• THE
    Writing Prompt
    Boot Camp

    Subscribe to our FREE email newsletter and get the Writing Prompt Boot Camp download.

    2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 24

    Categories: Poetry Challenge 2013, Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

    The April PAD (Poem-A-Day) Challenge is designed to help poets do one thing and one thing only: Write more poems! The process of revision may go on for weeks, months, and years later, but this challenge is all about getting that first draft. Please poem along with us–either in the comments below or silently at home.

    For today’s prompt, write an auto poem. Auto could mean automobile, automatic, automaton, or any number of possibilities.

    Here’s my attempt at an auto poem:

    “auto correct”

    i meant to type a lowercase i
    & i wanted to leave out all my

    punctuation marks & use poem
    as a verb & pen the words show ‘em

    without making ‘em them & until
    should be ’til & please spell check be still

    *****

    Workshop Your Poetry!

    Writing poetry is exciting, but the revision process can be too, especially when you’re revising with a group of dedicated poets and an experienced mentor. As luck would have it, that can be accomplished with the Writer’s Digest online course, Advanced Poetry Writing.

    *****

    Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

    *****

    Quick note on commenting: Please always save a copy on your computer. There have been moments in the past in which comments have disappeared, and I don’t want anyone to lose their work. Heck, I’ve lost some of my work here in the past, and it’s not a great feeling. That said, commenting here is a lot of fun, especially in April. If you’re completely new to the site, you’ll be asked to register (don’t worry, it’s free), and your comments might not appear initially until I manually accept them. However, after that initial phase, your comments should appear without my help.

    Want some more poeming fun? Check out these previous Poetic Asides posts:

    You might also like:

    • No Related Posts
    • Print Circulation Form

      Did you love this article? Subscribe Today & Save 58%

    About Robert Lee Brewer

    Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

    193 Responses to 2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 24

    1. stepstep says:

      COFFEE

      Every morning when I awaken
      A cup of coffee welcomes my arrival
      Into the world once again
      Without notice,
      Automatically.

      LaSteph

    2. mlcastejon says:

      Autocritic

      Turtles on the beach
      Swimming with the flow off-shore
      I should let you go

    3. vsbryant1 says:

      Automatic

      Aspiration…
      Uniqueness…
      Together…
      Optimism…
      Motivation…
      Attractions…
      Tenderness…
      Incredible…
      Charisma…

    4. LCaramanna says:

      Wonder Ride

      When Daddy drives carefully,
      two hands on the steering wheel,
      through town with me, his precious cargo,
      car seat safe and secure,
      I watch with wide-eyed wonder
      the world whooshing by my back window -
      church steeples and houses’ gables
      sunshine on rooftops
      birds on wires resting wings
      leafy treetops breeze dancing
      blue sky powdered with cotton ball clouds
      inviting me to fly.
      Oh, I do think a car ride with Daddy
      is an adventure amazing,
      with the top of the world
      in my wide-eyed wonder
      until the warm jazz on the radio
      lullabies me to sleep
      as Daddy drives carefully,
      two hands on the steering wheel,
      through town.

      Lorraine Caramanna

    5. Life in Auto Pilot

      The music plays, and Nature whirrs,
      What does your soul stir?
      What stories, dreams and aims concoct,
      Some ideas that your head and heart begot.
      Few words uttered, those deeds done,
      Some have a recourse, yet some undone.
      It is not a bad thing, though,
      To throw your worries, out of your window,
      And watch yourself sail through it,
      That’s Life, in auto pilot

    6. lionmother says:

      I’m so far behind, but I hope to catch up this weekend. Another hard week for me and somehow missed doing three days.:)

      Auto-Response

      The call picks up
      and right away I
      know it isn’t a
      person on the
      other end only
      a robotic voice
      with the sound
      of a person
      telling me to
      push buttons
      on my phone
      and press 1
      to show it is
      correct

      The voice doesn’t
      care if you answered
      with a teary sound
      or if you screamed
      at the top of your
      lungs as long as
      you press 1 the
      transaction goes
      through

      Then there is no one
      to discuss anything with
      like where do you live
      or what is the weather like
      there? I remember those
      conversations from a few
      years back when a live
      person answered and
      you could talk about
      the immediate thing
      in your life

      Now it’s only press 1 and
      done and everything
      goes back to where
      it should be.
      Where does the
      robot voice live
      when there are
      no phone calls?
      Does it feel sorrow
      or pain? Does it
      hate the voices
      it hears on the
      other end, but
      it has no outlet
      to let it out.

      Next time I
      find a robot
      voice on the
      other end of my line
      I will ask it those
      questions and does
      it have a robot love
      somewhere?

    7. The Drone

      On auto pilot
      I get things done.
      Barely alive
      and not having fun.

      I have no feelings,
      no emotions to remark.
      it’s just a job
      I could do it in the dark.

      Am I alive?
      A human being?
      Or just a drone,
      my driver all seeing.

    8. Yolee says:

      Autonomy

      I like to defy my own gravity
      and challenge the ego to be a floating
      maid-in-waiting for sunrise as it breaks
      away from the dark sheet of night.
      I remind myself that to be or not to be
      requires that I think outside
      the paradox of nearsightedness.

    9. Linda Voit says:

      It’s A Wonderful Autonaumic System

      Knowing what lines
      will come to your mind if
      someone whistles or mentions
      National Geographic,
      knowing to say “Why must you
      torture the children so?”
      when you are crabby, and
      “You’re not gonna like it, George!”
      in a dire voice that can only foretell
      prostitution or, as it turns out,
      library work, will make you laugh,
      knowing when you taste something
      gone bad, you’ll say “It’s poison I tell you.
      It’s poison!” and knowing that every
      December we’ll carve out a few hours
      for the movie that feeds our years
      is like breathing to me now.

    10. Note: Sometimes, life just tosses things at us, an odd little synchronicity like a tiny wrapped gift. Due to some tech glitch, we’ve been without Internet access for a couple of days, so I missed the daily prompt here.. Instead,I wrote a poem prompted by my day. This morning, Internet restored, I checked the prompt I missed. “Write an auto poem.” Automatic? Automobile? Hmmm….here’s the poem I’d already written.

      There’s an over-sized pickup truck
      ahead of me-red, with lurid art
      covering the back window:
      Skull and crossbones, flames.

      I am idly judging the driver,
      thinking my thoughts,
      not so much jumping to conclusions
      as wandering over to them,
      cozy and familiar.
      Then he stops
      in the middle of the block
      to let little kids on bikes cross the street.

      There it goes again. Life,
      shaking its head,
      giving me new thoughts to think.

    11. Gone are the days of the autograph book;
      Signers often responded in rhyme.
      Teens are now tweeting and writing on walls
      And dude,
      rhyming
      is so
      not
      cool

    12. Deri says:

      Numb

      Impatient
      for the coffee
      to finish she
      thinks perhaps
      setting the timer
      just a few minutes
      earlier will make
      the mornings go
      smoother, as if
      she doesn’t realize
      her entire life
      is already on
      auto-pilot.

    13. bxpoetlover says:

      Some gifts are useless.

      When we were girls my best friend showed me how to
      read lifelines and love lines on palms.
      I wish I could read minds instead.

      He and I went to a restaurant and I asked a stranger
      to take our picture. We were smiling. Me standing over him
      sweetly hugging him around the neck.

      When I showed him the photo he
      said it looked like I was choking him.
      Of course we did not last.

      Since common sense trumps love
      I now dissect each gesture and look
      and the hard questions about
      family
      goals
      past loves
      faith
      are
      automatic.

    14. dejauveda says:

      jackie-o sunglasses
      flashing cameras
      yes darling
      its nice to see u
      thank you for coming to see me
      i finally made it
      i have finally arrive
      yes u may have my autograph

    15. Dini says:

      “Car Talk”
      Hello, I’m calling in, but please don’t tell
      My husband or he will surely yell.
      You see, there’s a collector he wants to buy,
      but I need a vehicle on which I can rely.
      Mine actually runs but needs a lot of work,
      but that’s not why I want him to shirk
      this purchase, this ‘57 Chev, all green and white.
      These disagreements now have caused a fight
      Between us, for mine has 200,000 miles, you see.
      and it coughs and sputters, and repair jobs are not free.
      Shouldn’t he buy me a beautiful new Lexus
      not wasting dollars on a rusty, wornout carcass?
      I’m all in a dither, nerves shot, I’m all on edge.
      Please advise: what to buy, how to save a marriage.

    16. Glory says:

      Auto poem
      Self

      In automatic mode, auto –self
      drives me on relentless
      in my search for perfection,
      ignores my fight with ‘thinking self’
      the goals planned, the path decided,
      working apart – sabotage
      working together – fulfilment,
      and success.

    17. Lindy says:

      Not Today

      She didn’t notice
      the pen in her hand
      or scribbling
      on the paper beneath it.

      Her mind drifted
      through the clouds,
      bouncing
      from thought to thought;
      daydreaming,
      sight-seeing,
      the world in a new light.

      She didn’t see
      the words she’d written
      until thunder
      struck her home.

      [Prose]

      A perfect rose
      in the middle of her stormy day
      and greenhouse schematics.
      The phrases
      barely made sense to her,
      yet ebbed
      and flowed
      with a nature all their own

      Automatic writing:
      some say it comes from
      beyond,
      some from
      within,
      perhaps both.
      In any case -
      I say,
      “Sometimes
      it happens that way,
      but not today.”

    18. Annie Auto

      She came to us new to the world
      of long trips and quick drives to town.
      She quickly became part of our life,
      each day shared, surrounding us in
      nine point protection and steel construction.
      Sitting in the drive, she waits
      always happy to take us for a ride
      up and down the old highway of life.

      Great prompt for the day after I bought a new car!

    19. Julieann says:

      My second attempt – forgive its lateness

      Comparisons

      Henry Ford gave us the Model T
      But have you compared

      George Jetson’s flying car, folded into a briefcase
      Against Fred Flinstone’s foot powered model

      A police cruiser on Car 54 Where are You?
      However Adam 12 was a fire truck

      The Munsters drove a hearse
      But the Addams family didn’t seem to use a car

      The Equalizer drove a classy Jag
      While the Dukes of Hazzard drove a Charger

      The ever-cool Corvette traveled Route 66
      And Kookie parked cars and drove a t-bucket hot rod

      There are so many, but let’s not forget
      Kitt, the Batmobile, Speedracer, and the Monkeemobile

      Which is your favorite?
      Can they be compared?

    20. drwasy says:

      little Autocrat

      my sweet
      my love
      my first born
      so willful
      as you reach
      for crown-like
      clouds
      how is it
      you twist
      my heart
      turn my insides
      out
      with your
      denial
      of my
      wish?

    21. julie e. says:

      ON THE OTHER HAND…

      People call him
      and make a noise in
      to the phone
      he tells them
      what is likely wrong with their car
      kind of an auto genius.

    22. julie e. says:

      SALUTE.

      Sometimes I think your complaints are just
      automatic
      so much so that sometimes all I can hear
      is static
      On the outside I stay neutral with a
      hint of smile
      On the inside I salute you middle
      finger style
      How long have we been married? Cuz I’m
      pretty sure
      you would know now after decades I’m no
      epicure
      and I’m feeling you should grab yourself some
      self-control
      cuz you can’t be sure what might be in your
      casserole.

    23. tonijoell says:

      Summer Breeze

      My body may be on auto pilot
      moving through the day with perfunctory precision
      sidestepping my mundane tedium
      between exhalations
      but the rest of me
      remains tangled in cool cotton sheets
      with you
      beneath an open window
      drinking in the scent of us
      mingled
      with the night blooming jasmine.

    24. AUTOCORRECT

      I do not
      think you meant to say
      what you did

    25. Memory on Automatic

      I come up the steps
      with bundles of shopping
      and see you again,
      opening the door
      in pyjamas and socks
      and your faded old grey top
      with the blue writing:
      ‘Life’s a Beach’.

      Under the soft white hair
      your face is beaming
      to see me home, even though
      you’ve enjoyed the movie
      and your talk with the Respite Carer —
      who is grabbing at the waistband
      of the grey top, to stop you falling
      as you reach, tottering, to try and take
      my heavy bags and help me indoors.

      All the while that overjoyed smile.

      Oh, my love!

      It’s one of many sweet memories
      that arise automatically
      in their settings.

      And then, automatically,
      the tears follow.

    26. omavi says:

      Muscle Memory

      No thoughts, no emotions
      Just an autonomous reaction
      So something that cannot be heard
      Cannot be felt, no taste no smell
      No action foretelling what will come
      No torrent of inspiration
      No smoking gun
      No reason behind what letter come
      Eyes closed
      Soul sleeping behind bolt doors
      Muse long fled to planes unknown
      Heart no longer beating
      Blood congealing in vessels
      Brain deprived of even oxygen
      Taking a break from this world
      No rhyme
      No meter
      Nothing wanted or needed
      Nothing aching to be released
      But
      Fingers still go through the motions
      Poetry still lives

    27. P.A. Beyer says:

      The People Have Spoken

      They thought their party was solid
      Everyone knows incumbency usually wins

      The primaries gave a bump up in confidence
      There was a glimmer of hope for a few more years

      But over time they saw cracks in their platform
      The poll results started trending down

      As much as they tried to reverse the direction
      The negative jabs became the common ground

      There was uncertainty up ‘til the day of the election
      The last ditch messages like a barrage never seen

      The votes were counted and recounted
      The results were close but always the same

      And as much as the concession speech pained Jim
      Jill declared her heart an autonomous state

    28. carolecole66 says:

      Auto-Pilot

      Who is this woman who sits at the kitchen table
      drinking tea? She has just come in from the cold,
      she has hung up her coat and thrown her keys in the drawer.
      The tea is where it always is. She knows exactly
      where to find the grocery list. She composed a sonnet
      in her head on the way home from work, but still
      stopped at all red lights. Will she wake up?
      Is it important that she knows she is brushing her teeth?
      Can she wake to herself? The weeks stretch ahead.
      She will take one step deliberately, contemplate
      the movement of her toes. But it’s all too much.

