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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
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america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
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art assonance
august autumn
baby bangla
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bereavement best friend
betrayal bible
bio bird
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blue boat
body books
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bullying business
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candy car
care career
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change chanukah
character cheer up
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children chocolate
christian christmas
cinderella city
class clothes
color community
computer conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad dance
dark daughter
day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
depression desire
destiny devotion
discrimination divorce
dog dream
drink earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
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family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter father son
fathers day fear
february feelings
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fish fishing
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for children for her
for him for kids
forgiveness freedom
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fun funeral
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future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good morning good night
goodbye gospel
gothic graduate
graduation grandchild
granddaughter grandfather
grandmother grandparents
grandson grave
green grief
growing up growth
guitar hair
halloween happiness
happy happy birthday
hate health
heart heartbreak
heartbroken heaven
hello hero
high school hilarious
hindi hip hop
history hockey
holiday holocaust
home homework
hope horror
horse house
how i feel howl
humanity humor
humorous hurt
husband hyperbole
i am i love you
i miss you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jewish
jobs journey
joy judgement
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kid kindergarten
kiss language
leadership leaving
life light
little sister london
loneliness lonely
longing loss
lost lost love
love love hurts
lust lyric
magic malayalam
marathi march
marriage math
may me
meaningful memorial day
memory men
mentor metaphor
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
morning mother
mother daughter mother son
mothers day mountains
moving on mum
murder muse
music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new york
nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
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old onomatopoeia
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poems poetess
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prison psychological
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race racism
rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember remembrance day
repetition retirement
riddle rights
river romance
romantic rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
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seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
soulmate sound
space spanish
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sports spring
star stars
storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
sunset sunshine
sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher teachers day
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
uplifting urban
urdu usa
vacation valentines day
vanity veterans day
violence visionary
vogon voice
volleyball voyage
war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women word play
words work
world world war i
world war ii write
writing yellow

Long Car Poems | Long Car Poetry

Long Car Poems. Below are the most popular long Car by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Car poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details |

Cruisin' the Drag

Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade, 
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat, 
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile, 
my arm around my brown-eyed girl,
feeling pretty sporty, radio on Top Forty, 
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl.

The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes; 
her bobby socks were turned down twice.
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer,
too much and it wouldn't be nice.
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats;
she’d never go all the way...
just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
practiced in the mirror all day.

Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
for the fly-boys waiting on the bus,
to take them to the base where they don't feel out of place,
not cruising like the rest of us.
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
and we saw the lights along the riverside.
We'd had quite a lark there at Neff's amusement park,
playing Putt-Putt and going on a ride.

The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
with a spinner on every rim,
a perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat,
courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim.
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead;
it was a drop-top Pontiac.
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
posing up on the back.

Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
were followed by their biggest fan.
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses 
was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man.
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces;
they iced him with a haughty air.
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
when he became a multi-millionaire.

A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy 
were riding west on Sherwood Way,
four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind,
all ready to make their play.
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists,
but those gals were pretty astute.
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies,
the chicks started putting on the cute.

We turned the car around and headed back downtown,
cruising down the boulevard.
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio,
and take it down Beauregard.
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts.
The flattops were everywhere galore.
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental,
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”.

We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s 
announcement of the next hit song.
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours,
two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong.
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
and did their best at looking mean.
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis.
The other did a fine James Dean.

Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein 
was entwined around the Marlboro man.
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout 
and opted for a bigger floor plan.
With her black beehive hair and his fancy western wear,
they were putting on quite an awesome scene.
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle,
but those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen.

I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu,
and I put us back onto the street.
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
to get ourselves a bite to eat.
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school,
in those days they came right out to you.
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth,
they’d check your oil and clean your window too.

The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
with people mingling car to car.
Everyone was caring; the drinks were all for sharing,
(especially when in a mason jar).
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
to comfort an old friend not feeling right.
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger,
then I took her home and called that one a night.

That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow,
and I think back to when I was a teen.
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked,
unchaperoned at night on Halloween.
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright,
and I’m deep in a Texas state of mind,
I think of that lass who was in my high school class,
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind.

August 10, 2012

Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

A Lifetime of Cars

I did not learn to drive until my twenties.
My two poor kids I hauled inside a wagon!
That wagon creaked when filled with groceries!
Fed up, I said, “My kids I won’t be draggin’!” 

I got my license at age twenty-four.
We didn’t have much money, and I think
I got a car whose kind is found no more -
a Monza, and it’s shade was rosy pink!

It cost me Fifteen-hundred, and I thought
I’d own it for a while, but here’s the fact:
A lemon was that first car that I’d bought.
We took a family trip; its block was cracked!

It broke down on the freeway. Lucky me!
 Not drivable, it was not worth repairing.
I talked my hubbie into something pretty -
another car with me he’d not be sharing.

It was an old white Mustang, not too bad.
But something sure was wrong. It liked to die
at almost each long stop.  DANG,  I’d been had!
At busy intersections, I’d almost cry!

We tried to fix it, but it never seemed
to stay fixed long, and so I saved my money
to buy the kind of car of which I’d dreamed.
At last I found  HER. She was a honey!

The car for me was one I could adore -
a used Camaro - sporty and baby blue.
I can’t recall, but maybe she was 2-door
and she did not break down; that car stayed true!

I drove her out to California when
we moved out there; but one day at the wheel
I got crashed by a crazy trucker. Then
my sweet car was repaired and painted teal!

Gone now was that baby blue I’d flaunted.
Her miles too were getting very high.
We moved back to our old state; I wanted
to trade her in before she chanced to die!

My next used car was nice, but in my eyes
It wasn’t ME; it had no sporty feel.
New Yorker was its name, a compromise
in gray! I searched for one I’d like for real!

And then I saw another “she,” an utter
beauty, a white convertible with black top.
For weeks she sat for sale. Heart a-flutter,
I bought that Mustang, cream of the used crop!

I always bought my cars a wee bit old
to save on cost, and this one had some miles.
I dressed her up; her wheels got trimmed in gold.
When folks yelled out, “Nice car,” I was all smiles!

I loved that Mustang, so I then had made
a license plate called Andie55.
I’d put the top down; in that car I played
with wind that tossed my hair. I felt alive!

At last the time arrived to trade her in.
A hundred thousand miles on cars concerns me.
A beige convertible then made me grin -
A Spyder Eclipse by Mitsubishi.

I got some heads turned driving her but missed
my gold-trimmed Mustang, and my tall spouse Joe
felt cramped when in that car; it made him pissed!
She too got old and then she had to go.

The car I’m driving now is halfway to
the time its warranty’s set to expire.
In five more years I know just what I’ll do
about the time that folks my age retire!

I bought my Kia Forte just to please
my husband, and it’s been an OK car,
but I want something more than driving ease.
A SHE car is a better one by far!!

That license plate made just for me is gone.
Though Kia‘s the first brand new car I‘ve bought,
the kind of car I want to put back on
my ANDIE55 is a car I’ll love a LOT!

for the Women Only (WOULD YOU, COULD YOU) Write About Cars Contest
of PD and Skat

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Evin cruz | Details |

When I got Stabbed

                                                   WHEN I GOT STABBED

The blade went through my flesh like a knife through melting butter.
Thoughts ran through my head as I bled out, like no more will I see my mother
Anger and rage streamed through my veins so I didnt feel the pain.
Im on my way to my car and get into the passenger seat.
My girlfriend Sareina runs to the other side, I hear the thud of her feet.
Getting into my car was quite a task, it was lower and 
close to the ground.
Time seems to freeze as my are starts to throb and my head 
begins to pound.
I hear the car turn over and roars to life, as I sit there and 
mine drains out.
As were driving I look around me and see the crimson splatters 
I hear my mom on the phone asking my big brother Rikki 
whats the matter. 
He hears the trembling in her voice and doesnt know what to say .
He said mom Evin got stabbed but dont worry he'll be okay. 
Sareina swerves through traffic trying not to crash.
I lift my blood soaked shirt and remove it from the gash, 
She sees the slice in my wrist, panice and begins to scream. 
At the time it didnt seem real, like a fable or some bad dream. 
She pushes the pedal to the floor, the engine gets louder and louder. 
Already in motion the car lunges forward releasing all its power, 
My fingers go numb and my hand beging to follow. 
Sitting there in a pool of blood its getting harder to swallow 
we make it to the hospital, skidding in front of the door. 
I open my attempt to get out, but almost fall to the floor.
Rikki and Sareina help me as I stumble into the lobby. 
My blood soaked cloths send velvet liquid dripping down my body.
As I stand there among the rukus and comotion,
My mind seems to fade away no worries or emotions.
I woke up in the back on a table I hear singing, 
A womans soft angelic voice this cant be real I must be dreaming 
Extreme amounts of pain let me know that this is real
the singing nurse says welcome back with a smile like it was no big deal. 
We cant get the bleeding to stop so we had to give you more 
I hear sobbing so I turn my head and try to focus on the door, 
the crying was coming from my mom who was sitting by my side. 
The doctors tell her that theres a problem and were going for a ride,
we dont have surgeons here to help you. 
Sounding hopelss and exhausted she sighed, we've done all we can do. 
We're sending you to Portland, they'll make you good as new.
Falling in and out of consciousness, we reach our destination. 
On the verge of giving up hearing family say stay strong, gives me motivation. 
Getting rushed off the ambulance and seeing my loved ones tears
made me feel more strength, but striked some sudden fear. 
Like will I make is through the day to see them smile again,
Or is this my time to go will this be my end.
Later I awoke to see everyones relieved and anxious smile, 
I asked how long I've been out it seemed like quite a while. 
My mom said you've been under for a couple days, 
you've had two surgeries but dont worry both of them went okay. 
I closed my eyes and smiled to myself I'm thankful the angles heard me pray.  

