"vehicular" poems
Destination home...
Making my way
Sleepy heads leaning
End of the day
Different people
Diverse ethnic races
Same endpoints
For us nameless faces
Where we're headed
Timeless cues
Rain-stained windows offer
Only blurred views
Beautiful display
Droplets colliding
Like liquid missiles
Crashing and merging
Yellow street lamps
Neons on buildings
Vehicular signals
Intermittent flashings
Reds, greens and ambers
Fighting for attention
Blues, whites and their hues
Feast for perception
Myriad colours
Refracted and broken
Prism induced dispersal
Little light show haven
Quite the spectacle
This dance and flight
Kaleidoscopic effect
Between water and light
Rain didn't abate
Unleashing full fury
All of us still safe
Capsule of tranquillity
Watching the chaos
Still silently looking
Overwhelming wonder
Heart is choking
Found myself tearing
At the sight of this view
Realised for certain
That I'm missing you...
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
I reminisce by this railway siding pond,
Musing on rail relics rattling on,
Recalling lives and times bygone,
But memories of their shades linger on,
The lonesome call of distant steam trains,
Eras that may never come again,
I see they're gone nowhere in particular,
Replaced by planes and transport vehicular,
I imagine queues on foggy platforms,
Awaiting the misted trains' shadow forms,
Standing by, expecting the status quo,
I blink my eyes, where did they all go?
Looking backwards along yesterday's track,
I'm no kid any more, get off my back,
I reflect and reminisce,
Nostalgia is for the times we miss,
I'll reminisce by the railway siding pond,
I recall the times and lives bygone,
As ghosts of rail relics keep rattling on......
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to get hit by a Mercedes.
I want to get run over by a Porsche.
Something big.
I want to get smeared against the pavement
by a Cadillac Escalade.
I want to get hit by one of those big ********
who drag gasoline across the continent,
but I want the driver to be a manic psychopath.
I want him to stalk me on the sidewalk
and then run me over slowly.
He's not any coward, not like those bald patriarchal
Corvette drivers in polo shirts tucked into khakis.
No, he's a great fat man, a hairy beast with
a crooked stare that slows the pulse on impact.
I want the police to cringe or get scared interrogating him,
and haul his truck somewhere to be inspected.
I want the price of gas in nearby areas to go up
by at least fifteen cents for two weeks.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to roll over the windshield,
and drag under the bottom for about ten yards.
I want to separate at the middle and leave organs on his
left side view mirror and hanging on his hood ornament.
I want to seep blood deep into his car,
and when he turns on his heat,
he'll smell my blood full blast in his face
burning.
I want to wreck the car inside and out.
I want to get hit by a car with a McCain sticker on the bumper.
I don't want to get hit by some middle class Ford or Honda,
or someone's shit-level Chevy or beat up jalopy.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want the driver to make his tires scream like banshees,
and leave four long streaks of rotten burned rubber on the asphalt.
I want him to step out in business attire, and gasp, inwardly.
I want to flip off the sky, because my aim is bad,
and call him a coward for hitting the brakes.
I want him to think,
"What did I do?
Is he Okay?
What am I going to do?
What if I lose my license?
How will I get to work?
How will I pay for this.
Does my insurance cover
vehicular manslaughter?
I'm not alone right?
I'll get through this.
I'll survive.
I'll just be another statistic.
That's all."
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
“Vehicular Favouritism”
Opinion is how to know the best kind,
What preference hath thee of the best car?
For best may be based on the shiny find,
Is best not simply what takes thee so far?
The sights we see attract thine eye of gold,
Why pay unemployable hope and dream?
The best is but the one in heart found bold,
Doth it raise heart and soul? Or self-esteem?
The ride you find to be at utmost high,
Is this the one that you daily befriend?
May it differ how thine neighbor doth fly,
Do you favour the ones they recommend?
Think of this thought now short-- which is the best?
Four wheels and an engine-- matter the rest?
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
sleepn to dreams splitn the seams on what seems to be unseen
floatn from scene to scene.
exposing the dimentions as an interstellar time traveller
high above on DMT the brains craving pleasure from the endorphine
eyes closed walking through rows of roses of syncronicity.
I see old growth trees from sea to seeing all with inner eys of sympathy.
our vehicular carcass is a calorie burning
cardiovascular cacarborated dream machine
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 9:06 PM UTC
A few miles inland,
Told to lock all windows and doors,
There is Chlorine in the air,
As England remembers Soviet Russia,
Chemical spills tickling the throat of the century,
Stinging the eyes of the children
Bored in the beer garden of Britain,
The roads are all blocked and the whiskey is watered down.
People leave slower than ever,
Swimming in pools of exhaust fumes,
CO2, Radio 2, M52 bound,
Vehicular nightmare wound,
Lost in the A-Z of our Father’s arteries
Reversing through his varicose veins,
Stopping short of starry futures,
Air pollution spoiling meteor showers.
An end, an end,
Over and Over again.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
Bruised thighs
Broken pairs
Foreign beggar
Painted drifter
Contorted poses
Common thief
Watery muse
Vehicular womanslaughter
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
first musical memory
playing Mary Poppins
over and over on my portable suitcase
phonograph
not convinced that
a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
went over to my friends house
to play Barbies
heard B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets
on her record player
began my life long
love of rock music
grew up attending a Southern Baptist church
if my faith continues to evolve in and out of specific creeds and dogmatic beliefs
right arm will never fail to involuntarily rise
towards the Heavens
whenever i hear
How Great Thou Art being sung
parents were in their late 30's
by the time i was born
was exposed to big band music
show tunes
mom's favorite
French operatic singer Edith Piaf
Riverview Elementary
in music class
taught how to do The Hustle and The Bus Stop
to disco records
got to bring in
on Fridays
love of guys with
long hair
blame
on the big hair
bands
the 80's
the 90's
such a kinship to the dark depressing sounds of grunge
believed Scott Weiland
Kurt Cobain and
Jerry Cantrell
plagiarized my thoughts
mad or need to clean
my house
the 2 often go
hand in hand
heavy/nu metal blaring
at maximum volume
Currently
am at a crossroads
need of direction
helps me to undergo the deep soul searching
inecessary
major life changes are required
give myself vehicular therapy,
driving around Wilson Lake
symphonic classical sounds from the radio
surprisingly
maybe not
blaring
maximum
volume
brainstorming
my options
to the
music
overheard
ppl say
they wished that
their life
came with
a soundtrack
Mine does.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
Towers burn and
the graves give up
their dead.
Biblical science.
Too hot to protest about
climate change.
Good Friday ghosts
clank chains in Westminster.
Lady Liberty's ****
fondled by tiny orange hands.
Nail bombs, acid and
vehicular homicide.
Armed police guarding Starbucks.
The vanishing hope of
finding a cure, or
even getting a doctor’s appointment.
Bees disappearing and
rivers running dry.
Refugees vilified, oligarchs welcome.
Fox playing
the most gorgeous HD footage
of The End Of Days.
Rage and no rage.
Fake news and alternative facts.
The criminalisation
of irony.
Inevitable Quisling betrayal.
Nihilism as a punchline.
Time to birth yourself
from the
Womb of the Echo Chamber,
maybe?
Please stop trying to pretend
that anything about this
is normal.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
with all the experience
of tying friendship bracelets,
i would've thought that by now,
you would know a lot about "tying the knot".
but my favorite love song never sounded like "commitment"
(yours even less so), and the best romance i've had were always
tinged with confusion and regret
that bled like paper cuts.
maybe there's a reason
my fingers were always too small
to hold on to rings (they inevitably fell off).
maybe there's a reason
my hands were never strong enough to hold on to
another person's grasp, but strong enough to break hearts.
maybe there's a reason i am more inclined to want something
temporary and fleeting;
i live like i'm a vehicular accident waiting to happen
and love like i'm already in my coffin.
rejection tastes similar to second chances, and i guess that's
why you want to kiss me so badly, to maybe try and
rid yourself of her mournful eyes, or the look she gave you
when she said "let's just be friends."
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
I am indifferent to your pain
I cannot feel the hurt the rage or blame
The anger I don't handle well
Are you in hell? I cannot tell
I see you lie there on the ground
My only interest is the round, the caliber, or the speed of car that hit you. Its Vehicular. Was it mine? Approach and angle. Incident report. I am indifferent to thought outside of that that makes me who I am. I don't hate you. I'm the man
who said, " I love you" and "We're friends" and things that tore your mind to shreds
I only know you're mad as hell. I didn't know. I couldn't tell.
How could I know? I only said
those words to get you into bed.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Fast food and motel signs floating in blackness
To illuminate the night sky like child’s stickers
Plastered onto parent’s precious painting
Decorate the mighty treadmill we used
To exercise vehicular endurance and find
How many times can we note the golden arches
We traded hours of sleep to reach the city
Of a singing Mormon’s dream
He was only on a billboard for a week or so
You’re as warm as the city with twice the life
Making plans for another before we reach
Our trial home happy and tidy
Now where’s the one who’s seen the world
But still wants to be in mine?
