CHAPTER THREE - A Saga  Go To Main Table  Go To More Book Chapters

Spirit of a Glass Horse

                                By George J. Kimble

 

They called him Sweet Willie

He hailed from South Philly

His looks were as sharp as a stiletto knife

He rode the streets and lived the high life

 

His ride was a Sting Ray silver and sleek

All the young ladies, inside wanted to peek

The machine’s clear coat looked like a million

On the hood was painted a prancing Stallion

 

He speaks with a sharp wit and tells his story

He leans and gestures weaving a tale of glory

He was born poorer than soil in the junkyard

He tells of a mother who always worked much too hard

 

He tells about the struggles to become a man

Of no father to lend him a hand

The frustration of schools with no understanding

The street wars over turf, so demanding

 

About hanging on street corners just killing time

Of a youthful life style of petty crime

A listing of schemes, that always failed

Then a brief residency in an upstate county jail

 

He was out there once robbing a man’s truck

He had sunk that low to make a buck

He was caught with his hands on the wheel

But the owner offered to make him a deal

 

The old owner called him a wayward youth

“You need to be shown the path of truth”

“You also have a mechanical knack”

“Now, get out of here, and in the morning come back”

 

Willie’s release left him dumbfounded, surely

Willie showed up in the morning bright and early

The old man took him to an old warehouse

It was very shabby unfit for a mouse

 

He slid open a massive wooden door

Revealing a dusty concrete floor

There were creates and boxes, cobwebs and dust

Car parts and motors covered with rust

 

“From here you’ll find, a living can be made”

“If you are interested, I’ll teach you my trade”

“I warn you Willie, nothing good comes easy”

“Now clean this place up, get yourself busy”

 

Willie looked deep into the old mans face

Around his eyes wrinkles deeply traced

At first, Willie was indignant, angry and disgusted

A work detail, cleaning up, for getting busted

 

As he labored the old man softly spoke

He remembered when car wheels had wooden spokes

He told of the Model A’s and then the T’s

After the war nobody wanted any of these

 

All the young men wanted modern steel

With long hoods and fins and shinning wheels

With V-8’s, overhead valves, and automatic transmissions

But he was more inclined to the European traditions

 

He liked sports cars, two seaters with styling

MG’s and Triumphs and Healeys, got him smiling

His favorite was the Ferrari, the prancing Horse

Expressing, the spirit of the man who built them, of course

 

Now, Willie came back day after day

He took to liking the old man, in a way

He was clever and could spin a great story

Wonderful tales of character and glory

 

He was amazed at the people the old man admired

Of hearing those stories he never tired

Willie was taught principals and every automotive part

He was absorbing it and taking it to heart

 

He learned tune-ups, oil changes and lubes

He was instructed in welding and forming of steel tubes

He started earning some money, but not a whole lot

He was in business; the old man had given him a shot

 

Willie worked hard and followed the old man’s advice

"Treat your customers with respect and a fair price"

This business took off like a skyrocket

Soon he had money stuffed in every pocket

 

Willie returned to the shop very late each night

Building a sports car, in a corner out of sight

He owed the mentor his life and esteem

He was making, for him, a magnificent machine

 

He worried for weeks over the painting on the hood

He just hoped his adopted father would think it was good

He dreamed of the old man behind the wheel for a ride

The old man bestowed Willie his talents and essence of pride

 

But before Willie could give him this Silver Sting Ray

The old man had a an illness and passed away

Willie will let no one sit in, or get near it

Because in this Glass Horse rides the old man’s spirit

Closing Time

                By George J. Kimble

 

She has raven hair and eyes dark as coal

She has a sensuality that moves a man’s soul

Angelina is her name and that fits her just so

She is an earthy expression with a celestial glow

 

She murmurs an enchanting melody as she works

Slowly swaying to the sounds as coffee perks

Her café customers enjoy the lilting tune

Secretly, she hopes Willie will come in soon

 