						By Evin cruz

Copyright © Evin cruz | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Stefanie Jones | Details |


Just a day
“Good Night Mom and Dad” I said before I went to bed. “We love you” they said as they closed the door
Mom comes in and wakes me up “Time to go to school” as my feet hit the floor
I got dressed and ate breakfast and got my book bag and now we are on the go
We sit in the car listening to music “It’s Friday I think I’m a little excited tho
“Alright baby we here” as mom open the door to let me get out
She closed the door and kissed me on the head told me she loved me before she pulled off
Another day of school and it close to Christmas
I can’t wait to see Ashley and Alexus, today is show and tell as I said in a whisper
We had learning center day and Boy! Was it fun!
Today was a free day and on Friday there isn’t much to learn
The room was quite when the was a knock at the door, the door opened
A man with a big gun was standing there; my classmates panicked and started to run
I heard a lot of noises and a lot of screams
I felt a sharp pain in my back as I dropped to my knees
In the distant I heard more screams and then everything went silent
Then I closed my eyes it went dark and on the cold floor I was dying
The other side
It’s Thursday night and off to bed we go 
I kiss my 5 year old son Jaden and told him I loved him so
Alarm clock goes off and it’s around 6:15 in the morning 
I shower got dress and woke up Jaden my little darling
Its Friday, I fixed him breakfast and we headed out for the this last day until the weekend
I enjoyed our little drives to school as we sat in the car singing
I opened the door to let him out once more
Kissed him on the head and told him I loved him ill pick him up around four
I’m at work drinking coffee just talked to my husband on the phone
Got at my desk started to work and the my office phone rung
It’s about 9:30 and it was Jaden’s school
I got the news he was dead and I started to puke
I’m crying uncontrollably don’t know my next move
My son is dead, I can’t believe this news
I hurried to the school in the best of my ability 
I saw the school surrounded by medics, reporters, and police
I ran to a officer and demanded to see my son
He said “I’m sorry ma’am” I can’t do this at this time
At 9:32 my one and only son Jaden was pronounced dead
The shooter was 20 and took my son’s life in his own hands
The questions continue to flow through my head as I search for answers
I don’t need answers I need my son and his laughter
I am now sitting on his bed trying to swallow tears
My husband holds me close as reality nears
My little boy is gone among the other 19 kids
Heaven has 20 new angels now I hope he knew how much I love him  as much as  I did

(To the innocent lives that were lost in the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting)

Copyright © Stefanie Jones | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Galeo DS | Details |

My Second Hand Toyota Revo

Advertising triolet poem with narrative:

