"undercarriage" poems
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.
Romantic Moment
After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores
where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.
It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,
and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved
and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.
If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck
and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,
and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.
And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and
pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.
Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,
human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive
enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go
to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
the brightest star
of that well-known
oft mistaken
constellation
disfigured and disguised
by the shifting
of Rorschach’s clouds
the temporary flair
of an unremarkable
astral body
burning through
the upper atmosphere
forgotten immediately
as it fades
along with
any accompanying wish
the strobing beacon
of wingtip
or undercarriage
marking the distance
needed for safety
moving through turbulence
restlessness and discomfort
watched with
ill-considered envy
in this overcast
night sky
those twinkling lights
will often go
unnoticed or
simply ignored
Jan 6, 2023
Jan 6, 2023 at 7:26 AM UTC
Teeth chatter and butts raise above seats,
Riding pickups atop the corduroy road,
Thunder claps of rubber bass beats,
Slapping the undercarriage's rusty odes.
The tires rhythmic riffs are risky,
Clavinet keys echo wood beams over muddy water,
Walter Murphy drinks a Fifth of Beethoven's whiskey,
Leaving superstitions for Stevie to Wander.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
The unpleasant noice becomes more legible. A diode that carves
a wrong written word.
From the Neighbour table
A Country fly
a summer morning. While light figures coax between the window blind
the undercarriage is brought down. Fire! Fire!
repeatadly at the
nuclear core.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
The anger from having to clean up a clumsy child’s mess
The sudden sound of rubber being laid on the tar
Quick snap of the head to the right
Sight of an undercarriage fly’s past you
Mind could not comprehend such a vision was like in slow motion
Telling yourself just had one sip this can’t be true
Crash, bang, boom is what I heard a cold dark winter’s night it was
Hoping what I always said won’t be true
Now sprinting around the corner Come around the bend
Eyes open to only confirm something here is not right
What’s inside man, woman, children cannot see in because tint was so dark
Rushing to your rescue I struggle to see within
Can tell you are a carpenter by your lumber scattered all around
After not being able to open your door
Grab a piece and take out your back window
Shattered into a millions pieces it went
Letting me see the truth within
Hanging like a pendulum in a clock
No swing was this to mark the time in suspension you hung
Was suppose to save your life now takes it your last breath away
Hey buddy I am here for you There on the way
Traffic built up now and a voice you knew Shouts out just let him be
If it were him what would he say then?
On the scene now they come
Spotted a blue glove on her hand Tore it off like a thief
Grasping at the **** that was too slippery lonely moments before
Step aside sir let me see A quick reach in was all it took
Shook her head over and over to the left and to the right
My precious 1 was also by his side with hidden eyes that were welled up and burning
When she heard what was said
Blinked and a dam broke loose down her face it flooded
Shouts of fury I shattered crystal for miles around.
(CARSr. 5-4-12)
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 5:15 PM UTC
Because you prefer it
Winding down with a stranger in bed
Your prayers and future lost
Better fasting in mind
With a heart that jumps too freely
Just a window glow
As night comes for these shards
Your swiftly torn undercarriage
Vexed to the incalculable
Bleeding out under hot water faucets
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
De elevating power might
seem a futile task for a mere
earthling, disadvantaged by
stature, and of course due to
being under surveillance from
an altitude beyond reach, of
even, the imagination.
Such being the predicament
of an elderly Weasel inattentive
to the hidden dangers from an
intemperate predator soaring
directly above, just waiting to
profit from this evident dotage.
Down swooped the winged
carnivore, availing of surprise,
up-draught and velocity, it
quickly sank its talons into the
side of the disabled animal
and rose triumphantly into
the empty sky and high.
But just as possessions fall through
fingers, the winds of change were
about to reverse the tide of misfortune.
The stunned carcass, which only seconds
previously seemed as though was dead
as dead could be, suddenly posed a
problem for its captor (in flight).
