Quotes about motel, page 5
Gallivanting Valentine Thoughts...
what she has in mind is all romantic.
valentine's day
enough of chocolates and roses
or this motel thing,
away from the home that we built
mutually for
25 years.
why not go out for a while?
be with all the strangers in that far away place
and celebrate love?
she suggests.
a beach perhaps, or an escapade with those zip lines,
or a hideaway somewhere
in the desert,
hmm, i said, let me think about it,
after valentine's day.
(still got a bleeding heart to heal,
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Motel Sex (and The Filthy Socialist Pig)
It used to be that capitalists
were often called bad names.
Now Strauss-Kahn, the Socialist
Has had his walk of shame.
This strong and strident Socialist
Clad in his birthday suit,
Trapped a maid at his hotel
and dashed in hot pursuit.
He forced the young black immigrant
to get down on her knees.
He grabbed her hair within his fist
and made sure that he was pleased.
The suite where the assault occurred
goes for megabucks a night.
Shouldn’t a strident Socialist
use Motel Six by right?
Of course they’d be no mini bar-
just a dresser, bed and chair.
The chambermaid is eighty
and her looks don’t rate a stare.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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By Unmarked Graves....
i read the labels of soup cans,
the poetry of mechanized food.
while children starve in the back seats,
of cars up on blocks.
and cell phones pray with neon glow,
to the souls of the fathers
buried in unemployment lines.
heartless bastards wave numbing flags,
guarding the border, masks and rifles cocked.
bars on the windows of pregnant schools,
where freedom unravels with sterile yawns.
the fields are quiet, bodies decompose...
crows pick fruit from trees long dead.
microwave Jesus's fill plastic bowls
with fingers severed from forgotten hands.
live or die, most choose death!
young lovers taunt roaches on motel walls.
the wheels of justice groan in the heat,
and darkness erect, prophesies.
the labels of soup cans,
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Are You Drinking?
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts."
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?"
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Two Angels
There was a time in my life
I just closed my eyes
days I couldn't look back
at the memories faded in my mind
wandering down this lonesome track
with two Angels here by my side
showing me where I had to go
These wounds that would never heal
lost pictures of you I never could find
they seem to still haunt me
stuck here in what now is reality
I can no longer feel
with two Angels here by my side
showing me the things I needed to know
Sitting in some empty motel room
staring out the window
into the silence of the night
thinking about what I left behind
[...] Read more
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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He Is Poor
she picks her
from mud
he tells her
he loves her
and she believes him
and dresses and feeds him
and he tells her more that
he loves her truly and that
he will love her forever
he needs her
that is nearer to the truth
and she is the most hopeless romantic in town
and thirsty for love
many years back when she had an attempt
of taking her life
she is still suicidal
he loves ease and comfort
that is nearer to the truth
and she knows that well too,
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ran Away To Be Free, But..
Attached with strings, which my parents held,
Timely schedule that had to be followed,
I decided to run away from home to a distant place,
Where I am not controlled and feel as free as a young lass (lad) ,
Started the journey alone with a bag and stolen money,
Good Samaritans were everywhere for a good price,
Called me baby with the sweetest voice,
Bought for me cans of beer,
as the ticket to Disney,
As a stranded puppy longed for love,
I had the good food and the spiked drink,
These men were not like my daddy, who scolded me,
Tortured me and insisted on disciplining me,
I felt very cool in their company,
They hugged me like the priest does in the chapel,
I stuck with them as the lizard on the wall,
When I woke up, all had gone with no trace,
I was alone on the wet bed, lost all grace,
Took the phone and called my daddy,
He rushed to the motel to find me alive,
[...] Read more
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I Could Have Enjoyed A Very Nice Conversation Out There At The Mall
i can make choices
like i am thrown in an ocean of choices
everyday as i decide for myself
what to do really
i could have gone to the mall
shopping or just enjoying the walk there
seeing lots of people and meeting them
and knowing their names and
having fun with them
or get a date with someone else
have sex at the motel or have a ride
somewhere in the countryside where no one
knows me
i could have done all these but i am so foolish
for instead here i am writing this low key poetry
wanting to figure out what do i really want in my life
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It's Not Just You
Don’t you hate it when your fish drowns?
In the darkness come these eerie sounds
When your world is turned upside down
When the mortician is a flipping clown
You wake and your eyes are sopping
You step in canine droppings
You are woken early from sleeping
All night the baby was weeping
Someone broke your heart
Your car won’t start
In the elevator someone farts
Your boss doesn’t have any smarts
You’re wearing two different socks
You trip over a toolbox
Your doors have no locks
The copy machine won’t Xerox
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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In Praise of Dawn
You can keep afternoon and its dwindling mysteries,
twilight with its seedy hauteur. You can have night
with its phony neon and rented motel rooms.
I prefer morning when the air is so quiet the rub
of a cricket's leg sounds like wildness beckoning.
My feet pad along the carpet like bears' paws
along a stretch of furred moss. The cherry tree
catches the first glint of gold in its deep green.
The kitchen is mine, empty and humming.
I am queen of the breakfast room, empress
of a new regime. Ideas sprout from my head
like bursts of startled blue jays. All possibilities
lie before me in the rustle of leaves at the window.
Something extraordinary is about to happen—
I could write an essay on forgiveness,
or construct an altar to Artemis with five red
maple leaves, a fish bone and a snake's rattle.
[...] Read more
poem by Geraldine Connolly
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