In my lap on a couch in her living room
(I could go on to fill a children’s book
Like the lady who swallowed a frog)
Now she exists everywhere, my Malachi Constant
Who makes it okay I’ll never swim on Saturn
I like the way the green light illuminates my face
When I’m on my way home to see her at night
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
Manicured lawns, sculpted shrubbery dot the landscape,
Indifferent drivers of cars going to or coming from an escape,
Hydro parallel lines almost invisible but a contrary shape.
This is where life happens,
but don't get on the bandwagon,
for big city life, from inside the fence,
short walks to and from work, less tense,
d
e
s
t
r
e
s
s
if I had vehicular commutes,
a one hour sentence that pollutes,
if I lived further away,
I would be an employment cliche.
My ear buds on,
my music in,
I hear what I
want, on my
travels, where
the music opens,
the landscapes,
of my imagination,
manicured not,
indifferent not,
every workday in
every way is
a new and
exciting adventure.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
Stopped at a light
napkin and pen
Feverishly write
of world and of Men
It's my kneel, and my prayer-
napkin and pen upon wheel
Everything we feel
then the light's on what's right
and none of it's real
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
automobile assault again
by
churchlot crasher.
departed, damage done
even
forgoing forgiveness.
grumbling gomez glowers,
haranguing
impossible immunity.
jeez! just...jerk!
klutzy
lot leaver!
mangled mobility machine
needs
overnight observation.
poignant payment, pending
quixotic
recompensing ravager.
supposing satisfactory salvage.
truck
under
vehicular
warranty.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
There is a drowning—
Vehicular siren…………..
The distance, is in the air...
Pressure echoes
Through the crack of the window.
Mark it in the tree surfaces.
Legitimate ides
Jolted out of place
For future……………………..
Thinking is finished tonight
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 12:57 PM UTC
finally i am slain by
having my armpit sliced open (i feigned death the first time but
Death always knows.)
after death/
anno domini: **** me.
when you’re dead, he says,
you can **** god.
so i did.
how, then, did Death take me
by the hand (Death
in His neon green track suit)
to tell me something I already knew?
after death you can feel
only
pleasure not
pain and i guess that’s just
the cost
of a pound of flesh
an ounce
of virginal tears:
starkly they are abandoned by
the prison
industrial complex /montage it all goes
comes crashing
down like a game of mexican train
Planes crashing into trains crashing into cars &c.
into the chaos i am flung
atop a hill and there are five
rainbows, maybe more
as dozens of little silver
crosses are fired (don't get caught in the
shot up &
flipped they
land spectacularly on top of the hill. Huge
condors I mean huge
are circling. they hoist
things, possibly creatures,
up into the air but i didnt know
what they were.
a small child turns out to be the
culprit
i think through
mind control?
the other inhabitants of the
domino city ******
each other slowly
(The old lady next door donned
a green jumpsuit, snuck
into her neighbor's house,
and attempted to plant some
weird perhaps poisonous succulents
there.
knock knock—
interrupted & the knock
isn’t her neighbor
somehow she escapes.)
disposable people jump in front of a
semi. two women,
fighting tooth&nail,
make a sudden and tacit
suicide pact & jump
in front of a car together like
two virgins before
the bomb.
this is what triggers
the chain reaction of vehicular crashes.
there are phone calls.
cell phones die at critical mo-
ments. family: all three
siblings sing
(a karaoke version of) a song we didn't know at
a birthday celebration for
someone we didn’t know you
finger him and he
protests.
everything is probably a neurosis
And from somewhere comes the word "ratiocinative"
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
I think
The best metaphor for you
Is my little Honda that barely functions.
I poured time and money
Oil and sweat and passion
Into machinery nearly as old as i am
Just to get it to run.
Every time it breaks down
I instantly show up ready to fix it,
Pouring all my energy into it.
The thing is,
I spend more energy on it
Than the amount of joy or convenience it ever gives back.
We have a few good times every once in a while.
But then it’s another broken valve.
Another communication
vehicular breakdown.
-C.R.H. 3:03p.m. 2/27/15
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
I dialled your number.
I sent some messages.
Response held-up in
Vehicular traffic of
silence.