Willie is her customer for coffee everyday

He owns the auto shop across the way

He makes her feel like an innocent child

His looks and manners stimulate something wild

 

In this forgotten nook of the city, he is fresh air

Each night as he leaves, she enters a trance like stare

Through her shop window, as she pulls the blinds

Fantasies, of rides in his Corvette, possess her mind

 

She has heard Willie’s story of course

All about the Old Man and the prancing horse

She imagines, Willie and her, in that silver machine, top laid low

Cruising the warm evening tenderly slow

 

As if real, she taste the warm night air

City lights glistening in his jet-black hair

His strong hands caress the Corvette’s wheel

She envies that object’s feel

 

Masculinity in his arms and chest are defined

The rumble of the engine is so sublime

Uncontrollable impulses of jealousy towards the leather seat

Holding his body and feeling it’s heat

 

Tiny tremors of delight imperceptible

Over take her body in the accelerating convertible

Primal urges straining to be understood

Like that stallion on the Corvette’s hood

 

Her cheeks acquire a hue of rose

As if buffeted by the wind as it blows

Rushes of grand proportion keep building and building

Every night she has this dream so thrilling

 

So, thinly veiled, her emotion and desire

It is like the engine’s internal fire

Everyone knows it is the source of the Corvette’s power

Everyone knows she dreams of Willie hour by hour

 

This man and his Corvette are more than meets the eye

This woman and her emotions descriptions defy

Her secret fantasies she cannot give away

So, she lets on he is just a customer by light of day


Unlikely Duet

                By George J. Kimble

 

Outside the City limits the Roadhouse hung

Large gravel parking lot, Choppers and rods disorderly strung

Front porch with crates and empty kegs for stools

Occupied by tattooed, leathered variants of the gene pool

 

Now, ordinary citizens pass by here night after night

Probably making comments about this terrible blight

Discussing how something ought to be done

And that they've heard these people carry guns

Loud music blasting from behind neon beer signs

Even louder voices and laughter blurt out from time to time

Raven haired woman leans against a pillar and sings

Mouthing words in sync with music by Sting

 

A man with five o'clock shadow and sleeveless T-shirt

Wraps his arm around the waist of her mini-skirt

She shrugs and pushes him away

It's crystally apparent she doesn't want to play

 

Thin crescent sliver of a moon

Gives no luminance to the hot August gloom

Then gravel crackles and pops

A silver Corvette wheels in and stops

 

A lone male rider with long black hair

Hops over the closed convertible door and inhales the night air

It's a Corvette, wax and polish heavily applied

There are splatters and splashes of mud on either side

 

Two arches of dirt cover the windshield

It's no tractor, but it has been in the field

A sense of uneasiness among the roadhouse group

This Corvette driver is not one of the Roadhouse troop

 

He walks with a swagger and disconcerting sway

The singer stares at him but her Playboy pulls her away

Playboy curls his lip in a defiant sneer

Everyone else side steps as the Vette driver walks near

 

At the passage into the bar room

He smells stale beer and cheap perfume

The jukebox stops with a clunk

Unplugged by a clowning drunk

 

The joint is silent as he approaches the bar

The barkeeper's face has a hideous scar

He hears a scream from behind his back

Playboy has given the singer a smack

 

Suddenly, that chick bolts through the door

Pursued by Playboy and slammed to the floor

The commotion rouses the patrons to cheers

Her face is bleeding and she is shedding tears

 

The Vette driver grabs her hand

He pulls her to his side and takes a stand

Silence fills the room, like fog on the moor

Playboy screams, "Get out of my way, I'm going to kill the whore"

 

Vette driver looks like the entrée in a wolf pack's meal

He knows the danger and he knows it's real

He stands pat, with no bluff in his eye

He whispers, "That's something you don't want to try"

 

There is a glint of steel, cold and blue

A flurry of bodies in motion ensues

A snarl, a scream, and a deafening thud

Playboy's body on the floor oozing blood

 

It happened so quick the crowd is dismayed

Some one yells, "Hey, Don't let them get away"

