"tailgate" poems
People write such cliche poems.
True love that goes on for lifetimes.
A gray city in the rain, colored only by the music of life.
Hot coffee entrenching the soul with warmth in the crisp autumn.
The perfect snowflake landing on the nose of his winter angel.
The smell of northern pines after a heavy storm.
Her unparalleled footprints in the sand with each angelic step.
Tailgate stargazing on an ideal summer night, hands intertwined.
But isn't that what poetry is all about?
The most heartfelt descriptions about the broadest of beautiful moments?
~S.C. Kelley
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
It was a hand me down,
An old Chevy that grandpa didn't need,
It was just a little truck,
But it would do,
Blue and silver, with rust sprouting up here and there,
A creaky tailgate,
No ac, but a sunroof,
Comfy seats that held you like a race car,
The smell of dust wafting from the vents
It had a little engine that needed work,
It had old tires that needed to be replaced,
A layer of dust that needed to be washed off.
But I didn't care,
It was my first truck!
New engine,
New tires,
A deluxe wash at the co-op,
And a black ice air freshener,
This truck was born again.
Spinning tires and dust flying,
Rolling down the streets and tearing up the gravel roads,
This truck purred like a kitten.
I didn't care if people had bigger trucks,
Newer trucks,
Fancier trucks,
This was my first truck
And I loved it!
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Why'd you take it
My heart and break it?
I'm in every scene
of a hometown love
sleepy streetlights
shedding the light
of every bright
and broken down dream
Drinking a few
back when I knew you
our tearsoaked memories
**** really loved that view
speakers playing loud
country love songs
in the back of an ol' Ford truck
and hoping you'll be in luck
painted toes hanging off the tailgate
as your hands trying to 'round home plate
bet Daddy's gonna be mad again
lost in all the crazy of our dreams
mending our clipped & broken wings
somewhere in the hot sunshine
Faded shirt coming down your shoulder
Cuz' she says she's gettin' colder
You and I, were just a little older now
That homemade, hometown love still
playing me back...
to the last days of that summer.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
Me and couple of my buddies tailgate of our trucks,
sipping moonshine from coffee cups.
Swatting at mosquitos and telling lies,
getting further from the truth with every sip of the Shine.
Dont be a stranger when you pull up,
yonder is the jug and some extra cups.
Now some folk cannot handle the sip then the bite,
leaves more for others, quite all right.
Here comes another stretch of the truth,
now keep on passing the jug once you're through.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC
It's fine, daddy will walk through the door soon. You promised. But she knew he was sitting in the driveway, soaking up the light of the moon.
Outside in a driveway
A man sits and waits.
His family has long given up on calling
Dinner is on the table.
They try to carry on as normal
Exchanging small talk
Work and the weather.
It's fine, daddy will be walking in soon. You promised. But she knew he was sitting in the driveway, soaking up the light of the moon.
Averting their gazes
From the fiery eyes
Of the tailgate
Shining beams through the window.
Wake up. It's not fine; it's cold outside and they need you to be alright.
He knows what he's doing
But truly he has no control.
All he is sure of is that when he comes home
He wants to be all there.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
it's 11:20 pm
it's a moon-risen domain
rusty truck of Ford 1978
unlatch the faded tailgate of white and pale turquoise
off a Denton N. Elm highway
sitting in the heat of the ocean air.
The trees but a silhouette
and the moon a rustic orange
feeling heavy sentiments of cascading hair ending in curls
sickly eyes with blue shadow and glazed look that pierced.
