat, and a stool,
a Celtic double-Harp,
an electric Piano,
and two guitars
(an acoustic-electric twelve-string and an electric six-string)
with a few days' clothing
and, not knowing where we're sleeping, a sleeping bag,
all the while
devouring Matza and pumpkin seeds
(that we bought at Trader Joe's)
as we barrel moderately safely
down various back roads and Highways
in this car weighted as a truck and driven as a motorcycle
towards enigmatic San Francisco
to play a couple shows,
two days in a row:

one, at a literally underground Theatre
(in which improv comedy is, apparently, king of kings)
smack-dab 'pon the border of Union Square,
and another, for a private birthday party
typified by oh so many avid Burners.

Surely, our Psychedelic Jazz Funk-Rock
will find some empathic ears!

Y'know, last summer,
when I said I wanted
to be in a Gypsy Band,
I sure didn't see this coming:
this is pretty ******* Gypsy,
in my observational opinion.

Well,
here I am,
and I even asked for it.

For us three,
this will certainly be
an interesting few days,
down in the Bay,
on our way to play
wherever it is we may,
and all I can say
is: "Okay,
this is the stuff
books are made of,"
and, "Well,
time to live
one hell of a story!"
And it was so;
life is best lived
and so often is wasted
on the living.
I'm so glad I set aside the time to type this up.
I uploaded this when I got home,
but the notion was conceived of in said circumstance.
Revisions may yet occur, but I feel most of them are over.

Both shows were great.
We were very well received.
We made $50 in tips in the first hour we played the Theatre:
three cheers for drunk old ladies!
Wow, that sounds incriminating.
Oh well.
I even made a few friends along the way!  

Discussed on the trip were such topics as:
Philosophy, Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Carl Jung, paganism, shamanism, botany, intoxication, Terrance McKenna, sobriety, authority, subversion, art, technology, music,  musicology, anthropology, ethnomusicology, acoustics, physics, calculus, geometry, numerology, symbology, language, etymology, linguistics, magic, the Occult, Tarot, I Ching, psychology, mythology, geology, astrology, astronomy, ethics, economics, death, life, love, lust, enlightenment, transcendence, bliss, hope, fear, pain, illusion, religion, politics, acting,  and how glorious Western culture is.

Interesting people,
to say the least.
Alex Bautista Mar 2013
He's in love
Let him show you what he can do
Get in the car
Its a bright blue Subaru
Ma Cherie Apr 2017
I can tell you that I am tall,
an I am also not petite,
an some they might say sturdy,
like a tree who has two feet,

An I used to be so thin,
as a stick, I heard em say,
though I won't say I'm too big,
I'm no longer quite that way,

Well I have a little belly,
as some older women do,
I earned it,
what I think,
with my cooking yeah it's true,

So someone might say "chubby"
an I guess OK with that,
I keep an eye on the scale each day,
so I won't end up too fat,
as I sample of my cooking,
to add in this an that,

Sometimes I might wear some makeup
though most days I do not,
especially in the summertime,
when the sun is blazing hot,

I wear my jeans till *****,
yup more than just few hours,
some say I am a witch,
who's got some kinda powers,
I like the rain a lot you know,
and soaking in warm showers,

I'm not sure that I'm ****,
my face has many wrinkles,
I like vanilla bean ice cream,
with some yummy chocolate sprinkles,
and some say that I still glow at night,
my eyes they sorta twinkles, ; )

I sip my wine at night to ease,
I work and write by day,
my thoughts come in a rushing breeze,
way more than I can say,

I see the world much differently
than others who are around,
I hear the leaves as they fall dreaming,
an as they hit the sacred ground,
poetry is everyone,
in every lovely sight -an sound

I love my little Tanley cat,
he sits atop my shoulder,
first thing in the morning too,
an each day I'm gettin' older,
I don't take the **** life gives,
cuz I'm a gettin' a lil' bolder,
winters in Vermont are now
much warmer 'stead of colder,

I have an older Subaru,
with lucky all wheel drive,
that thing is like a tank ya know,
it's helped me stay alive,
if you are in the wilderness,
I could help ya to survive,

I cut an split our wood a lot,
but I say the "F" word too,
an I can cook most ANYTHING,
especially a stew!!

Emmmm, emmm yummy!

an I don't have a lot of friends,
but the few I have are true,

If you  really wanna know-
just what I'm really like,
well come up to Vermont -c'mon!
and we'll take a lovely hike,
or take snowmobile out in wintertime,
or catch a real big ugly pike,
or introduce you too my 6'8"
nephew -
who's name is little Mike,

I am so honest- genuine,
I love all people- same,
love is in my heart you see,
to me- it's not a game,
and life is what you make it,
so it's not about the blame,
an I no longer carry anger near,
or not any hidden shame,

I am a very gentle soul,
unless you cross me bad,
and even then I'd likely be,
only maybe sad,
I use my measures often too-
especially the "tad" : )

I think you'd want me in your corner-
I defend mine 'til the death,
an I will speak my certain truth-
until my last an dying breath,

Most days I feel misunderstood,
a curse I bear - alone,
I keep here pretty quite too,
an I like to be at home,

I guess I'm left of center,
NO didn't vote for stupid Trump,
I called him more than maybe twice,
an orange looking angry chump,

I have so many scars,
on my hands from workin hard,
I think I made clean money,
an now I am the bard,

Of a place I love the very most,
where I am my own queen,
and living every day here,
is nothing but a dream,
as I have come to realize,
things are never as they seem,

And we all need to learn,
to be present and to be,
okay with that,
as content is what I seek,

an until I am in total peace,
then I will write,
till the last word that I speak,

turning our truth-
into beautiful poetry.


Ma Cherie © 2017
Idk lol... I am who I am as Popeye would say... don't know if interesting or not? Love you guys hope you're all well this is my voice- I pretty much write it as it comes out. Muah! ***
❤❤❤
Rhet Toombs Oct 2015
Grace moves in these structures
Virginities undersold
Saving familiar breaths
Tissue restraint
I head away and leave my name
A kinder morning than we've shared before
Finding Jesus in a Subaru
Unable to create from ashes
Stained glass
This glass is stained
Morgan Mar 2015
I thought going to his funeral
when we were 14
& he was 15
would always occupy
the darkest,
most excruciating
space in my soul

Until her funeral,
when we were
all 16

But I was wrong,
both times

It wasn't losing
our wisest friend
to raging hormones,
****** parents
& a rope
that left the
strangest,
most mutated
bruise

And
It wasn't losing
our quirkiest friend
to striking anger,
a rainy night on
a windy road
& a sports car
that left the
deepest,
most potent
cut

It was losing you

And having this crushing
knowledge that you still
live in the town
that we grew up in,

you still light fires
in the back yard
where we used to
drink your dad's beer
and play his guitar,

you still sleep on the mattress
we used to drag down two
narrow flights of stairs
into your living room
on Saturday nights
when the stars were clear
through your sky lights,

you still drive that
Subaru outback
that's decorated in
dents & scratches
from all the times
we needed to
feel brave,

you still get the mail
at the bottom of
that dirt driveway
we scraped our knees on
every summer from
the time we were
twelve til the time
we were eighteen

And knowing that none
of that matters

The most unique agony
that's ever turned
in my stomach
is having this crushing
knowledge that
if I stretch my
arms out far enough,
I can poke you in your
puffy hazel eyes
but fearing you have
grown so cold
that my fingers
might just freeze
on contact

It's missing you
when you are so close
that I can smell
your tires burning
on the gravel
up Stone Road
but not being able
to hear your voice
the way I remember it,
all laced in
purple warmth
& yellow light

The selfish truth is,
at least I know why
Kris & Sergei
aren't with me,

at least I can tell
myself that if they
still existed on the same
earth as me at all
they'd continue to
tell me stories
sitting Indian style
across from me on
my kitchen floor

You're a rawer,
more lethal
kind of aching,

a more honest,
more dangerous
kind of void,

cause you know that
I am still right here
but it's not enough

You lost those friends too

You know how it felt

And despite all the breaking
you did for them,
you chose to **** me off
like some rotting
parasite in your
passenger's seat

I filled myself with
you for eight years
And if I could
be open with you
one last time,
I'd tell you that
I'm scared shitless
to tip myself over
and let that all
pour out
cause I don't
want to find out
that without you,
murky water
and slush
is all that's left

But like you always said,
"Let's ******* do this thing
before it gets away"
Nicholas Jackson Apr 2017
My love has no limits, except for the minutes.
While my time is gold I spend most of it on the road.
I drive an hour to work every day but that doesn't even touch the countless hours I spend driving my career, driving my education, Driving her, Driving them, driving me to the edge of my adulting ability.
All the while surrounded by near misses and almost disasters.
Watching other crash and burn.

I remember that Subaru hatchback that was older than us,
magenta with a back seat that laid down.
You first said you love me before I knew what that meant.
Now you say you love me with an upward inflection and I know exactly what that means.
When that Subaru died we could have fixed it but we hadn't invested enough to make it worth our while.
Now "We" with a capital W is slowly choking to death but so much has been invested to let her, it, us go.
It started slowly with no real merit.
A scratch that wasn't even noticed, but it wasn't the scratch.
It was the infection that was introduced.
So, so, so slowly it's worked its way.
The internal battle constantly being waged but we didn't know.
We didn't support the structures keeping it at bay.
I didn't feed it so it would be strong, I gave it McDonalds because that's that made it happy.
Now My chest hurts and I can't breathe because that little infection is eating my heart from the inside out.
So do I let it finish me and go back to the star dust I was?
Do I clean out the infection knowing full well that the damage has been done and no matter what I do I'll always be missing a little piece that I didn't nurture and always have a little pain where the good stuff uses to be?
I'm not a doctor yet, I don't know. This infection has gotten so bad that maybe stardust would be better.

No, Papa taught me that our scars remind us that the past is real.
That damage is done, but now I have to remember.
I remember holding your hand for warmth as the ocean mist turned to ice before stinging our faces.
I remember my heart pounding as you walked. two words binding us like a spell.
I remember laughing, and crying, and laughing again in the same conversation.
I remember smelling wood smoke, hearing gentle streams, seeing starry skies, and feeling you pressed against me.

I have made mistakes.
I was the cut that started the infection.
I didn't nurture you, nourish you.
I wasn't careful when  you told me "careful, it's ******* fragile."
I said I love you before I knew how to or what that meant.
I drove fast and took chances.
I didn't tell you to buckle up.
I didn't, wasn't, couldn't. I chose not to.

Now we're here in purgatory, but it's already getting hot.
I don't know how to fix this, but I'll try forget-me-not's.
anonymous Nov 2023
The Cranberries hum their tune
in my mom's Outback Subaru

and im scared of growing up
and im scared that I've already grown

why are we driving so fast?
let's linger at the next stop

let's drive slow, with the windows down
feel the cold wind mess up your hair

turn up the music, let the light in
I'll be here forever
Robert Ronnow Nov 2023
Black lives matter. Me too.
Not my president. Give peace a chance.
Luck runs out. I like immigrants.
Power must be challenged by power.

Equal and opposite reactions.
God is the answer. Love is the answer.
Walk on the sunny side of the street. Meat feet.
Learn to drive. Wait for the train in the rain.

A girl gets sick of a rose. Mock orange.
Mediocre presidents, unnecessary wars.
Triumph and humiliation. Meditation.
Sometimes I’m tired of being me. Therefore.

Subaru. Suduko. Haiku. Hulu.
Stop on red, go on green. Orderly neighborhood.
Too tired to be angry. Too tired to do homework.
Tolstoy is the Tolstoy of the Zulus.

College campus. Saguaro, cactus.
Million dollar movie. Aliens in the bleachers.
Full length feature. TED talk, lecture.
Breathe in experience. Bring sentience into an expressible state.

Events pile up with or without an identity willing to organize them.
Events in their mere chronology make no sense.
Inability to transcend own interests. Inability to find one’s way.
Vacations and accomplishments accumulate late in life and early on.

Late in life I struggle against my insignificance.
The straight way lost. Concentrate on this: Thy will be done.
The straight way misplaced. Get over it. Someone tell a joke.
Love. Vote. Join a committee or a party.

MLK made the jump from race to class, dreamed of a brotherly nation.
Is this feeling nostalgia for the past or occipital neuralgia?
Knee surgery, plywood factory. Lost lover, lost city.
Old friends who are dead to me but still here.

Somewhere there are flowers among railroad ties.
True love between ****** partners. Dusty villages and vast cities.
Popper v. Niebuhr, impeachment inquiry.
Hassid and Muslim dress codes. French fashions.

Watch for war, **** and shower. Do the limbo.
Pay bills. The very thought of the rosy dawn makes Jack ill.
Big comfy couch, a nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day.
A long day’s journey into night. Truckin’.

Death comes for the archbishop. Private Ryan and Big Red One.
Absence of knowledge and intelligent beings who make things happen.
Life’s brevity and the time taken to carve the canyon.
Decibel level and ambient noise. Captain Carpenter and Mr. Flood.

Nothing but ocean, self-aware organisms and the longing they provoke.
Unit, corps, God, country. Zip code. The clocks and the docks gone and       no smoke.
Achilles and Hector. Wills and losses.
Continued existence and most of history.

A holy condition. A warrior’s position.
Walk with a limp. Don’t complain about pain.
Truth may be ascertained by considering your uncertainty.
If everyone votes and every vote’s counted, time is the mercy of eternity.
Dan Aug 2015
I’m leaving today
On this San Antonio Highway
While San Antonio jazz
Oozes through the speakers
Of this big blue Subaru

I-35 N to Austin
Destination Texarkana
And in two days’ time
July 15th 2015
I will be back home
To the humid Ohio weather

Ohio is covered in rain
But on this San Antonio Highway
The sky is dark and the ground is dry
And Louis Armstrong sings away
The second of my San Antonio poems. I was feeling inspired by Jack Kerouac's Book of Blues and attempted to emulate it.
Poemasabi Oct 2013
I saw a grown-up tonight for the first time.

I had seen her before

Seen her born
after three days of trying
and wrapped
in a warm blanket with just her little face
poking out.

Seen the elation in her face
when she realized she had walked
from her mother
to me
for the first time without her toy shopping cart
in front of her
for support

Seen her first day nursery school
of kindergarten
of new schools in a new town
of High School
of College

Seen her stoically sitting in  my mother's chair
in the living room of the house where I had grown up
saying goodbye
to her grandmother
for one last time

Seen her arrive home with a learner's permit
then with a driver's license
and later
leave the driveway
in grandma's green Subaru
her's now.

Seen her grow for 18 years
but tonight
sitting across the table
at a packed restaurant with lousy parking
in Ithaca New York
I saw and heard a grown-up
for the first time
and with that
the little girl
with the toy shopping cart
was gone.
K Sep 2014
i don’t want to talk about it.
i don’t want to talk about how for three years
my morning routine  has been prozac and just enough coffee
to disguise the fact that i haven’t
slept in four days.

i don’t want to talk about how
the boy with the subaru coated in grateful dead stickers
loved me and how i ran because of this.

nor about how my birthday is in
19 days
and i still want to die.
another year come and gone.

i am a stranger in my own body.
maps written in a foreign language.
my ship has sailed,
my breed extinct.
going
going
going
gone.
I keep smelling dead things,
and fire, and smoke,
ammonia, and ****...
I wonder if I'm dead,
or am dying,
If i'm laying there in the gully,
where his subaru crushed me into the ground,
if my chest has caved in,
if i've been moved yet,
leaving only a stain in the dirt
and a crash path through those frail little trees
How am I here?
and not there?
That is where i ought to be...
is this some hyper realistic dream?
has this already happened?
or is it happening?
and how the **** would i know the difference?

I will live this life as if i haven't yet,
make memories that matter,
even if i am already dead.
It is the best i can do.
LP S Oct 2018
I don't cry anymore.
Not since I cried for you.
Nothing seems quite worth it, since you left.
So I don't cry anymore.
Just on that one day...
that seems to roll around a little faster each time,
as the years continue to mount since the sky came crashing down.
The day the war ended,
and the white flags began to wave.
The day all the songs suddenly played out of tune.
When the phone call came,
that was mostly silence.
Just two people connected by the absence of speaking,
while we attempted to comprehend the news.
They had found you. You didn't make it.
So I cried.
But, your sleeve wasn't there to wipe my eyes on
anymore.  
And when the anger came,
you weren't there to say my name the way you always did,
when I was angry with you.
There were no more 2 am phone calls,
there wouldn't be any again.
And I didn't look at the passenger's seat of that red Subaru anymore,
because you wouldn't be there rolling your eyes
while you serenaded me with that one Dave Matthews's song...
The one you hated,
because you hated all of them,
but I had insisted that it was "our song" one night at 4am,
when I told you that it made me think of you, and us
and everything.
There would be no more arguments that always ended in "I love you"s,
there would be no more fighting for each other,
fighting to love each other,
fighting to figure out if we mattered to anyone other than each other.
So they laid you to rest on a rainy Saturday.
I didn't go.
I like to think you understood.
Because the war was over,
and I was tired,
and I never wanted to remember you like that.
I was a coward.
You deserved better than that.
I just sat in my apartment,
cried every single tear I had ever been destined to cry,
and I didn't cry anymore after that.
I will try.  I don't know that i will succeed.
To describe the things that went through my head.
I was there. And somehow i knew  turtle was beside me. but only for a second.
then he blinked out of existence.
and the sounds...they crashed together. they  became so loud that they were indistinguishable from one another.
then nothing. quiet.
only pictures.
pictures and questions.
remembrance.
i wondered why i was where i was.
i saw the succession of choices, mine and other,
that had placed me.
i wondered if it was the end of everything.
i was crushed by the subaru.
it flattened me into the ground and kept rolling.
but i was sure...that i was done.
everything...all of it...
pictures so quick their edges  werent in existence...
this.....amalgamation of my experience...
looped through with slivers of my dreams..
all ******* in the ideas of what i wanted to do
what i dreamed
what id do different
what i never got to do
who id leave behind
how  it was all my fault
how i cost them me,
how i would leave a void in them that nobody else could fill
it wasnt how i wanted to be rememebred...
but at least they wouldnt forget..
i became for some, what no others could be.
it wasnt much. it wasnt even enough.
id die with many regrets.
and id die young.
god i was young
what was i thinking
yes..i was stressed...but relief wasnt worth this
id go through a thousand days
a thousand times *******
if it meant i could have just one more..
not even a good one,
at all, any day would do
i understood my dad
any day above ground...
you know how the saying goes
i wondered if it was like this for him..
maybe not full of adrenaline...
but perhaps he relived his entire moment
as he slipped away
would i see him?
what was there?
i didnt see any light..
i didnt see anything for a minute..
i was so deep in my brain..
i was this kernel of thought curled up inside of my skull...
buried...beneath all else..
i shrunk....into almost nothing...
i faded....and then from blank,
back to seeing.
am i ...alive?
i...i was crushed..
i...am i bleeding?
can i breathe? is anything broken?
blood from my foot.
just there.
can i move?
i can move.
HELLLLLLLPPPP
HELLLLLPPPP
SOMEBODDDY HELLLLP
CALL 911!!!!!
BRENT.
where is he?
okay i was thrown out...
theres lights.
thats the car. check it.
is he in it?
is he trapped?
run down the mountain.
there are briars.
go around.
push through. just get there. doesnt matter if you get cut.
he isnt in here. unless hes under the cooler.
move the cooler.
okay he isnt in here.
where is he. i dont see him. was he throiwn?
call out.
i yell. nothing
wait.
a moan. which...down there.
there he is .
i see him.
diagnose.
can you move?
talk to me?
can you breathe?
is anythign broken?
are you breathing?
hes talkign in circles.
not good.
better than nott alking.
but someything is wrong.
i smell fish?
pat him down. feel for breaks.
can you walk?
let's get you out of the creek.  
up the hill.
we have to get out.
how.
i cant see a way.
some strangers are here. i dont know his name.
ask.
is 911 on the way?
good.
can they find us? how far?
where are we?
i dont know the area.
can you find a phone?

— The End —