Transmitting voidness in the
Midst of a dead silence from
A dead telephone line.
A loud silence responded,
Diverting answers into
The vortex of emptiness.
Clock of silence lightly enstopped
Beacons of response.
When l dialled your line,
When l sent some
messages,
Voiceless echoes permeated
Membrane of hindrance,
Waging wars of friction.
But l dialled your number.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC
The busy checkpoint at the entrance to Gate 21, the CY06 construction site in the north sector @ Waterview, is manned by a particularly nice bloke.
He, with his customary good nature, directs incoming traffic to its intended destination, controls access to far flung satellite work stations,
ensures, with deft manipulation, that pedestrian workers survive the incessant vehicular traffic constantly moving in and out of the site.
He knows what is going where and probably more to the point; he knows what is not going where it shouldn’t.
Errant intruders and jaywalkers are deflected efficiently and politely.
Seemingly catastrophic situations are dispersed harmlessly and with effortless panache.
Nobody here is offended…and the system flows like silk.
John@ the Gate is an under rated, key man in the organisation.
A small cog in this very big wheel who has quietly made himself, over time, indispensable…and indeed, a legend.
When, soon, the dust has settled, and the Captains and the Kings have departed… when the heavy plant noise has abated….
And when the traffic is flowing like a ribbon through the new tunnels and streaming smoothly over the majestic high flyovers…
The Spirit of John@theGate shall remain hovering in this place,
suspended vividly, in the memories of 1000 construction workers who have valued his contribution to the cause...
And have marveled at his, ever present, amazing, good grace.
Marshalg
Project Plant Co-ordinator
Wellconnected Alliance
Auckland.
1 September 2016
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 5:33 AM UTC
Listening to the ***** din of Sin
City streets
inside the concrete weight of dark rooms
the window ajar
to let the outside air in
while chain smoking to the Metro sirens'
soundtrack
of harpies' in heels
clucking and squealing
(laughter as sharp as their stilettos)
this & midnight overshadowing
black rubber tires burning on black boulevards
vehicular collisions'
sounds stalagmite, metallic
crunch
against the hum of sleeping traffic
signals
hollow city like a wide amphitheater
with the occasional Harley motorcycle's
thunder
waking car alarms
a choir of infants' high pitch wailing...
The desert night's sirocco hiss
outside my 2nd floor apt. window
in a dark room
where my silence is a deep listener
and my mind a curious wanderer,
where the walls
not only keep out
but carry every conversation.
in such a cryptic void
a spark is gleaned,
a firefly wisp of an epiphany :
we are not separate
you and I
city and fly
burrow and groundhog
dam and ******
we are unread books in dark rooms
waiting for the absolute truth
we find
in one another
to be known
to be seen
as we recite the past horrors
of loud pains
from a city that strips us numb
our pages open like Window panes
ajar...
no matter how ugly the chapters
we will have known
joy being
held within your hands
the story with you
is also mine /
we are
north & southern
swamp & willow
breath
sultry kiss
Arriving,
humidity on skin
Sweat the nights awake
Until we're dusk
And it drains the sinew
of screaming city
Steaming shadows
shattering length wise
On bright carpets made of morning
Green grass and still
our day yet written
new
Our flight is departing now...
once a firefly in a dark room
a simple story
a night sky full of stories.
each light
our eyes touch
fireflies
in dark rooms...
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
The mind is a fragile glob of a thing
central command /
controls to the push buttons.
...and there is a reason
why the surgeon-generals
scientist's with their lab-rats
witch-craft
place warning labels
on cigarettes / monoxide fumes
cancer wafting in
and reasons why
the educational systematic d.a.r.e.
warns of the downfall
having anti-drug
show and learn
with actual footage
films about enbibed catastrophe
black and white Ansel shots
needles / puncture holes / junkies
(show them,
they do not wince
they've become tolerant,
immune to their everyday occurance
like morning coffee's
little push.)
Slides on red tape murder-scenes
angry D.A.D.D.'s
S.A.D.D. mothers
radical vehicular
Mr. A Anonymous
involuntary
man-slaughter
Non Applicable
Under the influence
teaching
prevention
to the already numb
Although experience
is the best kind of good teacher
to be a youth in our day
is to be impetuous
capricious
typical
naïve
mistaken,
even grievous
when i wish now
since from before
the voices that whisper
in my head
my name
tell them to
close the door
that keeps them out
behind
them...
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
Sep 2, 2022
Sep 2, 2022 at 6:02 PM UTC