Traffic Jam Rearview

Road Rage Recital

Inspired by Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Time had simply ceased,
the air was completely still.
It was as if everyone had
simply taken a sleeping pill.

People had probably
just accepted their fate;
till eternity and beyond,
would they have to wait.

For only the devil himself
could devise such a plot
that humans be trapped
in heated metal to rot.

The sole purpose of cars
is to make the journey fast
but given the current pace
one could have amassed

Enough courage and will
to walk there on foot.
Was that not how God
intended that we should?

Maybe that is what one
should do when stuck:
Just abandon their car,
to get out of the muck.

Half tempted, half impatient,
I was ready to leave
when the traffic light flickered
giving me some relief.

I sighed and smiled.
My anger was gone.
Cause when the light changes,
I would step quickly on

The gas pedal and scurry
my way out of here;
beyond the horizon,
I planned to disappear.

But my mood was not meant
to be all calm and serene.
For just as the light turned
from red, to yellow, to green,

A driver behind me
sounded the car horn,
and at that instant
my anger was reborn.

Maybe the road is not
a place for a quiet soul.
It really is very tiring,
and it takes a huge toll.

Annoyance is provided
by the traffic in which you dwell
Or by the impatient drivers
who could all just go to hell!


Laughter of an Audience: A Guide to Stand-up Comedy

You put in on the stove –
some water in a cup.
With some wit or a joke,
you light the fire up.

It’s never a burst of vapour
escaping all at once.
The first few moments is
just the water heating up.

And then slowly you see
the water is moving.
The bubbles come up
to the fire that’s grooving.

You can see the bubbles.
They have already risen up
and are bursting on the surface
of your now boiling cup.

The steam rises up
with a sound of cackle.
The problem never was
that tough to tackle.

The time is over.
Do not overheat.
Or the contents of the cup
will quickly deplete.

A Date with a Tasseographer

Have a great time,’ Danny said as he dropped me
on a blind date he set me up on, even after my plea
that I want to remain lonely and single all my life.
What harm would it do, if I died without a wife?

But he wanted to prove that he was a real friend
and did want to see me walk to a bitter end
of having experienced my whole life without love.
So he set me on the date I just mentioned above.

I walked into the coffee house where I was to wait
for a girl who Danny thought could be my soul mate.
I ordered some coffee, so that it wouldn’t be weird
if it was actually a practical joke by my friend, like I feared.

But it wasn’t a prank, and now I wish it was.
Just keep reading, you will know the cause.
With a hat made of feathers from some bird, possibly crow,
my date looked like a psychic from some old-school folk lore.

Black were her nails and black was her dress.
Black was her hair that was in a complete mess.
She walked straight to me without having to wait.
How did she know who I was? – It was a blind date.

She looked at me and smiled, but didn’t say a word.
For quite a while, only my coffee sips were heard.
I soon finished my coffee and slowly put the cup down.
She quickly took the utensil and looked inside with a frown.

You don’t have to worry,’ I said. ‘I can order some more,’
But it wasn’t the lack of coffee that was making her sore.
She tilted the cup a little, then twirled it around.
And then all of sudden made an exasperated sound.

It won’t work between us,’ she said. ‘I can already see.
It’s written all clear, in your now finished coffee.
And just as suddenly, she got up and left.
Leaving me in a shock and awkwardly bereft.

Red faced and embarrassed, I left as people stared
with looks of pity, for which I was completely unprepared.
It is safe to assume, that I drink coffee no more,
and Danny that night, was black-eyed and sore.

The Remote to Happiness

Poetry Prompt: Think up a poem title structured as such: The [Concrete Noun] of [Abstract Noun]. Then, write a poem based on that title.

Ever wondered how it is not the biggest of things
but the littlest, just the tiniest of acts that brings

Us the happiness that we seek and desire
and leaves our hearts burning deep in a fire

That can remove all the pain, destroy all the sadness.
It can lead us to heaven; lead us out of this madness

Of selfishness, hatred and all things that are weak
but are always those things our mind tends to seek.

Just do something for others, feel grateful for while;
try to think about others, travel in their shoes for a mile.

You will see the world in a new light, I am sure.
For the pain that is sadness, in your hands is the cure.

Make a Still Life

Poetry prompt: Write a poem that describes an object. Use no abstraction, only image. Be as literal as possible. Pick up the object (if you can), look at it from as many different angles as possible. Consider its color, its weight, its texture, its material and write up a picture!

In my hand I hold
an object made of wood.
It is slim in shape
and if you want you could

Use it to fill colour
on a paper or canvas.
It even has hair on it,
like thorns on a cactus,

Which you can dip
in water to make it wet
and then make the picture
as pretty as it can get.

The hair I just mentioned
forms its crown.
Its body is smooth and
coloured dark brown.

By now I hope you can
see the object I hold.
I tried to make the image
very vivid and bold.


I once had a friend who was a little mad.
He wasn’t just crazy; he was really bizarre.
He licked his fingers whenever he felt sad,
And had many times jumped out a moving car.

One time he ate a black widow alive,
And at another he kept punching a tree.
He even tried inserting his face into a hive,
How he still lives is a big mystery.

So, he and I were travelling one day,
And he did not like that I was driving slow.
Ironically, he turned to me to say,
No offense, but you’re the weirdest person I know.’