2 minutes of absence growing fonder
and I wanted it to last for much longer.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Hunting dove down on the backroad
way on back only the rancher knows
he doesn’t care so we wait for flight
12 gauges ready to start our plight
Ring necks, white wings, and mourning’s are game
chichi birds make us swing all the same
listening for the whistle and the beat of the wing
one of us today, will win the brass ring
Limiting out is what we’re hoping for
but if not, you couldn’t hope for more
outside with friends and family alike
kids getting bored, gone on a hike
Men at the truck with cold Coors Light
relaxing outdoors, no one’s uptight
suns getting low, they are about to fly
here they come, hear the wings sigh
Draw a bead and a lead and fire away
one bird down, hope there’s more we pray
birds on the tailgate at the end of fight
get em’ all clean before the black of the night.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
I
We sit on a tailgate pointed toward
the hills, where life ripples down the slopes
gathers in pools of the creek and begins again
to climb up the peaks and tree trunks on the
other side. It colors the breaths we take
green.
Children run here, learn their legs, as stalks
graze their shoulders and block their
view. They get dizzy as rows rush by.
We rein in our bovine friends here, watch
them jump and kick, see them call in
spring
II
We walk between rows of highly stacked cement and exhale smog that drifts
upwards to
join the cloud of soot.
We walk among so many abrasive shoulders. We get
hung up on abrasive personalities.
A gray wave in a black sea we’re vapidly
drifting. Legs move quickly to stay afloat.
swimming. Swimming always. Swimming further.
III
We sit for pictures with clogged eyes and stuffed chests
We coo at portraits of masks and dummies
We write books for laughs and money and friends
We read a little to find the romance and sorrow
and lay cold on the slab while our own pages turn.
IV
We pass out of porcelain faces with their tightly
drawn eyes that cast gazes over shoulders, homes
of last night’s kisses. We pass out of the electrical
current of youth
numbed and still alive
with eyes that look like stained glass windows of the
Church of Holy Suffering.
V
We wait for Sunday night to turn the dial to the Blues. We keep throwing something for an animal to pick up and return. We string beads and sell them for redemption.
VI
We think of our friends. They’re draped in a future,
warmed with hot blood rushing through their veins,
slamming fists to tables, pronouncing their minds.
ripping off dresses, sharing their madness.
tossing paint to canvas, showing their hearts.
asking questions to startle, proving their love.
VII
We think of our parents.
dead and gone, dead to us, dead by self-proclamation -
Is their blood cold and still in their withered veins?
Have they their fill of slamming fists and ripped dresses and tossed paint and startling questions?
VIII
We are sad.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
This love burns and drips
an unclean **** knot
******* and *******
at tailgate parties in basements
where everybody is satisfied
except for one...
The sky is painted static:
I can't find the channel.
A frail cherub descends
gossamer threads of maize splay out about its head
brings the sky back with it
and in hues of pink and life,
restores me.
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 5:16 AM UTC
Dizzied by a porch swing's varnish Chloroform,
I shared a silver hook with a knotted rope
snake for stability. Although my finger
constricted the viper against the cold metal,
it did not hiss or spit psychedelic venom.
I braced my bare foot against the truck's
wheel cover around a twisted corner
by an empty church, tolling
my heartbeat. Cardboard acted
as the bed liner, I played the liability
if the swing should slide past the flush tailgate
and take me along with it. If it did,
shifting gravel guitar solos and cherry pie blood
would swing my pain away.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
"Don't tell me the poets ... "
I write poetry that is both incorporated
And incorporeal ... and un and un and un
It is done
On the pad : and off
Hop - Lily
On the tailgate
In the truck
Boots on the ground
In the muck
Put on your Carhartt's
It's time to get *****
Even better
Grab your Old Man's work clothes
Finish the job
That He didn't want to start
Don't tell me the poets are ******* crying
We're living
And we're dying
Careful though
The warlords have come into the jungle and slaughtered before
But we live again
A little more angry
A little less wise
--> **** **** up, juveniles
Shoplifters of the world ...
