Poetry competition CLOSED 10th March 2014 4:39pm
WINNER
summultima (uma)
summultima (uma)
RUNNER-UP:
hemihead
ROAD TRIP
riding her
(inspired by ‘she being brand new,’ E E Cummings)
Edward said she’s new, very new (Virginal, you might say)
but she’s been properly tuned
and lovingly lubricated
we, being over-anxious, almost prematurely
flooded her engine
the stick shift is sticky, we misjudge
and jam it in (reverse)
she bucks like hell!
we regain our composure, slipping properly thru the gears,
low into 2nd, and, by the advantage of studly horsepower,
vigorously into high
cruising now down that divine highway,
we floor the gas pedal and she responds (omygod!)
at the proper moment, we apply the breaks
(you’ll know when it’s time oh yes!)
that contract (out her) and expand (in her)
and she trembles, exhales, and comes to a deadstop.
we rode her along with him
and we Arrived
Orgasmically…
(inspired by ‘she being brand new,’ E E Cummings)
Edward said she’s new, very new (Virginal, you might say)
but she’s been properly tuned
and lovingly lubricated
we, being over-anxious, almost prematurely
flooded her engine
the stick shift is sticky, we misjudge
and jam it in (reverse)
she bucks like hell!
we regain our composure, slipping properly thru the gears,
low into 2nd, and, by the advantage of studly horsepower,
vigorously into high
cruising now down that divine highway,
we floor the gas pedal and she responds (omygod!)
at the proper moment, we apply the breaks
(you’ll know when it’s time oh yes!)
that contract (out her) and expand (in her)
and she trembles, exhales, and comes to a deadstop.
we rode her along with him
and we Arrived
Orgasmically…
Anonymous
The Day I Packed my Shit and Left
Ah, I remember it well; I was 20 years old and ready for change
A geographical cure, if you will, but far away from home range
It started on a bus; my foot locker packed
With all that I owned, and weed in my purse; that’s a fact
Out of the woods, on to Boston, then New York here I come
Be ready for me, I’m young, eager, and kinda dumb
After Port Authority, I was on to places unknown
Little did I know that others on the bus, like me, sought ways to have their minds blown
I sat next to a rocker with a cassette player in his lap
He was going to California for a recording session; he played me his rap
Was he famous? Would he be famous? I didn’t even know
He looked like Steven Tyler, was from Boston, and he was on the go
It was 1977, and my time was free; I was going to Kansas
To live with a friend, get a new start like she did, who could blame us
As soon as it got dark, the bus driver stayed focused
And some guys started sucking from bongs, some huffed white powder, hocus pocus
Smoking joints was my routine, it seemed to be the same on the bus
In a small makeup kit in my pocketbook, I carried the essentials, of course
A roach clip, some seeds, a pipe, papers, and a couple of joints
All my girlfriends carried one too, we were prepared; we made our points
The people in the front of the bus awakened that morning with a cough
We had all gotten high and drunk; I imagined that we made a ruckus
But no one said a word, not even the bus driver
I think he was glad that we got out; he probably felt higher
I don’t remember the night’s drive, but it led to morning, eventually
With some blond dude passed out next to me, and a bottle of vodka on my lap, I had to pee
Smirking, nodding, all of us in the back of the bus thought that we hid the fact
That we got smashed and shit-faced, while we traveled with our shit packed
Heading to different places, we each had a mission with things to see
The last dude, tall and dark, as he left shook my hand; inside was a packet; he tipped his hat and winked at me
He thanked me and said that I was fine and that he had fun on the trip
I smiled and remembered him rolling up a hundred, filling it, passing it around like a tip
After that party, the smoke had still to clear
I went to the bathroom, we were strangers that got high in the rear
After a stop in Indianapolis, I got out for a break
Saw a couple on a bench, who agreed to smoke a joint, since we both had to wait
Boarded another bus, the final one of the trip, sat near a dude with long hair
He said that he rode back and forth from Boston to Cali., asking me to come, it just wasn’t fair
He fell in love with me on that trip, and I had to let him down easy
Because I reached my destination, and I was on a mission; but I felt kinda queasy
He got mad and told me not to leave my seat
But when my stop came, I kissed him and left; my heart skipped a beat
He was beautiful and young, with full red lips
And he swayed when he walked, with smashingly hot hips
I never knew that would happen, on a bus, the day I packed my shit and left
Or that I would meet so many people, all wanting the same thing that I did, to escape, I guess
After arriving and meeting my friend, I couldn’t wait to tell her about the trip
It sounded like I was making it up, but she listened intently as she put a joint to her lip
High once again, the smoke had to clear
I was in a strange town; being high only intensified my fear
How I longed to follow all of the people I’d met on that bus, how could I forget
The day I packed my shit and left
Ah, I remember it well; I was 20 years old and ready for change
A geographical cure, if you will, but far away from home range
It started on a bus; my foot locker packed
With all that I owned, and weed in my purse; that’s a fact
Out of the woods, on to Boston, then New York here I come
Be ready for me, I’m young, eager, and kinda dumb
After Port Authority, I was on to places unknown
Little did I know that others on the bus, like me, sought ways to have their minds blown
I sat next to a rocker with a cassette player in his lap
He was going to California for a recording session; he played me his rap
Was he famous? Would he be famous? I didn’t even know
He looked like Steven Tyler, was from Boston, and he was on the go
It was 1977, and my time was free; I was going to Kansas
To live with a friend, get a new start like she did, who could blame us
As soon as it got dark, the bus driver stayed focused
And some guys started sucking from bongs, some huffed white powder, hocus pocus
Smoking joints was my routine, it seemed to be the same on the bus
In a small makeup kit in my pocketbook, I carried the essentials, of course
A roach clip, some seeds, a pipe, papers, and a couple of joints
All my girlfriends carried one too, we were prepared; we made our points
The people in the front of the bus awakened that morning with a cough
We had all gotten high and drunk; I imagined that we made a ruckus
But no one said a word, not even the bus driver
I think he was glad that we got out; he probably felt higher
I don’t remember the night’s drive, but it led to morning, eventually
With some blond dude passed out next to me, and a bottle of vodka on my lap, I had to pee
Smirking, nodding, all of us in the back of the bus thought that we hid the fact
That we got smashed and shit-faced, while we traveled with our shit packed
Heading to different places, we each had a mission with things to see
The last dude, tall and dark, as he left shook my hand; inside was a packet; he tipped his hat and winked at me
He thanked me and said that I was fine and that he had fun on the trip
I smiled and remembered him rolling up a hundred, filling it, passing it around like a tip
After that party, the smoke had still to clear
I went to the bathroom, we were strangers that got high in the rear
After a stop in Indianapolis, I got out for a break
Saw a couple on a bench, who agreed to smoke a joint, since we both had to wait
Boarded another bus, the final one of the trip, sat near a dude with long hair
He said that he rode back and forth from Boston to Cali., asking me to come, it just wasn’t fair
He fell in love with me on that trip, and I had to let him down easy
Because I reached my destination, and I was on a mission; but I felt kinda queasy
He got mad and told me not to leave my seat
But when my stop came, I kissed him and left; my heart skipped a beat
He was beautiful and young, with full red lips
And he swayed when he walked, with smashingly hot hips
I never knew that would happen, on a bus, the day I packed my shit and left
Or that I would meet so many people, all wanting the same thing that I did, to escape, I guess
After arriving and meeting my friend, I couldn’t wait to tell her about the trip
It sounded like I was making it up, but she listened intently as she put a joint to her lip
High once again, the smoke had to clear
I was in a strange town; being high only intensified my fear
How I longed to follow all of the people I’d met on that bus, how could I forget
The day I packed my shit and left
Atakti said:I'm getting kinda weary of all the comps that include DU members in the concept... save it in your pocket, anna, for a few weeks down the line, when we wanna do the incestuous write-about-each-other-thing again, because it IS a good idea, but we've had so many like that lately. Or is that just me?
(Then again, someone might surprise you... my money is on ML.)
No. The communality withered out. That's all.
(Then again, someone might surprise you... my money is on ML.)
No. The communality withered out. That's all.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Where shall we go my love? Just the two of us
We know that our departure will cause our friends to fuss
But if we are to get closer, and make our friendship last
We must spend time alone together, and must not be harassed.
We could go off in my car
To the highlands in the north
Although from here it is not far
We really should set forth
Do I hear you say that you will come on such a trip with me?
Our departure must be secret or we might never be so free.
Meet me with your bag, beside my car at the crack of dawn
By the time our friends wake up they'll find that we have gone.
Now we're finally on our way
Heading straight for the hills
We'll find a spot where we can stay
And see what life fulfils
Our trip has been a success, we are much closer now
We can return to our homes as a couple with a vow
Quite soon the two of us will jointly get a house
And when we get married you will be my spouse
We know that our departure will cause our friends to fuss
But if we are to get closer, and make our friendship last
We must spend time alone together, and must not be harassed.
We could go off in my car
To the highlands in the north
Although from here it is not far
We really should set forth
Do I hear you say that you will come on such a trip with me?
Our departure must be secret or we might never be so free.
Meet me with your bag, beside my car at the crack of dawn
By the time our friends wake up they'll find that we have gone.
Now we're finally on our way
Heading straight for the hills
We'll find a spot where we can stay
And see what life fulfils
Our trip has been a success, we are much closer now
We can return to our homes as a couple with a vow
Quite soon the two of us will jointly get a house
And when we get married you will be my spouse
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
Road Rashes and Balms
I'm one of those drivers that don't need a passenger
I prefer a pig detector over any robot navigator
my religion is music and I worship with cannabis
I like automatic weapons and manual driving
T-top or sunroof if it's not convertible
or a pick up with mud tires, I'm versatile
except on the stereo
kick ass system with a sub-woofer vibrating
the world passing by and me...
just driving
a blunt in my mouth and a cold one on ice
I could teach classes on enjoying the ride
I like the load kept basic
a spare with jack and tire tool
a fishing rod and a deep book
a change of clothes and good boots
in case there's fighting
and I'm out of ammo (unlikely)
I drive hard and fast unless the song is slow
then it's 55 and flying
I can own any road
burn rubber and time like a master of puppets
pounding my freedom over lines that divide
just to blur them
the best rides have no destination
where you end up is a sum total of how the road
either sets you back or fucks you up
decides who you'll be when the trip is over
don't matter where you're headed when
nothing in the rear-view mirror makes sense
and the tracks look the same in either direction
I've caught up with my self out there a few times
then there we were still looking for the next sight
there's always somewhere else to be
so it's hand in the sky with a Northeast wind
it's singing my heart out to songs that still mean everything sometimes
It's putting out the joint and packing a bowl
smelling the ocean get closer
and knowing
me and the world have something in common
the potential for anything, always
Arrival
I came to Chicago across the plains of Illinois.
I was in the back, and Brian and Kathy in the front
became silhouettes against the blood-glow of sunset.
On each side, disappearing for a thousand miles into the darkness,
lay America, country of the road.
As always, I thought of Chuck Berry, Ray Charles,
Jackson Browne, Paul Simon,
and so on, and so on.
All of those voices which brought America to us
on our cosy European island.
And the voices told us of another world,
a world of high-schools and sidewalks,
homecoming queens and fire roads,
motels and freeways,
drive-ins and liquor stores
and deserts and canyons.
And suddenly we were in Chicago,
looking up at skyscrapers,
plunging into Carl Sandberg’s ‘city of the big shoulders’.
Then we were driving down Halsted,
yellow sodium lights
laying everything bare.
We found the place we were looking for.
We stopped and got out.
Through the locked door, an empty hall and a staircase.
I rang the bell, feeling tired, jaded, irritable.
Down the stairs came a girl,
blonde-haired, suntanned, smiling,
a crisp white shirt with an upturned collar,
blue jeans - a weary traveller’s dream.
Deborah, no movie star ever made a better entrance.
You made it all work.
You gave joy and life.
I came to Chicago across the plains of Illinois.
I was in the back, and Brian and Kathy in the front
became silhouettes against the blood-glow of sunset.
On each side, disappearing for a thousand miles into the darkness,
lay America, country of the road.
As always, I thought of Chuck Berry, Ray Charles,
Jackson Browne, Paul Simon,
and so on, and so on.
All of those voices which brought America to us
on our cosy European island.
And the voices told us of another world,
a world of high-schools and sidewalks,
homecoming queens and fire roads,
motels and freeways,
drive-ins and liquor stores
and deserts and canyons.
And suddenly we were in Chicago,
looking up at skyscrapers,
plunging into Carl Sandberg’s ‘city of the big shoulders’.
Then we were driving down Halsted,
yellow sodium lights
laying everything bare.
We found the place we were looking for.
We stopped and got out.
Through the locked door, an empty hall and a staircase.
I rang the bell, feeling tired, jaded, irritable.
Down the stairs came a girl,
blonde-haired, suntanned, smiling,
a crisp white shirt with an upturned collar,
blue jeans - a weary traveller’s dream.
Deborah, no movie star ever made a better entrance.
You made it all work.
You gave joy and life.