      Tomorrow she’ll set the coffee pot on the floor,
      let the cat wash himself in the kitchen sink,
      leave her bed unmade. She will whirl through the house
      singing old Beatles songs until she’s breathless, flinging
      old photos around the room. Tomorrow all bets are off.

    29. De Jackson says:

      LOL or OMG?

      Thx to u,
      autocorrect
      I just sent a client
      this salacious text:

      Sounds good.
      See you in a sex.

    30. De Jackson says:

      Drive

      She gets in and knows nothing,
      except that maybe that yellow
      dashed line might lead her some
      -where else, some place warm
      and silent and sans sorrow.

      She’d wait ’til tomorrow, but
      the last straw has sucked the
             (breath)
      life out of her, camel needs a
      chiropractor, heart needs some
      highway triage. Stat.

      For some time the flat buzz
      of the
             (ass’s fault)
      asphalt will do, and then
      somewhere around mile 102
      her autopilot kicks in,
      right hand reaches out to turn
      on the radio. Coldplay moans
      low and slow, a familiar song.

                         She hums along.

      .

    31. The Automat

      Rows of glass compartments
      offering creamed spinach,
      macaroni and cheese, baked beans,
      and tempting desserts. Take a tray,
      pick out your lunch, load the correct
      coins into slots of glass cases.
      Watch doors slide open, and remove
      your choices. Called the Automat,
      a hubbub of suits, families, characters
      out of Damon Runyon, and down-
      and-outs. I felt lucky, loved
      eating in such a cool place, yet sad
      seeing those who could not
      afford food, and made do
      with packets of free crackers
      spread with ketchup.

      Poetic Asides
      April Challenge – Day 24
      Write an auto poem

    32. Alpha1 says:

      My Life

      Life for me
      myself and I
      is never goin home
      without one more try
      I crave party girls
      even when I’m snubbed
      I just hop over
      to a brand new club
      for the best thing
      to have on late
      Saturday nights
      is a sweet party girl
      under dimly lit lights

    33. We clock in. We clock out.
      It’s the same thing each day.
      All monotonous, not autonomous.
      We need to break away.

      Performing the same tasks
      Without thought or provocation.
      They want a pre-programmed robot
      Set on full automation.

      Do this. Do that. Are we to go
      About our work and just remain silent?
      Like a mindless drone set upon its course
      As if we were set on autopilot.

      We’re to disconnect our intellect,
      Swatted down like some measly insect.
      Roaming like a zombie searching for the brain matter
      That is the sanity to survive ‘til the next paycheck.

      Numbing down our mentality.
      Micromanaged to a ridiculous degree.
      Stripped of freedom and imprisoned to voluntary slavery.
      And thus, rewiring our natural circuitry.

      Sadly…

      We are subjected to the tyranny of the dollar sign,
      And it’s actually quite traumatic.

      We must redefine the line
      That has kept us behind,
      Confined and blind
      From a freedom so benign.
      It’s time to unleash our mind
      From this daily grind
      And not resign
      To these familiar binds…

      That have become so automatic.

    34. alana sherman says:

      42nd Street

      Saturday mornings my brother
      and I would go
      to the Daily News Building
      to deliver photos. In the lobby
      we’d gawp at our world,
      circle our planet,
      wonder at all the countries, say
      their names aloud.
      Bronze lines, laid out like a compass
      gave the distances to Athens or Bombay
      We’d study the clocks
      showing the hour in Beijing and Madrid
      amazed by the idea that
      it could be 6pm in London or 2am in Cairo.
      Best of all I loved the enthralling facts
      that surrounded that ball: If
      the Sun were the size of this globe, then
      the Earth would be the size of a walnut,
      located at the main entrance
      to Grand Central Station. Glorious!
      In the elevator we jumped
      as it lifted off hoping to be weightless
      while it sped to the 30th floor
      and beyond like a rocket to the moon.
      Afterward, with two dollars per photo plate
      clutched in my hand
      we went to the Automat.
      You put your nickels in
      and out came sandwiches,
      sodas and cakes. We thought
      we had come to the future.
      Then we’d wander Fifth Avenue
      stopping at SAS or Japan Air
      to gather brochures and dream
      of all the far away places
      we’d seen on the globe
      we planned to explore together.

      alana

    35. RJ Clarken says:

      Gourmand

      “Supermarket automatic doors open for me; therefore I am.” ~Craig Bruce

      The automatic doors swing wide.
      The foodie in me rushes in.
      Some pomegranates, to begin?
      Oh joy! Oh rapture! I’m inside

      the place where menus are my guide.
      I want some cheddar cheese sliced thin.
      The foodie in me rushes in.
      The automatic doors swing wide

      and cravings will not be denied.
      The cakes here are a deadly sin
      and…homemade breads…a total win!
      My every food wish, they provide.
      The automatic doors swing wide.

      ###

    36. RJ Clarken says:

      Autograph

      “Hold onto that. You have an autograph. I’m going to be famous some day.” ~Haywood Nelson

      How much is an autograph worth?
      If it’s signed by someone admired
      and it’s personally acquired
      then it is truly worth the earth.

      Collected sigs from Colin Firth
      and Hugh Jackman are what’s required?
      If it’s signed by someone admired
      how much is an autograph worth?

      Regards celebs, there is no dearth,
      but I want just to be inspired.
      The ‘best’ is from someone desired
      who adds some joy or love or mirth.
      How much is an autograph worth?

      ###

    37. Julieann says:

      Scooby Knows — Do You?

      Ask Scooby and the Gang
      What makes an auto?
      Engine, body, doors, design,
      Stick or automatic

      The ever-loveable VW Bug
      ‘59 manual choke
      ‘66 flower power
      ‘72 tomato red

      The do anything, go anywhere VW bus?
      Orange and white
      Green and while
      And psychedelic 60’s

      A myriad of other VWs
      A white hippity-hoppity Rabbit
      A blue 5-speed Golf
      The king, a maroon Volkswagen Vanagon

      Scooby and the Gang
      Can’t be wrong
      They traveled the world in
      Their VW bus

    38. tunesmiff says:

      THINKING WITHOUT THINKING (Senryu)
      ———————————————————–
      My knee-jerk response
      is to write around the word,
      yet paint its picture.

    39. BDP says:

      “I Didn’t Die: Steve’s Email From Daytona”

      Tires scuffed and ready, I’m pumped, starting twelfth,
      with buddy Pete in ninth. All other GT3s
      have broken down or crashed throughout the week.

      Green flag! I tuck behind my pal, he tucks
      behind the AS Mustang lead. I press hard
      on the back straight going into the bus stop,

      ahead, lap 1, but an idiot Corvette
      fakes me to the apron, turn 3, costing
      momentum, Pete gains, dealing with the Mustang,

      he’s balked, pinched down the run off turn 4.
      I blast by as if he’s on a Sunday drive.
      He guns a retort, but the track’s slick, I swing

      wide in the infield, pushing him two wheels off
      by mistake. His speed’s good, I yield the corner,
      he skids me off course (on purpose?), I lose

      quite a few lengths. The AS car slows more
      each lap, keeping us tight, when Pete blows
      a motor just past the infield kink, oiling

      the speedway. I drive through, easy, next time
      hit grease, spin slow mo, pull out, game on,
      but some guys I buried at the start nip

      at my wheels. I let them dash past. Then note
      the attrition. The pack’s half gone. I end ninth.
      My car hits one-eighty, but I want it to last.

      Heading home a tractor-trailer wreck delays
      us two hours, eight miles of dead stopped traffic.

      B Peters

    40. Raina Masters says:

      A Chevy Malibu is not a race car

      That Chevy Malibu was your excuse
      to drive with the kind of abandon
      that tossed my organs around. You
      showed me the difference a V-6 makes
      when you want to rip past someone
      to get to a u-turn, to blaze down
      a dimly lit highway at 3am at 100 mph
      as I sat in the passenger seat, bearing
      down, amazed you never got a ticket.
      You can’t do that in your Hyundai.

    41. PoM says:

      I stepped off the train
      An underground railway
      Was somewhere near Fenway
      Kenmore square on a hot summer day
      Was on my way to watch the Red Sox play

      The melody they played
      Echoed through the subway
      A crowd of people watch them play
      One finger-picked and strummed
      Another beat wooden drums

      The music they played
      In such a spectacular way
      Some in the crowd they swayed
      Others sang as they watched them play
      Not one watching refrained
      All threw money in velvet guitar case

      Took all I had to walk away
      I almost forgot the Red Sox game
      Didn’t want to leave
      They sounded so great

      A quadruplet of hot babes
      Danced and sang
      Then one of them asked
      Where did you learn to play
      Without missing a beat
      They ad-libbed an answer autodidactically

      That was back in the day
      Mini concerts in the subway
      It was the Boston way
      Now the music no longer plays
      Those mean spirited autocrats
      Said no more music in our subways

    42. Biopsy yesterday and computer problems today set me behind writing two today instead of two yesterday, so the “auto” is sort of in poem 23 (yesterday’s) written today and today’s poem is only “auto” in that an anagram generator needed to be consulted.

      Anagrams: Marian Therese

      Hers is an earthrise name
      Its aiyee vowels lamenting
      the moonset salute the sun
      when light reanimates her

      Mania here rest No need
      for excess for you’ll find
      a stream herein Recline
      serenely on verdant banks

      Listen to birds soften day
      with aerier anthems then
      human song Listen each
      dawn at midday at dusk

      Listen, O matinee sharer
      Sound moving soft throats
      avian songsters trembling
      when they re-raise anthem

      The anagrams are earthrise name, reanimates her, Mania here rest, a stream herein, aerier anthems, matinee sharer, and reraise anthem

    43. ewdupler says:

      Teenager Trials

      “I know,” “I will”, I always hear,
      Still you ignore those chores, my dear.
      Advice from me can’t touch your ear,
      Unwise choices are a real fear.

      I know that life should have its fun,
      But that’s not all it is, my son.
      Don’t scorn my help, or you’ll get none.
      Earn respect, Autonomous One.

    44. This poem comes from the automatic music that plays when you are placed on phone hold.

      “Please Hold the Line …” (a triolet)

      On hold the music chings ca ching
      my brain is bouncing beating time
      ah da hey ho this music sings
      On hold the music chings ca ching
      ah da hey ho on music’s wings
      a twirling turning swinging rhyme
      On hold this music chings ca ching
      my brain is bouncing beating time

    45. THEGingerSass says:

      Auto A?
      -KB

      Springtime delays me.
      My wheels go slow– should go fast.
      I arrive, barely.

      Presentation time.
      Drunken classmates stumble in;
      Twenty-four more days.

    46. profal29 says:

      Automatically wondering
      who’s thinking of me
      and why are they thinking
      sexually, thats the only answer
      for out of nowhere, I am
      sensitized, I was not thinking
      of a thing, I was teaching
      stereo mic techniques and…
      bam!
      Who is this person that has
      taken me there, and why has
      it been going on all day
      this must be a person that
      likes me a lot and is able
      to break through all barriers
      all walls, all thoughts against
      what she is thinking of with me

      who is she?

    47. deringer1 says:

      AUTOBIOGRAPH

      He lived down the street,
      a friendly, elderly man, alone.

      I thought him ordinary;
      he appeared like many little old men,

      somewhat vague but harmless.
      One day I stopped to talk to him.

      “Where were you from originally?”
      I asked, to start the conversation.

      I listened to his story with open mouth.
      He was born in a small village on the Thailand-

      Chinese border. Grew up with none but native friends.
      He learned their language and their ways.

      He was of his parent’s country but not from it.
      A man who had led an amazing life!

      He told me of a book he recently published…
      his life story. When I read it

      I pondered long, wondering
      about the rest of my neighbors.

      How many of them are heroes unsung,
      or were outstanding in their younger days?

      There are stories that hide behind a wrinkled face,
      sight that is dimmed, or a slower pace.

      I’ll try now to listen more to the old,
      for they have tales that should be told.

    48. JWLaviguer says:

      Autopsy of a Dream

      The pages fall
      cracked and yellow
      from the yearbook

      Faded memories
      and broken promises
      reveal themselves to me

      We always said
      we’d be together
      always

      Travel the world
      never settle down
      and live forever

      I sit and stare
      as tears fall
      onto the page

      Like drops of rain
      washing away the pain
      but the memory remains

      Of how we said
      we’d be together
      always

      But not forever.

    49. Margot Suydam says:

      Guy Sort Madam on Automatic

      What you know
      about me is not just
      the words in type,
      enclosed in my
      resume. For one,

      I have strived long,
      showing off my
      business acumen
      to your executive
      mettle. I’ve

      relished in taking
      long manly strides,
      talking in a low
      voice, and chewing
      on all your big

      plans. One Christmas,
      you bought us
      snow shoes. While
      the white piled up
      outside, we couldn’t

      wait to try them.
      In the black
      and white woods,
      we attached plastic
      and tin to our boots,

      and ventured, comrades,
      into the dark. I also
      used to strut,
      for you, feminine
      dresses; wear spiky

      heals to play for
      your interest; flaunt
      myself to make sure
      you didn’t forget
      I liked your reaction.

    50. priyajane says:

      Autograph Book

      The faded writing stares rudely at her
      with razor like edges
      and mages of school yard yesterdays
      float in the peripheral vision
      and, she is thirteen again.
      A bulldozer that turns the soil
      spills loosely out of the autographed pages
      crushing her tender spirit
      once again.
      She slams the drawer shut, automatically
      and drives away on autopilot.

    51. JWLaviguer says:

      Automaton

      He wants to be alive
      I have to die
      We hate each other
      Although he doesn’t feel hate
      I can see it in his eyes
      He doesn’t sleep
      I just can’t
      watching him
      watching me
      the mimic in him
      matching me move for move
      he is a mirror image of myself
      throwing himself into reality
      shattering my hope
      like so many shards of broken dreams
      dragging bloody memories from room to room
      searching for the one who used to heal me
      as he mocks me
      dragging his metal soul
      from hell to hell.

    52. Automatically
      birds chirp every morning
      sweet sounds of nature

      Wayne L Murphy 4/23/13

    53. In the Parking Lot

      Monday after the time change
      they still arrive early, in time
      to see the sunrise, jockeying
      for the best spots in the lot,
      backing pickups into spaces
      for a quick exit hours away.
      No classes until eight or nine,
      some plug in their ear buds
      or crank up the volume, bass
      vibrating the body of cars
      on either side; others read
      the story assigned weeks ago,
      due today or the horoscope
      in the local paper, finding
      little else of interest, A-list
      celebrities giving birth
      or leaving rehab. A few
      nap, catching up on sleep
      they miss back at home,
      where children or spouses
      don’t even understand
      why they are back at school.
      Ten minutes later arrival
      means two or three rows
      farther away from class,
      a longer walk. Once inside,
      they’ll wait for the elevator
      rather than take the stairs
      up or down. For now,
      they’ll sit in their steel
      cocoons, breathe a prayer,
      smoke one last cigarette,
      check the phone for emails
      and then emerge smugly,
      eying latecomers circling
      coveting their spaces.

    54. Domino says:

      Past Unwritten
      (A sonnet about autobiographies, or lack thereof)

      I imagine the lives my ancestors lived.
      I try to picture what their lives were like
      by looking at things I do know about them,
      like where they lived, when they were born or died.

      All the small details that make life complete.
      How I wish they’d shared their words, had written
      their thoughts, their lives, the way I’m compelled to.
      Surely compulsion is passed from the past.

      It seems I’ve chosen a futile quest, though.
      Yesterday is gone and so are they, yet
      I do see my great-grandmother’s nose in
      my youngest son, her curiosity in me.
      And that secret to the past, the knowledge
      I crave? It’s been before me all along.

      Diana Terrill Clark

    55. PressOn says:

      AS THE AUTOCRAT SAID,

      by oneself,
      one
      owes none to none.

    56. Jane Shlensky says:

      His and Hers

      He is automobiles; she is plants.
      They know this of one another and try
      not to trespass into one another’s zones.

      What kind of car did you buy?
      He’ll hear one of her friends ask her
      intrigued, as most folks are by motored things.

      She smiles, rewarding them for interest.
      It’s blue! She says. I always like blue ones.
      He wants to scream Toyota, Chrysler, Ford!

      For God’s sake, you know they’re not all the same.
      But he can see she’s left this all to him.
      And so he grits and bears it, shakes his head.

      She hears his golf friends compliment the lawn.
      How lovely are the blooms and decorative trees.
      What is this beauty, pointing, What are these?

      He flushes thinking how to make it end.
      Roses, he says, before he sees their look.
      That’s not a rose, they say. It’s not a bush.

      If you know everything, why do you ask?
      They stare incredulously as he squirms.
      It’s yellow, damn it all, and that one’s red.

    57. Jane Shlensky says:

      Thanks for the constanza form today, Walt and Marie.

      Sacrifice

      The class discusses sacrifice.
      For what would you give up your life?
      Are martyrs always pushed by strife?

      For all you love, what is the price?
      You have to think your loves have done
      more with their lives than anyone.

      You make a trade, pass on a slice
      of time to someone, something true.
      The world is made better by you.

      One boy is moved by a caprice
      and swears by all the saints that are
      that he would die for his old car.

      The class makes him repeat it twice
      You know machines don’t live? they say.
      Foolishness gives your life away.

      Is volunteering for death a vice
      like blood thrown into howling winds,
      life made so cheap, we relish ends?

      Do martyrs get to live life twice?
      Reincarnation could change choice—
      throw ten away, let one rejoice.

      When we debate if fire or ice
      will end the world, we overlook
      stupidity and avarice, run amok.

      • PressOn says:

        Your passion is palpable. The last stanza recalls Frost, for me anyway, and I think it is powerful. Well, the whole thing is, but the ending is like a punch line, almost literally.

    58. Angie5804 says:

      I Blink

      I blink the dust from my eyes
      as I write my name in the dust of the coffee table.
      I blink the dewy fog from my eyes,
      but can’t seem to shake this fog from my mind.
      I blink the smoke from my eyes,
      While memories blaze a hole in my heart.
      I blink against the sun in my eyes,
      Yet no light illuminates to tell me why.
      I try to blink back tears,
      Still they fall on the empty page.

    59. Melanie says:

      Autograph hunter

      She walks two miles
      to the edge of the village
      The hotel is perched
      by the side of the M1
      A source close to her
      (her sister who is a chamber maid)
      reveals that Cliff Richard
      Is in Room 205
      Rain pours in torrents
      but she’s not daunted
      She’d like to be his
      Devil Woman
      but she hasn’t left school yet
      She’d like him to be her
      Bachelor Boy
      but he is probably too old
      She shivers and drips
      in front of Room 205
      She cannot find
      the courage to knock
      Her autograph book remains
      unopened in her back pocket
      as she heads back into the rain

    60. Relics

      The auto that the old man drives
      A 1950 Cadillac
      Red interior, satin black

      Most people gawk when it arrives
      It floats like a luxury ship
      From rounded nose to taillight tip

      It looks as sharp as diamond knives
      With large tailfins and shiny chrome
      And crowned with classy rounded dome

      It has outlived almost three wives
      Inspired by war time aircraft
      So smartly engineered to last

      It must have had at least nine lives
      To make it through these many years
      It has outlasted most its peers

      He tinkers, polishes and strives
      Just out when weather’s very mild
      And treasured like an only child

      So through his nurture it survives
      Who knows what future is in store
      As owner goes on ninety-four

    61. DanielAri says:

      Been following “silently at home,” but here’s today’s:

      “Rube”

      Xylophone hammers
      vibrate the pillow.
      The merry-go-round
      ostriches go still—
      unveiling glimmers

      on the windowsill
      that make the blankets
      caterpillar off
      the dog—who stretches
      and licks the merchant’s

      nose ‘til the merchant’s
      lungs need tongue-free skies.
      The music switches
      to the news. He sighs
      and collects his cells.

      Rhythm reprise.
      The body rises.

    62. EbenAt says:

      Automania

      At the dawning of my
      auto consciousness,
      a Rambler wagon at dawn,
      (Rear facing back seat!)
      At noon, a Super Beetle,
      then a Mercedes 180
      (Cream with red leather interior)
      in slanting evening light.

      In My time;
      a Datsun 510,
      (Pea soup green,
      dual points,
      died lonely
      in a Port Angeles junkyard.)
      A Cressida followed,
      (Faded yellow, big primer spots,
      died in the Painted Desert.)
      Finally,
      a ’78 Hi-Lux,
      (257,000 miles,
      1 clutch,
      much oil)
      ended the Way Used Era.

      The long Toyota Epoch
      followed, broken by
      a minor Chevy Ice Age.

      Finally, the Anthropocene,
      one Smart convertible,
      (bitchin’ stereo)
      to a Prius C
      (All the
      bells and whistles.)
      It is,
      after all,
      2013.

      • EbenAt says:

        Dang, not good – revised:

        Auto Ages

        Awakened to
        auto consciousness by
        a Rambler wagon at dawn,
        (Rear facing back seat!)
        At noon, a Super Beetle,
        then a Mercedes 180
        (Cream with red leather interior)
        in slanting evening light.

        In My time;
        a Datsun 510,
        (Pea soup green,
        dual points,
        died lonely in a
        Port Angeles junkyard.)
        A Cressida followed,
        (Faded yellow,
        big primer spots,
        died in
        the Painted Desert)
        Finally,
        a ’78 Hi-Lux,
        (257,000 miles,
        1 clutch,
        much oil)
        ended the Way Used Era.

        The long Toyota Epoch
        followed, broken by
        a minor Chevy Ice Age.

        Finally, the Anthropocene,
        one Smart convertible,
        (bitchin’ stereo)
        to a Prius C
        (All the
        bells and whistles.)
        It is,
        after all,
        2013.

    63. priyajane says:

      TUK TUK RIDES
      Tuk tuk autos, resting on wheels
      An indoor-outdoor flying wheel
      Taking you from here to there
      An Alice-in-Wonderland, adventure dare
      A common respite, in many worlds
      Weaving traffic with bumpy swirls
      A classic bike, with a mower’s heart
      Each a story of enriching folk art
      A nightmare effect, or, a fairy tale feel
      As you cruise along expanding your reel—

      • ewdupler says:

        I’ve seen them, but never knew they were called tuk tuck autos until after reading your poem and looking them up. The description was wonderfully done. I particularly liked “an indoor-outdoor flying wheel”, and smiled at the nightmare effect as I could only imagine how crazy it would be.

    64. ewdupler says:

      Irritable Illness

      Autonomous action of anatomy,
      Brings bellowing breathing, so blustery.
      Cantankerous cold – encourage coughing -
      Deluge of draining, drastically daunting.

      Everything, everywhere, exceptional
      Fragile. Fidget in fits, feeling so final,
      Grandly Gesticulate. Guttural groans
      Heed healing, holistic, from hands he hones.

    65. Jezzie says:

      On Automatic Pilot

      My alarm went off at its usual pace
      and I rubbed my tired eyes and washed my face,
      as I grudgingly got up from my bed
      to prepare myself for the day ahead.
      A bowl of cereal I was needing,
      and my dog, she also needed feeding.
      Soon my dog had eaten my Weetabix
      and there were her dog biscuits in my dish!
      I showered, got dressed and drove off to work,
      but before too long I felt such a jerk.
      I’d wondered where all the cars were that day -
      when I got to work, it was Saturday!
      I had been on automatic pilot.
      Drink again on Friday night? I will not!

    66. Larry says:

      Three hours, line after line
      Letter by letter. I type and I type
      My fingers are numb. They want my address
      They want my digits, etc, etc, etc.
      Why did I delete Auto populate?

    67. WHAT I DIDN’T SEE

      I step outside and
      wind!
      from the east whoosh! no
      autos whizzing off the hill, sizzling
      the flag and whipping
      my hair, automatic buzz machine
      high-frequency
      harmonic to the constant
      tin-tinnitus
      spin-whirring in my ears

      this morning
      only the overhead V of wild geese
      is louder,
      honking wing-against-wind
      on the long flight north
      to summer.

    68. PressOn says:

      NO AUTOMATICS HERE (a pair of pikus)

      Old-car buffs
      buy
      fours on the floors;

      older buffs
      seize
      threes on the trees.

    69. nessajay says:

      auto means self

      the automobile took me
      two kids & dirty laundry
      up north to be free

      the autobiography has a section break
      where I decided not to take
      the deeds he did & words he spake

    70. dextrousdigits says:

      AUTOPILOT

      A new day has begun
      Use to hot brew
      To get me going then
      Open the shower door
      Pulsating water and luffa scrub
      Ice water rinse
      Leap me to alertness
      OH NO, its Saturday
      To bed I return.

      • PressOn says:

        This is nice and fun. Of all things, it recalls Lee Hayes, of the Weavers. In his last performance, from his wheelchair, he sang these lyrics to My Get Up and Go Has Got up and Went:
        I get up each morning and dust off my wits;
        open the paper and read the obits,
        and if I’m not there, I know I’m not dead,
        so I eat a good breakfast and roll back to bed.

        • dextrousdigits says:

          Good memory of the Weavers.
          sometimes when I write, I surprise myself
          not having any idea where the writing will go,
          which certainly is fun when it goes in a totally
          different direction.

    71. De Jackson says:

      Engine Light

      Surely by now
      I auto know
      when I need it most
      my car won’t go.

      .

    72. I didn’t use today’s NaPoWriMo prompt (at least not yet) because it was to write a poem based on anagrams of your own name. I did that right here a few years ago, in response to Salvatore Butacci’s invented form called the “aragman”. Instead, I used their prompt from yesterday and wrote another triolet:

      Last Repair

      I’ve had enough of you, old car.
      For many years you carried us
      to destinations near and far.
      You’ve had enough. Of you, old car,
      I’ll say you used to be a star,
      but now I’ll need to take the bus.
      I’ve had enough of you. Old car,
      thanks for the years you carried us.

    73. pmwanken says:

      MAKE WISE CHOICES
      (a piku)

      Life does not
      come
      with autosave.

    74. AUTONOMOUS

      Relatively obscure
      He spends his time
      Obliviously anonymous.

      Fishing for independency
      He symbolizes strength
      And agility of character
      Despite his own insecurities.

      The systematic nature
      Of the automaticity he embodies
      Steers him away from
      Engaging interactions, thereby
      Furthering his autonomy.

    75. Cin5456 says:

      Auto Trouble

      Attuned to the smallest change in performance,
      the mechanic leaned beneath the raised red hood.
      He tweaked a bolt here, tightened a belt there;
      he added oil, drained the radiator
      and filled it full again with coolant.
      He used a flashing light to time the chain,
      installed new wires and plugs. And then he checked
      the brake fluid, and tranny fluid, and then
      he checked the power steering fluid too.
      He handed me the keys. I paid the bill,
      and drove away, happy with my car.
      That engine hummed sweetly for a while,
      but two miles down the road I head a horrid
      Clank, then the tortured squeal of something dragging.
      Steam fogged up the windshield, and smoke burned
      my eyes. I pulled onto the shoulder while
      something clanged beneath the car, then finally
      broke off. The tranny shuddered, and it shook the frame,
      and then that powerful engine wheezed and died.
      I grabbed the fire extinguisher and opened
      the hood. No fire, just steam, and acrid smoke
      billowed in my face. I stared, dismayed.
      my classy ride was nothing now, a heap
      an eyesore, a tow. While calling Triple A
      I paced. Fifty feet behind the car
      I found it, deep in the weeds, twisted and scraped,
      my oil pan with a single broken bolt.

      • PressOn says:

        Ouch. Reminds me of a friend who had to force-land his plane because a mechanic’s failure to tighten everything properly caused oil loss and seizure.

        • Cin5456 says:

          I had to adjust this to meter, but actually, my mechanic forgot to put the tranny fluid dip stick back back. It got in his way while working on something else. The tranny quit working during my thrice weekly 70 mile drive through the mountains to school in a larger city. I needed a 30 mile tow to a garage. The engine got so hot from lack of tranny fluid during frequent automatic gear shifts up and down the mountain roads that the radiator could not keep it cool, so I had frequent overheating issues for two weeks before we figured out the problem. On my way up a hill the tranny went into first gear and would not budge after that. Going 15 mph the for the next 40 miles did not appeal to me, so I pulled over on a mountain roadside. Once it stopped, it would not go again. At the transmission shop, they noticed the dip stick was gone. I had not looked under the hood since he worked on it, so it had to be that mechanic. I had to replace the transmission, but never got the mechanic to admit neglect or pay me a dime.

    76. PowerUnit says:

      They want to give me a new device
      One promised to make my life nice
      An artificial pancreas

      They have invested a lot of time and money
      To help me manage my toast and honey
      Sounds encouraging

      Have they calculated the work I do?
      All the hardship I have to go through?
      Cause and effect is a simple science

      It can mimic all my body’s reactions
      All my compliance and all my infractions
      It can even look into the future

      Im reminded of the man with the RV
      Who put it on cruise and went for a pee
      But who am I to question educated people

    77. Switch on and expect
      This device will do our job
      Automatically

    78. Automatic

      A fully-automatic rifle
      Is not a semi-automatic
      Yet some seem to think so
      Politically charged static

      My Jeep’s an automatic
      My V-Star has a clutch
      So it ain’t an automatic
      Thank you very much

      The automatic carwash
      Ten bucks for wash and wax
      Then vacuum out the sand
      Go home, sit down, relax

      Putting on the 14th green
      A gurgle caught my ear
      The automatic sprinklers raised
      Better get away from here

      I closed the door to start it
      The motor strained to spin
      My automatic dishwasher
      Would need my help again

      We react automatically
      Automatically we speak
      We live in an automatic world
      Without it, would we freak?

    79. happys says:

      ~Red Panther~

      Can’t forget the first auto I had
      Clothed with my favorite color red

      Car was new and off to church for blessing
      Safe journey to be prayed on christening

      A lovely name for her I have been thinking
      Bewildering wide range of choices in naming

      Prayers said with blessed water sprinkling
      Good priest looked at me and long been waiting

      Hard to think of a beautiful name for her
      Priest recommended she be named Red Panther

      Since then she has been my loyal road partner
      Making my travel life marvelously easier

    80. Jane Shlensky says:

      Insight

      He’s all auto, she says, shaking her head.
      Some men are like that–in love with cars?
      No. In love with himself, she replies.

    81. Auto Poem

      At three,
      I climbed behind the wheel,
      pushed the clutch
      and drove
      on auto pilot
      out the garage,
      across the alley,
      and into the neighbor’s
      garage.

      Didn’t drive again
      until I was fourteen.

    82. Dini says:

      Sounds like “Car Talk” around here today. LOVE that show! Back later – Wed. Is “automatically” painting day for me.

    83. PressOn says:

      AUTOPILOTED

      Folks who run on automatic
      aren’t emphatic;
      they share no joy
      nor can deploy

      warm wisdom laced with weal and wit.
      This, I submit
      is no surprise:
      phlegmatic guys

      oft cruise along, directionless,
      held by a mess
      of silted streams
      bereft of dreams.

    84. missjoyce says:

      Prompt:
      An “auto” poem

      Autobiography

      If I were to die,
      I’d like to change this sad world
      even for a while.

    85. Auto-Destruct Engaged

      they burnt all the old trees
      and cut down the new ones
      the caught all the big fish
      and poisoned all the small ones
      the ice caps dwindled
      and the seas rose up
      the coast lines disappeared
      but the rabid greed didn’t
      the oil prices soared
      the planes were grounded
      they talked and talked
      they never ever acted
      just a few good people
      against an untold mass
      much too little far too late
      panic stricken measures
      the stable doors bolted
      the suns heat reduces
      as the earth heats up
      time still remains to act
      to save this precious jewel
      but protocol demands
      that all parties must agree…
      >
      >
      auto-destruct engaged:
      enter simultaneous codes to deactivate…
      >
      >
      >
      >
      >
      …waiting…

      Iain

    86. Don’t-Ask Babe

      I’d been sitting in the street with my hand up the
      left front wheel well of the van like some large
      animal veterinarian checking the cervix
      of a past-due rhinocerous.  Been there for at
      least half an hour, effing and blinding about
      why Chrysler can’t put the turn signal bulb
      in a place accessible to normal sized hands

      and I look up and there’s Don’t-Ask Babe
      coming down the sidewalk towing his entire
      forty-two-inch Craftsman rolling tool chest, 
      with twenty ball-bearing drawers, black.
      (Don’t-Ask Babe, you wonder?  His dad was
      a huge Yankee fan back in the old country,
      and it’s a bit of a touchy subject.  So… you know).

      I look up and he says, That’s a ’97 isn’t it?
      Think I got what you need somewhere in here,
      and he starts pulling open drawers like he’s 
      playing whack-a-mole with a socket set.  No, Babe,
      I’m good, I say.  He wheels around.  What?  
      You think just cause I’m some stupid Mexican
      I can’t fix your sh*tty van?  Then he flashes
      his trademark smile and hands me a wrench.

      Anyway, I’m from the Dominican.

    87. JRSimmang says:

      With the end
      in his sights, the two
      tired rivals
      Volkswagen
      and BMW, comes
      Auto von Bismark.

    88. Dear Moosehead,
      Can you believe it? Rear-ended
      by a gypsy at some lights in the Village!
      Listen I don’t care where these guys come
      from. Ain’t but one of us, ‘cept Big Joe in
      the auto-shop, from here – we all came
      from somewhere else. All I’m saying is:
      get the license; pay your dues and your
      taxes like any other working stiff and I’ll
      say fine – ply yer cab! So speaking of the
      the auto- shop – that’s where my black &
      yellow is! Big Joe works magic but not on
      the same day! Like he said to me – he’s
      Lakota- Sioux not Superman (he whispered
      something about that being close enough
      for most folks). Anyway I’m busted for today
      so I’m kicking back, taking it easy… Let’s see
      if we can close the series with a win tonight.
      We left those Rays wriggling on the hook last
      night & I wanna see me some grilled fish steaks
      for dinner. Pick me up at 6 – bring yer bill fold.

      Yours unintentionally auto-free and easy,

      Ringo the Howler

    89. JRSimmang says:

      When, in a state, of
      total control, even the
      faintest heart quickens.

    90. PressOn says:

      SLIDING ACROSS THE HIGHWAY,

      shifting;
      drifting;
      shrifting;
      gifting;
      automatic’s shifting; drifting now,
      I offer a shrifting, gifting vow.

    91. Rachel Blake says:

      Automatic

      smile
      cry
      talk
      walk
      rub stroke
      prod poke
      laugh
      rant
      dream
      think
      plan?
      not likely
      yawn
      fidget
      stare into space
      hyperventilate
      eat
      drink
      listen
      don’t listen
      heart beat
      scratch
      itch
      sneeze
      wince
      groan
      hum
      jump run
      flight
      not fight
      love
      hate
      ( temporarily )
      drive
      doodle
      kiss
      canoodle
      these things
      responses
      happen
      automatically

    92. RobHalpin says:

      The Daily Commute

      Jackwagons
      to the left of me
      Jackwagons
      to the right
      When cars have autopilot
      will it be better?

    93. burrhead says:

      Carl F.W. Borgward
      Must have understood
      His name on the automobile
      Was no good
      What do you drive?
      A Borgward
      A Borgward?
      Sounds like a benign growth
      To be removed

      That must be why
      He named the car I drive
      The Borgward Isabella

      • PressOn says:

        I love this piece. The car I recall looked a bit like a gap-toothed Mercedes.

        • burrhead says:

          I think they were homely and strange; unique. Mine had a back seat 4 inches higher than the front so the backseat riders could see where they were going. It had wing windows that rolled down, as well as a four-speed column stick shift. The floor pan was sealed top and bottom, so there was no access to the driveline. The most interesting feature was the cigar lighter, which had a large coil element (as big as the diameter of fat cigar) that faced out. To activate the lighter you pressed down on a little button on the outside radius of the lighter, when the element glowed red you pulled it straight out towards you. People were fascinated to see it operate but they tended to forget how it worked. Needless to say most of my high school buddies ended up with spiral brands seared on their thumbs from attempting to push the still hot lighter like the lighters in their ’58 Chevrolet’s.

          • PressOn says:

            Thanks for that great little story. I have a couple of friends who own vintage cars; I’m going to share this with them. I only recall seeing the cars a couple of times; they WERE homely, but unforgettable.

    94. foodpoet says:

      Metro Blues Redux

      On auto pilot each day
      words may flow with metro vibes
      another round of musical seats
      doors closing the rush for seats
      the slowest standing at Vienna.

      A seat?! can write on Auto pilot…

    95. PressOn says:

      THE MINISTER MUSES

      As I look at my congregation,
      I sense no sense of elation;
      perhaps I’ve induced sedation
      or else they’re on automation.

      A sermon’s supposed to enlighten;
      it certainly ought not to frighten;
      but to proffer a cause to see right in,
      there are phrases, perhaps, I should brighten.

    96. Ann Graham Price says:

      “Autocracy”

      In his rule of one
      No one else has any say.
      “My way or highway.”

    97. PKP says:

      auto-words

      I wake
      as a petulant child
      stirring with sand
      papered unease
      irritated toes hanging
      on the cusp of
      irritating others
      the sun too bright
      the birds annoying
      cackle grate
      until
      words coalesce
      from the sharp shards
      falling gently together
      over tense shoulders
      I am embraced in
      the golden shimmer
      the warble and wiggle
      of a new day reconfigured
      by automatic grace
      gratefully savored
      as a sigh releases
      a smile and from
      whirling head to
      clenched toes
      words springing
      flow, tickle
      rework
      awakening

      • PressOn says:

        I am always impressed at how visual your work is. In this case, “warble and wiggle” jump out. Nice.

        • PKP says:

          Aw thanks my third grade straight-backed blue-haired elegant teacher-inspiration Mrs Doyle, who impressed me with her talk of “picture-words” would smile, as do I, at your comment. My college profs would cringe as they did back then at the foregoing sentence structure :) Thankee …. Back later kitchen being gutted today waiting for the work to begin momentarily.

    98. PressOn says:

      RACING ON A WET TRACK
      (melody: “Singin’ in the Rain”)

      I’m drivin’ in the rain,
      just flyin’ in the rain
      what a glorious feelin’
      to hydroplane.

      I’m laughin’ at spray
      from tall rooster tails;
      I’m grinnin’ in glee
      as my old racer sails.

      Let the stormy clouds chase
      ev’ry one from the race;
      I’ll thrive in the rain
      till I fly into space.

      A dry track’s a bane
      and a driver is made
      by drivin’ and flyin’ in the rain.

    Leave a Reply