untie
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
You’re so prosthetic
Existence constructed through defiance
Meticulous hours exhausted in revision
Intrusion into my consciousness
Old assembly bones resonant atrocious melodies
Concrete block on my mentality
Socio-economic tailgate
Bright lights on the public eye
Interrogation
Irrigation of the mouth
Roughed up face
Dislocated jaw
Hostility unleashed
Speak the ******* truth
Departed mortality rate
Breaking in is half the fun
Grind you to a ****** mess
One half in the East River
The other in the Hudson
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 8:59 AM UTC
I want to lose two pairs of black glasses and my shoes
I want to tell the delivery boy that I don’t care how much change I get back
I want to ice the back deck and wet the chairs
I want to break a futon; feel taco-like
I want to paint my body, my friends body
I want to construct a bed in the laundry room with silk sheets
I want to neglect the shower for three days
I want to climb a roof and get lost in a corn maze
I want to leave my personal belongings in a plastic bag
I want to walk alone two miles to get a hot dog and meet a ***
we want to step in leaking toilet water
we want to play hide and seek in a dark house, discover an attic
we want to drink veggie burgers and wash them down with milk
we want to find a hat for a pickle and for one day wear only vests
we want to tailgate for napolean dynamite
we want to stay up late sitting on the flip side of windowsills
we want to spill everything and learn how to jump cars
they want to save taco bells hot sauce in paper bags
they want to build a fort with a closet door and some hooks
they want to dance all night, create a star shape with their legs
they want to “whod I come with? Ladies…!” just like rosie the riveter
they want to walk around telling the trees to be quiet
they want to move a couch to the from lawn and reside
-MJS
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Three generations on a tailgate
Stretching out for our aching limbs' sake
Resting from work in the summer bake
Sipping slowly on a few Pepsi's
Wipe away the sweat so I can see
My heroes talking casually
We laughed and joked despite the hot sun
Work long, work hard but try to have fun
Life is as good as you make it, son
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
she is waiting outside baggage claim
in blue jeans and a sweatshirt that says **** YALE
she is texting, frowning without wrinkles
her hair a thick braid to the small of her back
even among the smell of jet fuel and diesel fumes
her hair the scent of cedar smoke, campfires
picture it as a long furry tail
a meerkat, they’re cute, they’re carnivores
she stares at oncoming cars
she hops on one foot
I bet she’s really smart, really nice
she has an LL Bean backpack on rollers and a floral garment bag
she turns to me and asks
“Will you watch my bags? I need to ***
before I can answer she dashes in short steps
now I notice tall heels below frayed cuffs
the heels lift her *** nice ***
but she’s younger than my daughter
she trusts me, I feel elevated
she’s gone so long
the pack on wheels, could it be a bomb?
and me standing, guarding
leering old creep nominated to be smithereens of pink spray
but she looked sweet in an intellectual touchy-feely way
no lipstick, no eyeliner
I appreciate girls with no makeup
and nobody puts bombs in a garment bag,
totally against the bombing code
look there sticking out of a pocket of the backpack
a copy of a book, holy ****
my novel that went out of print thirty-seven years ago
which is twice her age
there was soft down above her lip, meerkat fuzz
my portrait on the back cover, a younger hairy me
did she see?
when she returns I will speak kindly
a bevy of bluebirds will fly from my lips to her ears
an SUV stops, a burly man in coat and sloppy tie steps out
opens the tailgate, throws the portmanteau inside
then the backpack with the book
should I stop him?
“Are you sure you have the right bags?”
I ask somewhat unassertively
the man looks at me like he’s bitten lime
and says, **** Yale?”
and I nod okay
and just then she bursts out the door breathless
hugs the burly man
not a glance to me, not a thank you for guarding the bags
she hops into the shotgun seat
the words I hear her say:
“Finally, at last!”
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
I
kept saying “I’m just glad no one got hurt,” last night when
I crushed a car driving a semi.
Just about to sleep
on the road by the sugar factory in my hometown
when I heard a horn honking and people yelling at me.
Before I heard aluminum bend at once.
I recounted it to spectators after the fact--
IN MY DREAM--
it was this
yelling, this
honking
inDICTED the victims in my
mind.
That road was endlessly wide.
