Hello, everyone who has ran into, come across, or been told of this blog! We're about to kickoff the new people's poetry blog, inpired by Leah Morse, Daniel Glassey and Gabriel Acevedo. (Co-authors of the blog)
This is how we're gonna do it!!! : We're gonna put up a theme, and you poets are gonna write your version of poetry! Any inappropriate content will be deleted!
First theme for the month of August:
An Old Ford Truck.
let's see your thoughts that ryme and chime!!
-The Poets
Remember when we drove down those roads,
ReplyDeleteHitting turkeys, deer, wildlife, and toads.
How I did fish tails late at night
and how you were driving in the moon light
no arms, no feet - a dangerous combination
an action which led to a great complication
That time I was lying in the ditch
I was wrecked to pieces, I lost bumper and hitch.
I loved going all out when you floored the pedal,
when you turned on music... except heavy metal,
when we went mudding, out in the field,
when I broke both mirrors and the windshield,
when you were driving with no hands on the wheel,
and when you drove 120 - now THAT was unreal.
Now I sit in your front yard all forgotten
I'm beat up, rusted, and the seats are rotten.
I haven't seen paint for nearly 8 years
the rain has washed away the last smears
no wheels to show off - no lights to blind
I'd just be a piece of metal that you might find
And there is no more pride in what I do
I wonder if you look back too
and miss the great times we shared
...but right now it doesn't look like you cared
cuz you got a better car... a nice dodge duck
Well... I miss you!!!!!.... - Your old F150 truck
Remember the first time, the first time we danced
ReplyDeleteYour dark eyes were shining, they had me entranced
We danced to the sound of the whippoorwill’s song
The stars winked softly, the fireflies danced along
Remember how we laughed until we cried
How you said we had the best dance floor worldwide
And how you told me it would bring us luck
Dancin' in that rusty bed of your old Ford truck
It was a moment so beautiful, so rare
I was sure you were the answer to my prayer
For on that dark, beguiling September night
I gave you my heart, and you made it take flight
But where are you now, where has our love gone?
You left for the war with the coming of dawn
And as it always is, war takes its toll
It left me sorrowed, it’s weakened my soul
I’ve found myself walking back to where she stands
Rustier than before but she understands
How love could blossom once and never die
Under that dark, beguiling September sky
Listen, this old truck tells you its story
ReplyDeleteShe's traveled many a rocky old mile
Dust clouds would billow, in days of its glory
She blazed her own trails through the wood and the wild
Closer to study, sadly forgotten
She's ruined here. Doors latched shut by vines
Enmeshed by branches and roots, her tires rotten
Retained here, immobile, embrangled by time
Deserted, this lot serves many the same
If she had a heart, surely twain 'tis
Sad, wasted, broken, left rusted in rain
Abandoned so here, seems wrongly amiss
What else could be done with the old Ford truck?
Its headlights were out, the bed wouldn't close
Her seats were so shabby, these doors rusted shut
And thus, here she sits in tragic repose
A beaten old Truck,
ReplyDeleteCaught my eye today,
A sad thought struck,
As I perceived the display,
Vines made their resting place,
Tall weeds grew with distaste,
A corner was its dismal home,
Its glory past was gone,
Pushed against the silver fence,
Chain-link marks as years are spent,
Rims bore the weight, sunk in the sand,
FORD logo absent, was hard to stand,
Not many a fellow, who traversed ol’ 19
Observed the site that lay there unseen,
Surely this truck had years of vigor!
Of stature, class and pride, I figured,
That first man to roll it out to the street,
Felt like a hero back in ’63,
I thought of this wide-eyed, as a story unfolded,
Of how this trucks life had finally ended,
Maybe it fell into hands of a fool,
Driving it down to levels so cruel,
Or maybe it’s life had ended in harmony,
With worked miles behind it, complete, happily,
But my imagination show nothing but reminiscence,
For Sun, rain and dew, leave little evidence,
Of truth of the story, of the back of this lot,
The towns own Marina, boats for sale, and bought,
Who would show up to this place to look for a Ford?
Then I heard A man speak behind me, “Been there since ‘64”.