Toyota Revo (triolet) A four-wheel drive,even purchased as second-hand Still runs smoothly and safe, never trundles around With its superlative engine, mileage is grand A four-wheel drive, even purchased as second- hand. Best gasoline saver, once we've Toyota brand A snazzy car for trippers, now we all have found A four-wheel drive, even purchased as second hand Pretty girls on drive lanes, feel like wearing their crown
---------------------------------- My Second Hand Toyota Revo (narrative) I bought a second-hand car three years ago, An old model of Toyota Revo; I bought it from my cousin at Toyota company, Who knew more about cars, but not me. My two brothers have the knowledge, too They took the car from her, I didn’t go, When they brought it home, I was quite surprised, Seeing it with less accessories, it didn’t suffice What do I expect with a second-hand car? My brothers were teasing me,they liked it so far, Engine still worked well, they could do something, Knowing some mechanical skills and distant driving.” I was so complaisant and cool to let them do some repairs, Replacement of missing accessories…car wash here and there; At last, my second- hand car looked brand new again, But the problem was, I didn’t have driving skills and license. My younger brother drove the car for me, Our first drive-test was very happy; Suddenly, a thing hit its windshield so terribly When we went down the car, an old man asked an apology. “I’ve accidentally hit a rubble with my mower,” he confessed, He apologized heartily with sincerity on his face; My brother tapped his shoulder and smiled, Put his arm on my shoulder, then we bid him goodbye. Back on the highway for our joyful riding With my nephew and nieces’ cheerful singing; Crack on windshield was slowly spreading A lightning trace which had badly needed my gluing. After a long drive, we’d reached a huge repair shop Replacement of windshield, my true pocket’s mishap When we went back home, the car looked brand new again Second-hand Toyota Revo was still a nice car then. I hope I’ll have time to learn driving someday To drive my manual car, “though it’s difficult, maybe Meantime, my brothers had volunteered to be my chauffeurs For they love me that much as their one and only sister. …………………………………….. ©2015Leonora Galinta All Rights Reserved Dec. 15, 2015 8.54pm (narrative and 12-syl triolet poem) Second Place Contest: In Women We Trust Cars Judged: 1/10/16 Sponsor: Poet PD/Linda

Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by rene Chabriere | Details |

It's too early in the gray sky - from french

No one in this morning
The road is deserted,
It's too early under the gray sky,

The veins of my hands,
Salient hands on the wheel
The look Elevated

The white line scrolls,
The colored houses, fled,
Since the curves crossed,

Creeks glimpsed,
The white studs punctuate
the road, pedal to the floor,,

Not any  possible gesture
Just those, tiny,
Extending the machine

According to the gray ribbon
Powered by the wheels

Swallowing the consistency,
of traffic signs,
blurred by speed,

The craft carried by his power,
Shares my drunkenness ...

Almost brought a strength,
Internal and autonomous

The motor flexibility
It shiny metal body,
Discreet comfort inside ...

And suddenly ,this is
At the end of the turn,
This dog,

As an immobile sphinx,
His unexpected question,

The deflected trajectory,
Gravel under the tires,

The crazy slide,
Nothing controls it

Falling universe 
A jump above the parapet,
A single flight without return

Net stopped by an heavy shock
Cons below ...

A brief moment, I remember ,
The covering  waves,
Ebbing, breaking,

Again and again,
Distributing its foam
On the rocks ...

No one in this morning
The road is still deserted
It's too early in the gray sky.


Personne en ce matin,
La route est déserte,
Trop tôt sous le ciel gris,

Les veines de mes mains,
Saillantes,  mes mains sur le volant,
Le regard en plongée,

La ligne blanche qui défile,
Les maisons de couleur, enfuies,
Dès les courbes  franchies, 

Les criques entr'aperçues,
Les poteaux blancs rythment
le trajet, pédale au plancher,,

Plus de geste possible,
Que ceux, infimes,
Prolongeant la machine,

Suivant le ruban gris,
Propulsé sous les roues

Avalant la consistance,
des panneaux  de signalisation,
floutés par la vitesse,

L'engin porté par sa puissance,
Partageant l'ivresse...

Presque porté d'une force,
Interne et autonome,

Moteur en souplesse,
Carosserie brillante,
Confort intérieur discret ...

Et c'est  là soudain,
Au sortir du virage,
Qu'il y a ce chien,

Comme  un sphinx immobile,
Sa question imprévue,

La trajectoire  déviée,
Les gravillons sous les pneus,

La glissade folle,
Que rien ne contrôle,

L'univers qui bascule,
Le bond au-dessus  du parapet,
Un vol sans retour,

Stoppé net par le lourd choc,
En contre-bas...

Je revois un bref instant,
Les vagues les recouvrant,
Refluant, se brisant,

Encore et encore,
Distribuant son écume
Sur les rochers...

Personne en ce matin,
La route est encore déserte,
Il est trop tôt sous le ciel gris.