Their car could have moved enough to miss me; they wanted to
get hit.
For the insurance, maybe.
Who knows?
IN MY DREAM
people get right out of smashed cars.
Below your driver’s side door giving silent, dis-
approving glances within seconds of your palm-
shielded face;
After it had started to get dark
I remember how my dad had
our truck down filling up
on the corner with
scraps of steaming
food.
I noticed potatoes
cut into halves and
fourths piling in and flowing through the broken
tailgate. I knew
where that truck was going:
back to the country.
Where I was told to park my truck and RUN. in-
stead of
crash into the city. Then I saw the insurance adjuster, ask-
ing him,
“hey,
how much will it cost.”
“Some
number that doesn’t surprise me.”
I walked to the corner, past a car
dealership which doubled as a
firework
stand
in the summer
when I was young
and still does.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Looking out this double-paned plate glass window into the gray frigidity and red-leaved bitterness of October in one of the last wild and still-untamed bastions of freedom in the west at the mountains thinking about how even they are moving, my darling, and how the spaces in between them are growing just like the space in between the sun and the earth and the space between all the galaxies all at once and the space between the spaces between the world and I and soon I’ll just be floating all by my lonesome in some swirling pool of- not air, no, not even air, just nothingness and watching everything float away like disappearing city limits from the tailgate of a truck on cruise control zipping across the badlands and maybe you’ll be there but going the opposite way and there’ll be nothing to do but watch it all go, go, go, til it’s
gone, gone, gone
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
So much I could say
And, I'm sure it will come out the wrong way
But, I just want you to know that you still have all of my heart and soul
From the first time we kissed
I was all yours
My heart will never to another belong
I continue to fall harder
Every time we touch
You still intrigue me
Inspire me
And turn me inside out
You're still the most beautiful soul I've ever seen
You push me
Confuse me
Keep me on my toes
You still show me the way when I get lost
You ignite the fire in my soul
I yearn for you
I'm amused by you
Your touch still turns me on
I'm still captivated by your embrace
I miss you
I want you
You're the only one for me
My stomach still gets tied in knots
When I know I'm about to see you
I still try to look my prettiest because
You are so handsome to me
Your charms still work and
I have so much more to learn
You're never dull or boring to me
You're still my prince charming
When my life falls apart
You're who I want there beside me
You protect me
You keep me afloat
When I fall you pick me up
And I can't live without you
And I never want anyone else
No amount or words would ever be enough
But I hope you know you still have all of my heart
So, don't ever question
Don't ever doubt
Because my love for you will never run out
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
It’s New Year’s Eve!
Let’s get knee-walking plastered.
Don’t eat anything today,
It gets to your bloodstream faster.
It’s Saint Patty’s Day!
Let’s get ********* on green beer.
I’m Irish, so I am entitled, you see
And I won’t be again until next year.
It’s my birthday!
Let’s get plowed out of our minds.
Let’s drink everything in sight
And ***** every ***** we can find.
It’s Saturday night now!
Let’s do a bunch of beer bongs!
Anything that’s okay with my gang
It’s all good. It can’t be wrong.
It’s Fourth of July today!
Let’s have a picnic so we can drink.
But not fancy cocktails for me.
I don’t care for throwing up pink.
It’s Labor Day today!
Let’s do a chugalug contest today.
We’ll laugh at nothing at all
And drink the whole day away.
It’s a sporting event tailgate party!
Let’s get drunk together in a parking lot
And act like the teenagers we think
That we are when we really are not.
It’s Happy Hour! Hooray!
Let’s eat buffalo wings and imbibe
And hope the cop that stops us
Is okay with drunks or accepts a bribe.
It’s a bachelor party right now!
You don’t want to offend the host. Drink!
Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow
Well, it will be more sober than you think.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
I can run
and run
for as long as I please,
But I can never seem
to lose you.
You tailgate me
as if your life depends on it,
and I wonder why you have
such an staunch fascination with me.
In the end,
you always catch up,
heart still calm and
breathing still unnoticeable.
Not a droplet of sweat on your forehead.
And I become yours for
the time being.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
Paper cut. On a dry cracked finger
Bit my lip. That same spot over again
Jammed my toe. In the dark on the old iron chest
A boiling sip. Skin on the roof of my mouth peels away
Slammed my finger The tailgate of my truck
Hit my head. On the corner of the open cabinet door
Sprained my ankle. With a crunch that says "ER"
Bruised and bled. inside the car on its back in the middle of nowhere
Shiver out loud. So cold, knowing its hours to dawn
Burned my back. Bright red and translucent blisters
Tingling spine. In the dark, certain evil is there
Cough and hack. Needles stuck in my lungs
Curled in a ball. Because nothing matters
Long thin abrasions Cowering below his anger
Crackling cartilage A powerful fist to my nose
Fevered equations. Crazy dreams to sort out nonsense
Human condition,
Follows no law.
In everyday living,
Life can be raw.
But it's brutal when someone you trust is the perpetrator
.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 2:46 AM UTC
My car came in a close second, bobbing
on the trailer with the concrete tides.
Three feet behind the black, flaked tailgate that kept a Rubbermaid cooler and rusted chains from shattering passing lane windshields on a daily basis. I'm a truck bed and three feet away from my alabaster beauty, and I felt like I was driving it. Window drawn into the door, my left wrist idle
on the wheel, and an evergreen air freshener bobbing with the concrete tides.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Only 3 people in my life have seen me cry,
unless you count that one guy on that tailgate that one night that one time
but I don't because I was drunk and it wouldn't matter in the morning.
You are one of those three and for you I cried the heaviest.
In your arms, fog catching, trying to suspend myself
in the gravity that kept me clung to your chest with fingers in your hair
kissing your ears between tears saying how much I love you
and that I'll miss you and that
every night I Google map the distance
just praying and praying that
the blue line between your point and mine
becomes shorter and shorter in time.
But it never does.
You told me you really will miss me,
that I'm one of the only one's
who actually cares about you
which isn't true but if you want
to put me there I will be because you are
that security and you are
everything that is brilliant in my life
and to know that you will no longer be
that close to where I am is like pulling at my heart
and getting nothing back
but a 10 minute phone call and I
wish you were here.
But you never are.
So I cried.
I mean,
I cried and cried until it came down to
you holding me so I would stop shaking and telling me
that I was strong and that I'll be fine
and that
it wasn't a goodbye just a
see you then.
But I've tried to hold "then"
in my hands and I've tried to write it
on my calendar at home but I can't find it,
and I'm afraid that will turn into not finding you
when it's 2am but it's your midnight and there's no
commonplace where you and I can just relive
this moment where I cried and cried and told you that I loved you
and you smiled with your eyes.
But the comfort that holds me is you know I can do this,
you know that I'm worthy,
and you know that I'm strong.
So I tell myself that when I don't feel it and I recognize
that if you can believe in me so much than I must be able
to do this without you and to move on
without you
constantly being here.
It gets me through until I can say when,
until the next time I see you
until see you then.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
A baby bird had fallen out of it's nest
His broken wing pinned against his chest,
In the darkness of night
The blonde girl had no sight,
But could hear a noise under the ford beside the curb.
She got her father to investigate
He reached down into the gutter by the tailgate,
Surprising them it was a baby bird newly hatched
His left wing needing to be patched,
She loved him.
They named him Curby for where he was found
Weeks later the poor thing still weighed less than a pound,
Her father promised it would be fine
But three days later the girl came home
to find the bird had died.
Five years later the girl is thirteen
Lost without her friends the world is mean,
Her old friends were at a different school
Life was cruel,
But then she met him.
He lets her forget about all of the pain
She gets lost in his deep brown eyes
He was the only one who didn't treat her love as a game
With him she never cries.
Three years later he is just a memory
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC