Jump-start or fall apart

Generally, flattery won’t boost the battery.

Jump-start or fall apart

No pervious or porous shell,

Heeds lucid signal sent to warn.

Coherent cause may sit a spell,

Lest music make its mirth reborn.

If I could live my life again,

Then maybe cellular “Amen”

Could block explicit, tacit fails

And keep four wheels upon the rails.

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:
31 Days of Poetry and Writing: “If I had my life to live over again.” (8)

31 Writing Prompts: What happens, if your car dies in the middle of nowhere? (8)

Daily Post: “flattery” (10)

OctPoWriMo: “porous” – with “pervious,” “cellular,” “lucid,” “coherent,” and “explicit” – RISPETTO POEM (8)

Simply Snickers: “maybe,” “mirth,” and “music” (or “muse”)

#OctPoWriMo

Image/s:

Adapted from public domain image –

Antique Car, by GaryRabbit, ABS Free Pic

31 Days logo – created by this user,

including public domain artwork.

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Exit strategy: A-Z verses from vintage visages

Exit strategy

The blinker’s on. Let’s kick some dust.

We’ve gotta go. We simply must.

I cannot see. Could be the glare.

But I could swear that guy’s a bear.

Our exit strategy’s a bust.

Commuting doesn’t top my list.

And here’s another tricky twist.

That creepy guy there, all alone,

Just pointed at us with his phone.

Click his face too.  I must insist.

Is he a felon, skilled in crime?

A crook, who’d harm you for a dime?

Whatever ill he may have planned,

We’ve no desire to learn firsthand.

Speed on. We’re running out of time.

This street may fright and flabbergast.

It’s grisly here. We’ve been harassed.

Past memories fade,

New nightmares made.

Here comes our exit now. At last!

But wait, he follows us for more.

He’s put his pedal to the floor.

He’s trailing us on every turn,

And down our block, we’re stem to stern.

Whoa. He’s our neighbor, right next door.

But then, we have been wrong before.

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

“There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn.” (Richard Bach)

This poem was posted for the April A to Z Blogging Challenge and National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo), as well as these prompts:

Daily Post: “street”
The Write Prompts: Bach quote

Mad Kane Humor: “twist”

One-Minute Writer: “safety”

Post a Prompt Tuesday: “pictures” (Genre: horror)

Tuesday at Ten: “past”

Wednesday Weekly Prompts: “memory”

Image/s:

Public domain photo –
 vintage image

Feel free to follow on Google+ and Twitter. You are also invited to join this writer's fan page on Facebook.

Making up time sometimes ain’t pretty

Making up time

Rushed for work and out of gas,

With no time for the looking glass,

 She snatched her keys and headed out

To face the daily knockabout.

 She tossed her briefcase in the trunk

And grabbed a mug and roll to dunk.

 She turned the corner at full tilt,

And raced her neighbor out in guilt.

Somehow, she zipped through every light.

Perhaps she’d make it; she just might.

 Her hopes were raised then, just a smidge,

Until she saw the tollway bridge.

The entry ramp was jammed with cars,

From rattling heaps to sleek Jaguars.

 She sat there waiting for her turn

And listened to her stomach churn.

 Her dashboard clock was ticking eight,

Just taunting her that she was late.

 The boss would gloat and call her out.

 Her well-earned raise would be in doubt.

But, living in the here and now,

She’d have to buy some time somehow.

 Her coffee drained, she glanced around

To spot efficiency newfound.

 Her makeup bag was in her lap,

While she sat in the traffic trap.

So, as she rolled the car an inch,

 She put her face on in a pinch.

 Her lipstick smeared across her chin;

 Her eyeliner was crooked, thin.

Just then, the car began to skid;

Mascara smeared across one lid.

 She spilled a compact on her skirt

And hit the brakes, now on alert.

The car behind her came too fast

And hit her bumper at full blast.

 She stopped and shifted into park

And leapt out, gearing up to bark.

The reason for her sudden strife?

The driver was the boss’ wife!

 They glared and stared, as if to slur,

With both their tempers much astir.

A cop arrived to part the brawl.

“Cosmetic damages, that’s all!”

c2007 by Linda Ann Nickerson

NOTE: Unauthorized use in printed materials, online, or in other published arenas is prohibited.

Image/s:

Adapted from public domain artwork

Feel free to follow on Google+ and Twitter. You are also invited to join this writer's fan page on Facebook.