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Poems On / About CAR  10/9/2015 1:44:58 AM
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Family is a car.

Parents are the engine,

Bringing the car to life,

Steering its way most of the time.

Grandparents are the headlights,

paving the way.

Cousins are the radio and air- conditioning,

There to make the ride more enjoyable.

Aunts are the seats,

There for support.

Siblings are the color of the car,

there to make the car look better.

Pets are the passengers,

Just along for the ride.

And you are the driver,

deciding where you go,

and what happens next.
Lila Holmes

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Terrence says
“Get out of the house. Go off and ride your bike today.”
But I am in a bad mood,
black and growling like the heavy clouds above,
but he throws something at me and it shatters against the wall.
I don’t know what it was;
I am already out the door.
He’s probably forgotten I can’t ride my bike anyhow.
Not since he ran the car over it when it was lying on the lawn.
He came home late and the car was particularly unruly,
for sure the garage kept moving.
It must be very hard
to park a car in a garage that keeps changing.
I walk down the street instead.
I kick small pebbles out of my way,
watching them skip off down the pavement
never the worse for the road rash.
Sometimes I wonder if Terrence would hold up as well
if I kicked him off down the street,
bouncing along before he came to rest in the gutter.
On days like this,
when the sky is holding out for a good long cry,
I think I’d like to murder him.
I think, isn’t so bad.
In the movies the good guys do it too, but only if they have a really good reason
and Terrence has done nothing, if not give me good reasons.

I turn off the street and take the overgrown trail that leads to the railroad tracks.
The grass is taller than I am and the weeping willows hang low,
their branches sway,
the wind rustles through them, crying out to me,
It speaks of days gone by
when the sun wasn’t always hiding
and my mom wasn’t always crying
She didn’t have to hide the bruises because there were none.
She could always make me smile then.
We played hide and go seek on this trail.
In the high grass, I would giggle and she would pretend not to know where I was.
I have gotten better at hiding, since.
There are no giggles,
I keep my breathing quiet and under control and sometimes, he doesn’t find me.

There is an abandoned railroad car by the side of the tracks.
The neighborhood kids use it as a clubhouse, a hide out;
we spray paint it with words we’ve only heard others use
on TV and in movies,
when our parents have had too much to drink and shout at us from lighted doorways
as we run out into the night.
We’ve seen these words
sprayed up on other buildings in the rougher parts of town,
the parts we have to walk through
to get to school.

I climb up into the car.
Alone today,
I take a marker,
there’s always one handy,
and I add to the list that’s growing ever longer
inked on the inside of the car in cramped eleven year old handwriting.
I’ve stopped counting, now,
how many reasons there are.
The important thing is that there are enough.
I don’t really think prison would be so bad.
At least my mom would be safe.
Maybe her face could regain its natural shape and her smile would come out of hiding.
It would be worth it,
I think.

The car shakes,
a horn sounds
and breaks screech as a train rumbles past outside,
masking the sound of rain beginning to fall.
There are a few things we kids keep in the car
for emergencies:
a rusted tire iron
a wrench
a stash of candy and granola bars
bottled water
a few damp blankets
a hammer
for when the going gets tough.
The hammer feels good in my hands and I swing it a bit.
I climb out on the rusting, corroded roof of the old train car.
The rain falls on me and I watch the train go by,
car after car after car after car.
I swing the hammer some more and I wait.
The sky, I think, is waiting too
and the tears keep falling.

In the rain, I’m not sure whose tears cling to my lashes,
run down my cheeks.
The hammer warms my palm
and I don’t know if I will use it tonight,
next week,
next year,
a hundred years from now.
But it’s in my hand now
and I feel so powerful when I swing it.
I could do anything
and the reasons just keep adding up on the wall inside the car.
Soon it will have spread,
soon all the walls,
the floor,
the ceiling,
the outside of the car,
will be coated in my handwriting,
the rain making the marker lines streaky,
even harder to read.

I hold the hammer in both hands now.
The water in my eyes,
mine or the sky’s, I’ll never know,
blurring the train rushing past
and I lose count of the cars I didn’t know I was counting.
The hammer feels too heavy suddenly
so I put it down.
I climb off the car, slide to the ground.
I will not take the hammer today
but it’s nice to know it’s there.
I walk away without seeing the last car of the train.
I walk away not knowing the last reason.
Tsunami HiroshiSu

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A Modern Bible Story [2]