The girl and her hero fly towards the street

Then leap the doors into the Corvette seats

 

The starter engages and the engine roars

Tires spit gravel, onto the highway the Corvette soars

Bikers and Rodders run to their steeds

Abandoning Playboy on the floor to just bleed

 

Into the darkness they chased the Corvette

They never caught him, that's a sure bet

That night a duet was forged from considerable strife

I heard last week, Angelina and Willie may soon be husband and wife

White Knuckled

                                By George J. Kimble

 

                                You know they slipped away

To love and exist another day

But in the distance a rumbling sound

An omen as their Corvette rolls out of town

 

Like thunder beyond the horizon's view

A menacing hint of the impending havoc due

Spats of light pierce the windshield's glare

Jagged glints fill the mid night's air

 

Silhouettes of darting figures fill the mirror's sight

Marauders from hell, on iron steeds, corrupt the night

Leather clad and chromium draped, smoldering beast

A Horde, descending upon innocent prey, to feast

 

The riders in motion lean and sway

Headlights swirling across the passageway

Circling, road pirates, wailing epithets licentious

Closing in on the Corvette, with anger from the dark abyss

 

Angelina's face belies her apprehension

Terror is painted upon her like an artist's illustration

Her fist clench and she wets her quivering lips in nervous tension

Contemplation, anticipation, choked back fear of extinction

 

Calmly Willie grips his wheel

He portrays a man with nerves of steel

His concern is not loss of wealth

Nor is it even for himself

 

He plots a course in his mind

To disarm the pirates for all time

Steady pressure upon the machine's controls

Leave behind these nightmare shoals

 

Consequences of such endeavors

Often reveals them not so clever

Speed is a dangerous friend

It has been known to abruptly end

 

Racing the goons from their roadhouse lair

Seems a challenge for the mentally impaired

But this is a Corvette with ample horsepower in it

And this is the life and death decision minute

 

This road beyond the tracks

Is as treacherous as a snake in a sack

Signs advise caution, to take special care

Curves, switch backs, esses every where


                               
Through this gauntlet over a rise

Around a cliff and mountain side

The bandits and Corvette fly

Motorcycle and Corvette side by side

 

Just one face of awful craze

Of one rider, the moonlight betrays

The sneering scar of the bartender’s features

The leader of these hideous creatures

 

Willie taunts these animals with controlled aplomb

He is sure they are viscous and also dumb

He knows this road like the back of his hand

He will use it to send these mongrels to the Promised Land

 

Faster and faster he speeds into the obscurity

Head long into the night he plunges for Angelina's security

Breakneck Corvette careening

Gravity defying motorcycles leaning

 

Defeated Creek Bridge, rapidly looming

One way passage, hard into 90 zooming

Tires howling, engines roaring, lights flashing

Cycles crashing, metal crushing, men screaming, Corvette leaving

 

Willie looks at Angelina with confidence in his eye

Angelina now breaks into a full-throated cry

She grasps his shoulder and sobs

He has disposed of the heathen slobs

 

Their lives to the precipice were thrust

On his Corvette and skill he laid uncommon trust

There will grow upon this foundation

The fruit of this uncommon relation

Bad Mood Rising

                By George J. Kimble

 

What brought this sweet girl to a place like this?

Was it the danger, or the promise of a hard kiss?

A promise, of honest money for her talented voice?

Whatever, it was, It was a bad choice

 

The Playboy with a special agenda of his own

Enticed her there completely alone

Her Cafe's mortgage was way past due

Some times a Girl has to do, what a girl has to do

 

The Playboy's offer of employment was accepted

The job singing was with out strings connected

The playboy's problem; his advances were rejected

The poor fool felt down right neglected

 

Then his behavior was less than Chivalrous

He wound up beaten and delirious

Angelina escaped that night at Willie’s side

That night, they took the wild Corvette ride

 

Suddenly Playboy appears in the cafe's neighborhood

Angelina knows; he is up to no damn good

It is late, way after dark

She's watching Willie, while he tunes up a Shark

 

