|Best Poems About / On CAR
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 dont know what it was;
I am already out the door.
Hes probably forgotten I cant 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 Id like to murder him.
I think, isnt 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 wasnt always hiding
and my mom wasnt always crying
She didnt 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 doesnt 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 weve 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.
Weve 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.
I take a marker,
theres always one handy,
and I add to the list thats growing ever longer
inked on the inside of the car in cramped eleven year old handwriting.
Ive stopped counting, now,
how many reasons there are.
The important thing is that there are enough.
I dont 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,
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
a rusted tire iron
a stash of candy and granola bars
a few damp blankets
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, Im not sure whose tears cling to my lashes,
run down my cheeks.
The hammer warms my palm
and I dont know if I will use it tonight,
a hundred years from now.
But its 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 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 skys, Ill never know,
blurring the train rushing past
and I lose count of the cars I didnt 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 its nice to know its there.
I walk away without seeing the last car of the train.
I walk away not knowing the last reason.
Read more poems from Tsunami HiroshiSu >>>
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.
Read more poems from Lila Holmes >>>
I Just Need Some Old Cars
Tell me are these problems Heaven sent,
Or just another way to make me Hell bent?
You know what, I don't even care
I just wanna go somewhere
I don't want my old life back
I just want a great big Cadillac
I just wanna be rich as a pharaoh
I just wanna finish restoring my Camaro
I don't even need a girl to call honey
I just want cars and a whole lot of money
I don't want just a couple million
I want more than a couple billion
I'm totally fine with being a lonely outcast
As long as I got plenty of cars that go real fast
I just need Oldsmobiles, Chevys, Buicks, Cadillacs and Bugattis
Ferraris, Mercedes, Porsches, Pontiacs, Hummers and Maseratis
Cause when I hear them old cars roar
All the sudden my heart ain't so sore anymore
So, I don't need a girl to love the real me
I just need some old cars you feel me?
Read more poems from MAD DEW >>>
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! "
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 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.
Read more poems from A.j. Binash >>>