RC - mai  2014

Copyright © rene Chabriere | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Shadow Hamilton | Details |

Modern Ways versa Olden Ways

First let us take our friend the horse
a noble creature who serves us well
supplying us with a source of good compost 
ferrying us here and there in fine style
pulling carts and carriages with aplume
carrying riders proudly on their backs
seldom a traffic jam and smell the pure air
enjoy the freedom to gallop with the wind

Now let us take the motor car
this guzzles fuel at an alarming rate
spewing out poisonous fumes that pollute
and if you should have a crash a tangled heap
of near useless metal is all that remains
and people torn and broken trapped inside
and the queue of traffic stretching back
maybe cars are fast but they come at a high price

In olden days the fields were much smaller
quilts against the landscape so pleasing to see
the hedgerows full of flowers giving shelter
to a host of birds, insects and small animals
the stately shires furloughing the fields
laying the lines true and straight
their leisurely pace giving dormouse time
to scuttle away and find some safety

The big modern threshers and ploughs
need far bigger spaces to work so large fields
gone the pretty quilt work, gone most hedgerows
rushing over vast areas harvesting the crops
behind them lay the dead and injured bodies
of all the little creatures unable to flee the blades
now the crows move in to feast alive or dead they eat
so yes more crops fast harvested but at a high price

In days gone by we dwelt in villages and small towns
where most if not all knew one another by name
you could safely leave your house unlocked
and your children played freely in the streets
neighbours helped one another in whatever way needed
and shared the little they themselves had gladly
street parties were times of great delight
but best of all you truly knew your friends

Sky scrappers looming towering up high
stinky lifts that break leaving one trapped
danger round every corner, its each one for themselves
rapists, burglars, murderers and plain gangsters
have a field day in the metropolis with easy pickings
here one keeps ones children safe and tucked away
concrete blocks of houses along concrete streets
everywhere you see strangers at what a high price

When one stops and really thinks about it all
are these advances really worth the price we pay
does it really matter with the vast food piles
if it takes a little longer to do the harvest
cars are all every well but wheres the romance?
the quivering flesh of an excited horse galloping
does far more for me than a petrol guzzling beast
I admit I prefer the less complicated times of yore

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Robert A. Dufresne | Details |

Shogun Series Collab Richard Pickett : Bill side 8

 (cont from Richard Pickett's side )
      You alright? Hang on I got a bus coming . I got your piece. Bill pulled Brick
 up to a half sitting position as he was talking to him.  He scanned the area 
to see any possible witnesses. He heard Brick making-” uhh -uhh “noises and 
that’s all he seemed to be able to do. “Say I got an idea Brick .. just a suggestion
 cause I know how you hate getting bossed around and all…. How about 
breathing?… I’ll bet it would take some of that blue outa your face, pardner.
 It just don’t become you, ya know?
 “Uhh, hunh, uh hunhh hunhh.”  Brick still couldn’t talk but his breath was coming back around.   
    “Atta way Brick, good thing I came along and reminded you to do that.... But what are pardners for? You’d  have probably done the same for me although I ain’t sure about you New Yorkers.    ...You okay now, buddy?”
     “Huunh, huunh…yeah..huunh, no thanks …to you…huunh. You shoulda ..uh
 huunh …seen it…I almost.. killed the guy…yeah ..unnh.. Smashed …his foot…uhu… 
with my chest…hunnhh. “Bill helped Brick up to a half standing position while Brick continued with labored breath. “Where the hell were you.. Uh.. anyway, while I was .. huunh ..kicking this guy’s butt? "  Bill picked up Brick’s hat, dusted it off and set it on Brick's head who was still bent over holding his ribs. 
     “Where was I? I was over yonder having me a sandwich ..and you 
know how I hate to be disturbed while I’m eating.” They could hear the bus siren 
now getting closer. “How you doing now, ole buddy?
  “Better I guess…uhh ..least I can breathe.. Sorta.“ 
“Brick they’re probably gonna want to check you out when that bus gets here.”
"Why did you ..hunhh .. call the bus, Cowboy? You know ..uhh.. I hate getting groped by those guys. ..uhuhh."  Let’s go before uh ..they get here! “
     Exactly then the bus came into view, parked and a medic immediately rushed out 
excitedly hollering ” where’s the downed officer!?”  
     Brick looked up to see she was blond , flush cheeked and awful easy on the eyes. …”I’m right here, Miss! ..uhh .. It’s me!”
     Bill grinned and was glad to see he would be in good hands. “Yeah, you’ll have to 
help him. He can’t walk too good. But you should see the other guy . I'm sure he’s 
limping all over the place around here somewhere. Heh heh. I’ll take care of your car Brick.  Catch you later.” 
     Brick was busy. Bill made his way back through the little crowd that 
had gathered there and walked back towards Brick’s car while still carefully scanning 
the tenement buildings. (to be cont)

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Jay Anderson-Taylor | Details |

What price we will pay for believing in a politician?

Every four years they come a courting us, wearing their fine woven suits with their Ivy 
League education, some are even lawyers or so called successful business men…they claim 
they have the answers to our problems…their mouths are full of words of encouragement 
and their brains high off their own egos of what's right or wrong. Once they do get elected to 
the highest office in the nation, they hire the brightest minds in our country to help them 
solve the very same problems that they claimed to have had a solution for when they wanted 
your vote during the election. I’m not a politician just a mere poet and a humble 
Christian at best… just taking a look at our situation from a layman’s perspective…at those 
we elect to fix our problems and frustrations. 

They all have visions of solving all our social woes and frustrations, these same types of 
politicians have had hundreds of years to right their past wrongs. But, instead once elected 
they turn a blind eye to the greedy corporate spending and banks who own most of the 
country and yet they claim to be broke… some of their CEO’s live better than whole nations, 
but those same politicians we elected rewarded them for failure with millions of taxes payer’s 
dollars in secrete exchanges for political favors. Strange once they get elected, they pretend 
that now they no longer see those drug dealing nations or the very same puppet 
governments that their predecessors helped to put into place. 

They claim that they know nothing about those crooked car companies who sell cars here in 
the USA for 300 times more than what other countries pay for those same pieces of junk! As 
if that were not enough, those same politicians gives out our hard earn tax money for cash 
for clunkers to all these rip off car dealerships who then split the ill gotten profits with those 
same crooked car companies and banks who put us in this slump, with their poorly produced 
products and the banks with their over inflated interest rates they give to us. 

They no longer see how the very same oil companies that we made rich now raise oil price 
for oil we already have here in the USA. They try to correct other countries on civil rights 
violations and equality for women, when we ourselves still live in the dark age in some place 
right here in the good old USA…So, I say to you my fellow man not as a poet or a Christian, 
but just as a layman looking in… if a politician is the answer to our problems? Then who has 
been running this country for the last hundred or so years?

Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by Langeni Mate | Details |

Poem VI - Petrol Station

One day I saw this beautiful lady and I was hoping, begging she'd come stop 
by my Petrol Station. It was the best in town. It had the cleanest oil and the 
cheapest prices. My Petrol Station attracted the most customers and when it 
came to this lady, I wouldn't even be mad if she was my only customer.

She drove past and looked inside and I made sure that my baby looked 
appealing to her. But she continued driving, and she never smiled. I wondered 
what I did wrong? We hadn't reached our peak hour? Or she knows too much 
about my station. Days passed, weeks even. And nearly a month of this lady 
passing my station every morning, she finally came on a cold Monday morning.

She entered through the back door, was astounded by her presence. She 
greeted me with a warm smile and said: "Excuse me gentle brother but my gas 
is low. I heard you were the best in town and that's what I'd like to know. See I 
don't mean to be rude but I have no money so if you're able to do me this one 
favour you'd be my favourite honey." If I said her voice was angelic, you 
wouldn't look at me the same degrading such a mesmerizing voice. I went 
blank as each word was a different melody in my brain telling me I can't lose 
this opportunity I have on this fine day. I looked at her and said: "Well my 
beautiful sister you are in luck. I'll fill up your tank and you won't even pay a 
buck. Don't repay my generosity, take this gift for free, and when you are 
speeding on those highways you will see. That my Petrol Station is the best in 
town, and you will never forget where to go when your gas is down."

She smiled whilst opening up her tank. This car was a beauty, V12 engine, 
1200 horses. I'm pretty sure when she was riding my streets at top speed her 
hooter wouldn't stop making a noise. She had a yellow, almost golden-brown 
body and with my magical petrol, she had a snow white interior. I got my petrol 
ready and when it finally started filling up, I gave her 200 pumps worth and she 
was ready to tackle the whole entire week. She took off faster than a 
Lamborghini and I watched her speed past a red light. I told myself I'm the 
best in the world at what I do and you wouldn't believe who paid me a visit on 
Tuesday morning. Yes it was the lady with no money and she asked "Can I be 
your first customer every morning? You keep my car clean and no one has 
your kind of petrol." My business closed down and was only open to yellow, 
almost golden-brown Lamborghini's with a snow white interior.


Copyright © Langeni Mate | Year Posted 2014

Long Poems