Playboy appears in the shadows wielding a club

Stealing ever closer behind the landscaping shrubs

Angelina's heart drops to the floor

As she bolts to the Cafe door

 

She grabs the nearest thing to use as a weapon

A 14-inch skillet as she runs through the kitchen

Her voice is like a siren loudly screaming

Down her cheeks, tears are abundantly streaming

 

Playboy is moving like a Leopard in the night

Angelina has focused on him in the dim light

His advance is arrested as she strikes with the pan

The skillet to the head brings down the dangerous man

 

She pushes him aside with a bellow of power

She is the Valiant, the woman of the hour

Willie was shocked by her control and determination

For her, he was filled with nothing but admiration

 

To calm her, he offers a smile

Then calls the police, after awhile

Now Playboy, for some time, will be gone

Angelina sings softly and Willie hums along

 

I relayed this legend of urban life in many of verse

Your time spent reading could have been spent worse

Ever after and for a long time now

These two souls and a Corvette remain tied together somehow

How Long Is Forever?

                By George J. Kimble

 

Willie admired Angelina, on at least one occasion,

She had saved his bacon

He was a car nut, and for business that was good

Angelina was frustrated because he was always under a car hood

 

Angelina wanted to see Willie alone

She wished to know him with out the stresses they had known

She invited him to share a meal

She needs to tell him just how she feels

 

Willie accepted her invitation

His ego suffered from dramatic inflation

She, to him, was a statue of carved art

She had won over his vulnerable heart

 

Willie washed and waxed the Glass Horse Corvette

He reserved a table for two at this town’s best

If his friends knew, they would surely die

He even put on a silken necktie

 

To Angelina’s street Willie rode

There were flashing lights ablaze at her abode

His heart raced with alarm

His muscles twitched in his arm

 

He prayed she was okay

This was to be their most important day

Tears uncontrollably rolled down his face

As he remembered Angelina’s warm embrace

 

Willie leaped from the Vette, His face covered with concern

He questioned by-standers but nothing could be learned

The perimeter of men, dressed in blue

Restraining him, offered no clue

 

The entrance with yellow tape was blocked

Her neighbors stood around in a state of shock

They said, “Sometime earlier in that day”,

“Angelina had left her little Café”

 

“From the café to the bank she had walked,

To one shopkeeper she had politely talked”

“All the while a villain secretly stalked”

“And now on her carpet a body’s outline was chalked”

 

“Two shots were fired, several folks had heard,

Who was shooting and who was hit? There wasn’t any word”

Willie was overcome by anger and pain

He had to get answers to settle his brain


                               
Finally, through the police barricade he broke

Then to a razor faced detective he spoke

A man who eyed him like a bird eyes a worm,

Every question Willie uttered the detective, weighed and turned

 

He was an inspector of homicide

There were forensic people busy inside

Willie asked, “What happened, had she been raped?”

“Had that jerk, Playboy, from jail escaped”

 

The detective told Willie, “Be calm and relax”

“Angelina was fine, She had stopped Playboy forever, dead in his tracks”

“Playboy was the one outlined on the floor,

She had shot him with a Colt forty-four”

 

“She had answered all their questions and they were satisfied”

“This punk did wrong and for that, he had died”

“He could talk to her now, if he pleased”

When he saw her, Willie dropped to his knees

 

From his pocket, he pulled a small diamond ring

He asked her to marry him and make him feel like a king

She accepted his offer forever, and held him close to her breast

Their love again had survived a furious test

 

You know how Angelina and Willie came together

And how they came through some pretty stormy weather

This is the story of how their world became so much better

And how Willie proposed to wed her forever.

 

The lives of some are easy to render

The lives of others are destined to surrender

Each of us has only one life to live

The question is: What are we willing to give?

 

These two are better now because they will never be alone

They will soon have children and make them a home

Forever is a very long time

And now finally, I have finished this rhyme