OFF-ROADING ON MOJAVE DESERT
On one hot August day,
off-roading on Mojave Desert
flashed in my mind
in my brand new sports edition SUV -
the Pathfinder.
Testing its performance
under xeric conditions,
I wasn't disappointed;
it excelled to its claim.
Decided to go for the max
under the extreme heat
of the desert sun;
had so much fun,
forgot the setting sun.
After several miles
of sand dunes and flats,
decided to go off the beaten path…
away from the Devils Playground—
across the mountain ranges,
high mesas and plateaus.
All of a sudden
lightning struck without warning
bombarding from all directions
followed with a familiar sound,
as if the gods were playing
with bowling balls
rolling hard like a run-away train.
Turned back, passed several ghost towns
amidst the howling of angry winds;
gas tank already empty—
still no signs of civilization!
Stuck in the middle of nowhere
in total darkness,
the occasional flash of lightning
provided extra light to my headlights.
Fear began to creep within,
as the Pathfinder was pounded by heavy rain
not to mention the hunger
that was wrenching my guts.
In spite of these,
I managed to remain calm and poised
although I was tongue-tied
upon seeing something
hovering above!
At break of dawn
when nature's wrath was over,
surprised to see the gas station
just a few yards ahead;
filled up the tank
and drove away
from my worst nightmare
knowing out later,
I was close to the famous Area 51.
On one hot August day,
off-roading on Mojave Desert
flashed in my mind
in my brand new sports edition SUV -
the Pathfinder.
Testing its performance
under xeric conditions,
I wasn't disappointed;
it excelled to its claim.
Decided to go for the max
under the extreme heat
of the desert sun;
had so much fun,
forgot the setting sun.
After several miles
of sand dunes and flats,
decided to go off the beaten path…
away from the Devils Playground—
across the mountain ranges,
high mesas and plateaus.
All of a sudden
lightning struck without warning
bombarding from all directions
followed with a familiar sound,
as if the gods were playing
with bowling balls
rolling hard like a run-away train.
Turned back, passed several ghost towns
amidst the howling of angry winds;
gas tank already empty—
still no signs of civilization!
Stuck in the middle of nowhere
in total darkness,
the occasional flash of lightning
provided extra light to my headlights.
Fear began to creep within,
as the Pathfinder was pounded by heavy rain
not to mention the hunger
that was wrenching my guts.
In spite of these,
I managed to remain calm and poised
although I was tongue-tied
upon seeing something
hovering above!
At break of dawn
when nature's wrath was over,
surprised to see the gas station
just a few yards ahead;
filled up the tank
and drove away
from my worst nightmare
knowing out later,
I was close to the famous Area 51.
moody dim lights in the pilgrimage darkness
beams shamelessly bright in stark excuses
of his chameleonic mind in carnivorous throws
his lusty tongue in sudden over-flashy blurbs of cacti inflorescence
floats in fattening off-white dots with sludgy-sloppy punctures around
desert rattling viper in search of virgin blood pools flushing naked skins
hangs in froggy retractions, gobbles this incidental prey in exposure
biting lick on her artic thighs penetrate in reckless ruptures
breakdown... the ice of silence into million shard knives’
that dare in life-taking acoustics
of incessant slapping shock waves
the oceanic currents with a tsumani
a sudden screechy stop on the Western Ghat highways
this lifeless rooftop of a mere mechanical witness on wheels
crackles in a falling bed of dense deciduous goddesses of ages
many sleepy eye wakes up to the scene
the quirky reptilian’s quick decline to sainthood
eyes may lie, those melting ice bits in blood stain..each remains his killer fossil
MAKE LOVE NOT WAR
Riding with hippie friends on a "Love Bug"
Smoking pot and drinking beer
While having sex in the back seat
Destination: Woodstock
Would you like to rewind and hitch a ride?
Days of non-stop music and partying
Maryjane, LSD, booze and naked women
Hypnotic trance, hallucinations and sex
Trip to heaven, hell yeah...
Can’t stop the music, can’t stop the rain
Psychedelic experience at its best
Those were the days when we chanted
Make love not war!
Riding with hippie friends on a "Love Bug"
Smoking pot and drinking beer
While having sex in the back seat
Destination: Woodstock
Would you like to rewind and hitch a ride?
Days of non-stop music and partying
Maryjane, LSD, booze and naked women
Hypnotic trance, hallucinations and sex
Trip to heaven, hell yeah...
Can’t stop the music, can’t stop the rain
Psychedelic experience at its best
Those were the days when we chanted
Make love not war!