Immediately, there was a notable change
of direction and a notable drop in the
flight horizontal, the big bird was visibly
in trouble, the Weasel had sunk its teeth
into the undercarriage, securing itself
from being released of the foot spikes.
The underdog was not going to go down
without a fight and there was nothing,
absolutely nothing The Eagle could do,
no negotiation, no solution other than
land, because The Weasel was not going
to let go and The Eagle was loosing fuel.
Efforts to dislodge The Weasel proved
nugatory, yet, The Weasel was prepared
to **** the Eagle in flight, a pyrrhic victory
is as democratic as one could wish for.
The Eagle had no option, down it came,
flew low along by the tree tops in an effort
to detach itself for The Weasel.
The Weasel availed of the Hobson Choice
and released itself from the breastbone
clambered on to the branches, making
its way out of the tree.
Meanwhile, The Eagle after a huge loss
of blood, left a trail along to forest floor
for The Weasel to follow
Ps.
The leech Eagle ended up in College Road
Sligo where it has a nest.
What became of it, is still unknown, but we
are sure, that The Weasel has not given up.
This is the Fable of Free Travel.
A pass given to the author by
a Government agency in Sligo
Ireland, and taken away with
no explanation.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC
i brush a tender moment, strewn beside
the traffic lights in your eyes. to collapse!
to hold this a second longer! you burn like
sodium, on the inverted face of my retina.
in the thick undercarriage of cloud cover
you pour into my skull, fine droplets, as
rain begins to fragment sidewalk lines.
open bold nothing, i. what can be lost?
against all views from above the city, a
glimmer belies some gain. if a single cut
of grass sprouts from the ground, no loss
will matter. we will orchestrate a forest.
you will see. we will arch our backs, join
gaze, scrape teeth and house the ocean.
the sky will collect where our skin meets.
so, i feign no casualty and slowly
dissolve at the thought of you.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
Gold plated taps
dispense gold plated water
baths with gold plated soap suds?
yet producing the same
**** of green back arrogance
and shine.
The blue black lambhorgini
controlled by road signs and speed limits
but the ego driving the wheel
cannot understand
four wheels and an engine
bursting its brain in the undercarriage
collecting accident cold hard stares
All those lovely women
don't love you - lover
its the cars and the feeling
the shades of pink and purple
that drive their own ecstacies
up the wall of your waiting
Tonight
you will sleep alone
wondering where your woman went?
Don't ask me. I don't know.
a ******* from a man-eating tiger.
Author Notes
OK.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ag
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
I, too, dislike it.
However,
I was trying to not think
When out of the gaping wound
Of the car-detailing garage (smells like metallic ***
Came a Nissan GT-R fitted with an oversized spoiler.
Backing out sounded like clearing the throat of God.
A gold snake zizzed around the license plate.
Sunburnt hubcaps, fancy undercarriage installation
Casting a pool of violent light on the pocket pavement
Of gum blots. Was this that filled me with desire?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
Robust numbers resist
With stubborn clarity
As tunnelvision experience suborns denial
Facts persist
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 8:48 AM UTC
I was fifteen,
Jersey boy, displaced
from green suburbia
to a sagebrush sea.
I tried to drop my accent,
got a job at a horse ranch
shoveling ****
wore cowboy boots.
Finally made a friend
in that dirt road valley,
taught me to sideways slide
and countersteer,
joyriding his mother's car
down rough roads
we shouldn’t be on,
sparks flying,
rocks bouncing
off the undercarriage.
And he had guns too,
pistols and rifles.
We hiked up into the hills,
shot at rusty
abandoned cars,
empty beer cans
or anything
that crawled
slithered or hopped.
Killing that jackrabbit
was a lucky shot.
I got him right through the eye
with a 22, on the fly,
just for fun.
We laughed
and high fived
as that black crater
in his head
did not stare at us
from the dusty ground.
I was in.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC