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    dots Submission Name: Hotrods and Cold Realitydots

    Author: Lelik
    ASL Info:    40/M/Jhb - South Africa
    Elite Ratio:    5.31 - 1194/986/192
    Words: 286
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 2640
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1919

       Does it need one? (I'd really like to know.) That, dear ladies, is my piece de resistance.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsHotrods and Cold Realitydots

    Megawatts of crackling static discharge slapped
    the dirty pavement puddles into rainbow spray;
    oily residue and ice blue lightning in the car
    as we went racing by milepost twenty five.
    The road was thick with stifling chilly powder
    dust that hung thick upon pungent red airs –
    sunscapes painted daintily with a powder brush
    so one might find grace to forgive a saline trace
    left on a right cheek, or possibly right on a left,
    over the flawless skinned beauty of pageant boy.
    Promised never to get over the twenty one odd
    positions that are possible on the ample backseat
    of that Plymouth sixty five, traced there by a scar -
    a memento of the street race with a new blue
    nineteen eighty three Mustang convertible.
    And then the grey mist parted for a moment,
    the curious eyes of twinkling stars stared back
    and there passed another flashing streetlight-year.
    Can you tell me if it was the dark and handsome
    hitchhiker doing a handstand-pirouette by the way
    or the brakes that squealed the futile protest
    against the oblique, squashbug littered windscreen
    when rubber lost its grip on the black tar and life
    spun suddenly out of the driver’s control at forty
    miles per hour? It did not seem so fast then, but
    gears grated in hypothesised regret as they were
    forced into a crashing reverse and two bodies
    were flung mercilessly where they lay motionless
    and panting in the morning-dew wet grass.
    One was in ecstasy and oblivious to the cold,
    the other broken and haemorrhaged by outrageous
    wounds internalised with trauma, ingested like bitter
    herb embalming against inevitable carnal decay.
    Suffocating breaths, half buried with the sign
    in fresh mud proclaiming to all, “No U-Turns.”

    Submitted on 2005-03-28 02:42:03     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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    ||| Comments |||
      unflinching and wonderfully narrative. there is a voice which weaves from distanced to up close in your ear almost impercievebly. Fantastic imagery, i really enjoyed the ideas you were playing around with and im glad to have found this. It changes what was a somewhat lame attempt to find something i'd like to read...to a successful one...write a book, i'd buy it

    many thanks for your comment on my poem i really appreciate that someone with your talent sat and looked at one of my panto horses!
    cheers, and thanks for sharing this, despite it not exactly being uplifting im strangely drawn by it

    | Posted on 2005-05-03 00:00:00 | by ellisa | [ Reply to This ]
    Do you know what I got from this (AND NO, NO DESCRIPTION NECESSARY!)?
    Business. Busy, busy, busy. One line to the next, packed with its own importance and yet unimportant to the whole, to the grand scheme of things?
    Though every word's a day, line a year, poem's a life. They all just melt back into each other leaving us with only elapsed impressions.

    I've a few suggestions. I'll throw them in as I go along?
    I don't think you need "the" in "the dirty pavement puddles." But I like the alliteration and the beauty, cos I've always loved those greasy rainbows! How are they IN the car, though?
    Unless the Rainbow and the Lightning are seperate, travelling entities?
    "racing past milepost twenty five". Like the way it's spelled out, bah, too many people use the lazy numbers now
    I'm not sure about "stifling, chilly powder". I think "stifling powder" and "chilly powder work well either way, but together they are a tad too much as this is a descriptive strophe and there's a lot to take in.
    To get really nit-picky I could say that "one might find grace to forgive a saline trace/left on a right cheek" is a bit obtuse, I'm not sure who "one" is, why they might find grace to forgive another's tears. After all, it's a dusty journey on a long road... so far.
    That said, I know this is metaphorical... it's a considerable and overtly critical comment.
    Another question raised was on this matter; "Promised never to get over the twenty one odd/positions that are possible on the ample backseat/of that Plymouth sixty five". Why did promise, was it some marvellous memory to preserve or a lesson to be remembered, hmm?
    "And then the grey mist parted" "The" denotes something specific and you have not mentioned any specific mist so far. I mentioned "the dirty pavement puddles" for the same reason.
    I do, however, like the imagery and sentiment you convey, that of a... stellar period.
    Only do discover it was another lamp-post.
    That's sad.
    Bloody hell, though. This poem moves well... from that gentle, starlit moment we go into what's... a maelstrom, utter turbulence.
    You're coy enough to veil the truth with powerful allegories.
    A circus.
    I'm not quite sure what it is, but I like the inclusion of "forty miles an hour". There's a sense of speed, while... not. No, it doesn't seem that fast. Nor even Sixty.
    But when my dad was six, he dragged behind his mother's car for half a mile at 60 mph. A horrible accident that left him terribly scarred. I laughed, "just sixty?!" and he told me it's fast, when it happens to you.

    You're crafty, Daryl. Truly, because you follow this; "It did not seem so fast then" with
    "gears grated in hypothesised regret as they were
    forced into a crashing reverse and two bodies
    were flung mercilessly where they lay motionless
    and panting in the morning-dew wet grass."
    Ah... that sentence is a canny display of speed yet still clarified and strong. And when I expect to hear birdies doing a tweet-tweet, instead there's an awful screech of wreckage.
    Oh dear.
    The ending is so final, no U-turns...
    I can imagine that an entire poem could explode from the sight of a "No U-Turn".
    Whether or not this did, as a reader my gift is to never know.
    Don'tcha just love a poem that makes you wonder?
    Great read, it's good to read some Lelik again
    Take it easy,
    | Posted on 2005-04-20 00:00:00 | by Learah | [ Reply to This ]
      I actually liked this piece, despite its lack of traditional 'poetic' value. There was recently a young person in our community who died in a similar sort of event, so this does 'hit home'.

    You did very well in portraying the mindset of the hotrod racers- getting 'inside the ideology' as it were with all the machismo and adolescent zeal for risk...so much so that I actually thought you were falling into a nostalgic retelling of adolescent adventures. But then you used strong metaphors linking parts of the car (gears etc) to the accident itself; very effective. I particularly liked:
    'life spun suddenly out of the driver’s control at forty miles per hour'

    And of course the ironic ending was apt and crowned the piece; there is certainly no turning back from the situations you put yourself in with hotrods. An enjoyable read.
    | Posted on 2005-04-07 00:00:00 | by Civilian | [ Reply to This ]
      how times race past us.
    how time races past us.
    had you had satnav on your dash there would have been no pre-destined U turn.
    there might have been a crash but it all of it would have been dross and small escaping feathers from comedy pillows...
    of course the tempo and the smart annoyance of long words mixed with those we understand conspire to give us what this is:
    rock and roll high camp and
    little vignettes of awkward introspection.
    It's Thelma and Louise.
    Without Thelma.
    Without Louise.
    Just the author.
    And his unrealistic plans to please.
    Do you know that what you get for banging your head against a brick wall is eventually a headache - and no empathy?
    This race.
    I assume it was for pinks?
    Drive carefully.
    Miss Daisy.
    | Posted on 2005-04-01 00:00:00 | by Awkward | [ Reply to This ]
      lukewarm pretty much said it all. lovely imagery and interesting word play. loved the flow of it and the ending-no u turns. so appropriate to death-and perhaps love too! fantastic title. fantastic write.
    | Posted on 2005-03-29 00:00:00 | by sierramuse8 | [ Reply to This ]
      the metaphor for sex and street racing is so intertwined that it's hard to know if there is indeed really a story about cars here at all. but the mention of the backseat of a plymouth is there, though that doesn't seem to be where the 'action' is taking place this time around.

    one question before i meander off into attempted analysis- "pageant boy?" what?
    ok i'm done.

    there could here be a story about driving fast at night before stopping to make love on the grass beside the highway. also there's a story of past loves with the mention of the backseat. the story of a race with a mustang- possibly a real race possibly a great lover possibly both, i don't know. the description of gear grating symbolizing climax is one that is just a little unromantic; however i don't know if the hitch-hiker by the road is an actual event or not- the metaphor doesn't seem touch that part, or maybe i'm missing something. also (this strikes me as funny) the rubber mentioned could be a condom. it is, isn't it? "and life spun out of control of the driver's hands." the guy is driving of course- and the girl is the one with regrets i suppose?
    anyway, i love the way that this could be looked at from so many perspectives. the end is the perfect tie-in...just when you think it's switched to all-love and no car mataphor, the drive-at-night thing pops up with that sign...no going back.
    anyway this is great. the meaning is obscured a little in places by your style or my ignorance, i'm not sure which. but i love the idea, the way you've put it. it's not very accessible, but very thought-out and a good poem.
    | Posted on 2005-03-28 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]
      wow, such a testament. The ending is the best part i think the climax of the poem and what its trying to make obvious to the reader. how it questions the reason it came to lose control, and then ending with the best possible line "in a fresh puddle of mud proclaiming to all, "no u-turns". Excellent imagery
    | Posted on 2005-03-28 00:00:00 | by nwproud | [ Reply to This ]

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