CHAPTER FOUR Stranger Than Fiction  Go To Main Table  Go To More Book Chapters


                                By George J. Kimble


Ah, the symbiosis,

Mechanized thrombosis,

Human narcosis,

Spring's delight


Ah, the acceleration,

The exhilaration,

The integration,

Man and machine


Ah, the engineering,

The steering,

The appearing,

Kinetic energy


Ah, the dials,

The miles,

The smiles,

Exquisite harmony


Ah, The stratagem,

No boredom,

The freedom,

Cosmic relief


Ah, the power,

The passing of hours,

The complimentary showers,

Corvette experienced

Another Dimension

                                By George J. Kimble

Time and space


Undulating black ribbon

White lines hypnotized

Corvette driven aimlessly

Kamikaze insects on windshields

What of their fate?

Ideas wash in and fade

Ephemeral tides in the twilight mind’s eye

Wheels eerily chant

Octet of muffled voices reverberate from hooded chamber

Baroque images conjured

Moon shadows cast by barren trees

Black flames cascaded upon still life surfaces

Static crackles upon distant airwaves

Hounds bay in fallow barnyards

Rusting hulk implement of tillage

Autumn’s melancholy breath wafts,

Burnt leaves pungent scent

Aroused ancient savoring of that first sighted Corvette

Gray mantled being

Physical prowess feebled

Keenness undiminished

Common places experienced

Transcendental, Hyper-dimensional

Never routine

Corvette is the ultimate time Machine


                By George J. Kimble

Wiping eyes filled with residue of the Sandman’s endeavors,

Hot Java essence inhaled, oblivious to karma.

Sunrise still a fleeting thought to the darkness of the night.

The Corvette quivers as if shaking off a chill.

The gut emptying sound of steel engaging steel,

Fluids wend through once dormant courses and feed flames of muted pulse.

Creeks, groans and coughs of awareness forthcoming.

Then growl of aroused archaic canine primordials.

Gravel clawing gravel, under pressurized rolling Gatorbacks,

Beams of yellow split the silent gloom, searching the slope to the macadam below.

Slipping, like an eel, onto the darkened stream, of white delineated undulating desert byway.

Resonance of four black choir members humming in ever increasing a cappella harmony,

Howl of speed induced dense air leaking through invisible crannies, annoying,

Reassuring, there is another sense responding to the surreal environs so encompassed.

Eastward trek to race the gathering dawn to the distant horizon.

No other soul is destined to wander the abandoned landscape as the Corvette slinks onward.

Distant repetitions of mindless signals,

Conditioned, by daytime habits, conducting fleets of wandering ants.


Above, tailed by contrails unseen in the moonless ether,

Some camouflaged transporter of massive proportion,

Flies laden, with residue hauling enclosed tanker.

Some newly developed panocide to frighten all who would threaten.

Some latch forgotten on clasp and bond releases,

And aloft motion begot wheels untethered.

Hurled, acceleration enhanced by gravity’s lure to the central core.

A glint in the pinking sky.

The Corvette driver contemplates the object of his demise.

Smashing, blinding, splintering.

No one heard!

Reports are written and indictments follow,

“A careless driver failed to yield and fate was served upon his flesh.”

Surely, he was ignorant of the signal at the crossway.

Yet as one evaluates destiny, no one can escape,

Alert or dim, none can select the time, nor give a reason, for the Reaper’s Harvest.

Though ends are, alas, inevitable, never anticipated,

Go forth, into the unlit future, each Earthly second appreciated.

Speed Demons

                By George J. Kimble


It came to me last night in a dream

A hazy discontent through mist and steam

An automobile surrounded by ghost

A sticklike man speaking as the host


The car was smoldering and all aglow

The ghost were hovering above and below

Some wore gloves and helmets adorned their heads

I realized these were the spirits of drivers long dead


I queried the phantoms about their presence

In one voice, they extolled their essence

“We are the spirit of the machine; present and past”

“We invite you to our realm, the Dominion of Go Fast”


Being a man of substance, I wasn’t too scared

I have been known to go fast, whenever I’m dared

As if weightless, into the cockpit my body fluttered

I tried to scream but no sound was uttered


The auto was a roadster, of that, I was sure

But the design was something extraordinarily pure

Its parts were all from different models and makes

Each piece expertly crafted without any mistakes


The gauges shown white, like a pretty girl’s teeth

I surmised the dials were illuminated from beneath

The controls were fitted with leather as tight as a thief’s glove

The seats were as comfortable as an old couple’s love


The body was voluptuous with curves sublime

A sculpture of  zoom, transcending time

From within the hood, an exalting purr

Like a lion’s voice, when licking his fur


I heard exhaust tones, deep and melodic

The maiden’s song, completely hypnotic

Now, the ephemeral ones set it all into action

And smiled with cruel satisfaction


I gripped the wheel with focused resolution

I was in a speed trap with no solution

My sleeping brain was filled with confusion

I could not awaken, from this terrible illusion


The machine seemed unwaveringly firm

As if we were planted and the whole earth turned

I eyed the approaching horizon with sober concern

A cliff was approaching, with no where to turn


Over the precipice, bolting autos burst into flame

Like playing a movie, frame by frame

Closer and closer the fear in me is mounting

In the distance a haunting voice is counting


To the edge and over; I am falling

A loud voice, my name is continuously calling

Headlong, plummeting, a white blur, of light in my brain

The excitement was more than a dream can contain


Upright I bolt, in my bed

I pinch myself to assure I’m not dead

This weird scene, now replays in my head

It was just a dream, nothing more needs to be said

Jagged Edge

                By George J. Kimble


Jagged edge, where concrete marries steel

Vision unearthly, very surreal

Surfaces sweat, a rain unseen

Nervous tension, ultra keen

Labyrinth of potholes and broken glass

Stench of humanity, the unwashed mass

The wrong exit, from the well-beaten path

A caldron belching, the demons wrath

Street lamps glow, but shadow prevails

Through the gloom, a siren wails

Young men hanging, with out a care

Their lost hope fills the air

Gauge warning of fuel ominously low

You brood over how far you can go

A well-lit gas station is what is needed

Your prayer for divine guidance goes unheeded

Should you stop and confront these men?

And try to coax from these dubious friends,

Some semblance of redirection

Or just proceed further, without detection

In this realm, the Corvette you drive

Does not enhance your ability to survive

As you pass through a tunnel unlit at the end

You weigh life's meaning again and again

In life, many off ramps lead to desolation

It's these times of tribulation

These digressions, from your dreamed destination

That humbles you to resignation

You drive your Corvette so cavalier

And over look those things, you should hold dear

Values are not made of fiberglass and steel

Nor are they rolled out on four wheels

And though each day may bring some strife

A good day is marked by each breath of life

Because of nightmares you contemplate with dread

You are stronger because you are not dead

With poignantly depicted lives unraveled

You learned this, from the maze you traveled

With confidence and honest resolution

Attack life, as an adventure, with an unknown conclusion

Now reassured in your darkest hour

The road ahead, blooms like a desert flower