When I am walking down Voortrekker road to buy a new car
I come upon an old man lying on the sidewalk
and he has been stripped of all of his possessions,

he groans and can barely say a word
and I do notice that he is from another race.
I come upon an old man lying on the sidewalk,

his glasses have been slapped from his face and his possessions are missing.
The new car is shining where it waits
and I do notice that he is from another race,

the pastor from the local church hoots drives past and is waving at me,
the poor man is barely aware of what is going on in the bad state that he is.
The new car is shining where it waits

but he lays wounded badly and is bleeding and knocked cold.
An elder drives slowly past a wounded man but suddenly speeds up,
the poor man is barely aware of what is going on in the bad state that he is

and humanity forces me to take care of the badly wounded man.
When I am walking down Voortrekker road to buy a new car
an elder drives slowly past a wounded man but suddenly speeds up
and he has been stripped of all of his possessions.
Gert Strydom

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Have A Molotov Cocktail For A Drink

A touch of sunlight beamed through the lens of Officer Dave's glasses. It formed a streak of light which glinted off Matt's handcuffs. Dave was careful to place the handcuffs on soft. He left enough room for Matt's bandaged hands to twist. This courtesy was of no mind to the prisoner. To him it felt like just another arrest. As he was lowered into the cop car-he took one last look at the hospital. There was a Neo-Gothic resemblance-with the massive towers made of stone, peaking at rigid points.
"I cannot believe a hospital is my last sight of beauty." He said with an exhale of breath.
Dave followed Matt's viewpoint to top of the tallest tower. The shadow of the tower fell over their faces. It disappeared from Matt, as the door was closed to the car. Then the sound of a clicking lock-followed by momentary silence; as the car drove away the radio came on.
"Come gather round people, wherever you roam." The lyrics brought a surge of energy with them. Matt felt a confidence grow in his chest. It pumped the heart at a furious pace. His cheeks became flushed and his neck grew to a pinkish hue. He couldn't help but sing along!
"For the loser now will be later to win-for the times they are-a-changin! " He sang along with a raspy voice. His throat was vandalized by smoke damage. The bomb was not intended to be that potent. As the flames grew 24ft into the sky-the smoke fogged the area in a black cloud. Blind, disorientated, he fell to the ground feeling his way from the flames. The Molotov Cocktail left a residue on his hands. The fire touched the concrete and followed a trail of gasoline. This is how his hands came to be damaged. For when the fire reached his position-it overtook the flesh. Still, he continued to sing.
"The order is rapidly fadin'"
The noise became too much for Dave. The raspy voice drilled into his conscious with each lyric.
"Would you shut the hell up back there! "
"Make me."
Such defiance overtook him. A great anger caused him to ream the steering wheel. He gripped it hard enough to form a blister on his middle finger.
"Now you listen to me." He looked in the rearview to witness a boy rolling his eyes. "You're in my custody. You are going away for a long time."
"Long time? There hasn't even been a trial yet! "
"Who the hell needs a trail! We have footage of you throwing the bomb at the capital! "
Matt snorted and gave a half grin. "What I did…you will never understand."
Above their heads was the thunder of a helicopter's blade. The noise was deafening-it brought their conversation to a halt.
‘Damn media.' Dave thought. ‘We kept this under wraps. How did they know I was transferring him today? '
Matt leaned to one side and looked out the window. He saw the helicopter hovering. Inside the airborne vehicle, one of the two men held a camera. He zoomed in on Matt's face, as it peered at them through the glass. Without hesitation Matt stuck his tongue out at them. The gesture caught the camera man off guard. He looked at the pilot confused.
"I think that kid…he…he just stuck his tongue out at me? "
The pilot shrugged his shoulders and continued to follow the car.
"You will see." Matt said in a loud, raspy, voice. "Someday, I will be seen as a revolutionary."
Dave focused on the road ahead. As he did-a dragonfly flew into the windshield. They both made eye contact, before a soft ting exploded insect guts onto the glass. He pressed the button for windshield washer fluid. Spurts of blue liquid rained over the car. This was followed by the wipers, which did nothing but smear tiny organs and blood over the glass.
"Let me tell ya-kid. What you did was an act of terrorism. You are a terrorist. A young one at that-I just feel bad that your life is over with."
"Trust me. I have lived all the life I want."
The car pulled up to a garage door. Painted across the white background, in big yellow letters, read the phrase: Prisoner Entrance-the very sight of it stabbed at Matt's heart, he felt all the energy of the music leave him:
"I died a long time ago…"
"Kid! You're what…14? You don't even know what death is."
The door opened and they pulled into a large garage. It was well lit-with bright fluorescent lights. The walls were bare and the room smelled of old rubber. Dave parked, with a calm pace exited the car. He walked over to Matt's door and opened it. A rush of cold tickled his thin frame. Goosebumps rose where Dave grabbed his arm and lifted him from the vehicle.
"Well, got any last words before I take you in? "
He looked around at his new surroundings. Above his head one of the lights died. A circle of darkness surrounded his shackled body.
"Yeah. He alone, who owns the youth, gains the future."
"Clever, I like that-who said it? "
Matt raised an eyebrow and smiled.
A.j. Binash

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