LPiA-23 Nov. 1

[Tiger the Lion]

A few hours head start for Day One.  

Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 1

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a New Reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. (or one, or six, or fifteen) Prompts may be revisited at any time. All members are welcome.

Topic : Write a poem inspired by a vehicle. Literal or metaphorical, real or imagined. (If you get sidetracked, post it anyway)
Form : Any
Line requirements: Eight or more.

Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Questions?

[CRNDLSM]

I used to not be this way.
I can't get even get in my car
drive to the corner store
without becoming absolutely
INFURIATED
to say someone is so fucking stupid.
10 under or 10 over, no signal
brake checks,  swerving, stalling 

Any time of day, any road.
I have music, pre meditative rituals
squeeze pads, and plenty of time.
And someone 
Somewhere 
No matter what
Will absolutely infuriate me

[Quixilated]

A dust mote 
in a sunbeam,
unconcerned by gravity
nor levity nor longevity,
a tiny asteroid with no orbit,
reflecting the sun’s rays
as it stays suspended
in midair,
glints 
its tiny dustbeam
straight into my eye
and mind, like
microscopic moonlight
full of lazy magic,
arresting concentration
and inflicting inspiration
and existential hesitation
as the world shrinks 
down to nothing 
but a daydream
in a sunbeam 
on the floor.

[Wjames]

Hey Tiger, thanks for doing this.

------

Mobile Food Bank

An old white Hino truck laden with rice, beans, and eggs
leaves the Daily Bread every Tuesday at eleven am.

It usually stops at Ms. Germane's apartment around noon,
clambering in to the parking lot at the back with a squeaky rumble
her hearing aid might register on a good day.

On Tuesdays she wears her church clothes:
a green plaid skirt with a burgundy sweater,
small hoop earrings, and a bit too much perfume.

The delivery man, Ron, gives a sturdy knock,
and she invites him in to the apartment
and offers him a cup of tea.

He always declines graciously,
unloading the shipment
over a few minutes of small talk
that's become more familiar over the years.

When the last can is in the pantry,
he rolls out the dolly and wishes her well.

[brynmawr1]

Back in the day
   (yeah, that old cliche)
it was just us.

Each holiday,
we would drive the night
Orion's bow drawn
across the clear December sky
guiding us home
    from home.  By dash light
we passed the miles reading aloud.

My favorite, "A Winter's tale".

I was always better at doing the voices;
always happier just to listen.

[RiverNotch]

You don't need as much expertise
to mine out gold as you do oil.
Oil requires some middlemen
transform you to the middleman,
you whose God brought forth these wells,
such that the companies you court
will close their ears to when you make
like Falstaff, crying "Life! More Life!",
when they drive you to the creek,
talk you up to sit you down
on a rock, then leave your body
rotting in the water.

[TranquillityBase]

VeHiCLe: a consonant poem

Hiccup married Lullaby
honeymooned in Venice
where the couple
bicycled along the canals,
& made love by the light
of Venetian candles.

Vincent was tricked
into hell by Velocity,
a vicious strain of call girl
culled from a venereal hill clan.

Vincent picked a fight
with Hiccup, fell 
into a cul-de-sac.
Lullaby cried for help,
Velocity clipped her
with a sickle, slicing a vein.

She closed her hurt
with chicle, beloved
by Hiccup,  while Velocity,
so very fickle, left Vincent
to cool his heels and crawl
vanquished by love’s 
sweet nickel.

[dukealien]

Car Prose


They say that with a plug-in hybrid
car you have to drive it like
an engineer (P.E., not railroad)
telling it precisely when to use
its little stock of volts and when
to stick with gasoline or exercise
its judgement as to how but it
defaults each morning to some mode
that’s never right for what you’re at

unlike simple hybrids which
just do their thing and run exactly like
a gasoline car only further

or a pure electric that
drives like a dream until
you wake up empty at
a defunct charging station.

[rayheinrich]

                  < That 1983 Mahayana >

                    high ground clearance
    good enough to get us through flooded washes
            take the doors off so she won't float

                        just let that water

                        flow on through

                                  all
                                  in
                                  all

                                  a

                          great vehicle

                                - - -

In appreciation of Gary Snyder's 1983 book: Axe Handles

[Fearful Symmetry]

Drugging the Dog

I start with turkey in the dark, deli flesh
for a foul pill.

Truth be told, the dog is a better person
than I am,

so each night this week, I center his capsule
in an offering

of meat, roll the ensemble into an antibiotic
stogie — having smuggled

the bottle from the cupboard, the medicine
from the bottle.

Seeing it, the jig would be up. There’s just
enough light

for subterfuge, and to see myself framed
like a hologram

in the kitchen window. If I prayed, I would pray
to this other me —

that someone else is out there, wholly unlike
the two of us,

standing in the dark, outsmarting us all.

[Tiger the Lion]

The Lemon

I found her in the back 
of Buddy's Car Lot
sandwiched between minivans

and salesmen.

I was seventeen 
and between
two paper routes 
and a job at a burger joint
I was still a little shy
of her sticker price.

Buddy said he'd "cut me a deal."

Buddy said "she's a beauty, you can't go wrong with this one!

Buddy said she was a peach.

[CRNDLSM]

Drugging the Dog

I start with turkey in the dark, deli flesh
for a foul pill.

Truth be told, the dog is a better person
than I am,

so each night this week, I center his capsule
in an offering

of meat, roll the ensemble into an antibiotic
stogie — having smuggled

the bottle from the cupboard, the medicine
from the bottle.

Seeing it, the jig would be up. There’s just
enough light

for subterfuge, and to see myself framed
like a hologram

in the kitchen window. If I prayed, I would pray
to this other me —

that someone else is out there, wholly unlike
the two of us,

standing in the dark, outsmarting us all.

I had no idea where this was going, and enjoyed the ride

[Semicircle]

Sleep

An absence at night,
a soft howling--
the vacuum fades.

Lights and stars
turn out
as it passes,

all is left silent
in its wake.

[Tiger the Lion]

Hey Tiger, thanks for doing this.

You're very welcome. Day 1 was a great start. Let's keep it going!
------

Mobile Food Bank

An old white Hino truck laden with rice, beans, and eggs
leaves the Daily Bread every Tuesday at eleven am.

It usually stops at Ms. Germane's apartment around noon,
clambering in to the parking lot at the back with a squeaky rumble
her hearing aid might register on a good day.

On Tuesdays she wears her church clothes:
a green plaid skirt with a burgundy sweater,
small hoop earrings, and a bit too much perfume.

The delivery man, Ron, gives a sturdy knock,
and she invites him in to the apartment
and offers him a cup of tea.

He always declines graciously,
unloading the shipment
over a few minutes of small talk
that's become more familiar over the years.

When the last can is in the pantry,
he rolls out the dolly and wishes her well.

[busker]

O I love my RAM.
It’s RAMericanism writ large,
like coal carried on a barge
down the Mississippi, timeless,
or the American economy, dimeless
but printing its way to freedom.

We have allies? Let’s bleed ‘em!
For America first, say the old rambunctious
fools, silly fuckers
sucking Carl Tucker’s
Johnson.
Mark Chapman, Charles Manson -
they lived, while the Rosenbergs died.