Best Motels Poems
For children, summer is swing sets and slides,
ice cream or snow cones, carnival rides,
the school bell’s last ring as kids flee the school,
hot dogs at ball games and days at the pool.
It’s pitching a tent and eating s’mores,
then down at the lake with rowboat and oars.
Summer’s the chasing of fireflies at night
and telling of ghost tales in flickering light.
It’s skateboards and bikes and just feeling free,
a volleyball net in the sand by the sea.
It’s summer vacation in one’s family car
with stops at motels when traveling far.
It’s sitting on blankets, eyes up at the sky
while watching the fireworks on Fourth of July
Summer’s a caterpillar; we want it to c r a w l,
then turn into a butterfly, the brightest of all!
It’s corn on the cob, and ever so sweet -
the melon the kid in us all wants to eat!
May 30, 2019
For Sheri Fresonke Harper's Objectifying A Season Poetry Contest
Categories:
motels, summer,
Form:
Rhyme
River Findings
The Ohio winds around hills
and streams down the hollows
passes steel mills, brick yards and scrap yards.
It carries tug boats, pushes barges, and hauls
black coal stripped from the mountainsides.
The Ohio’s littered banks
are home to train yards
filled with graffiti-covered box cars
rusting relics of the Southern Pacific
and the Norfolk and Southern railroads.
Erector set bridges span
the murky river and link Ohio
to “Wild, Wonderful, West Virginia,”
the Weirton Mill,
and Homer Laughlin China Company.
In towns called Powhaton Point,
Shadyside, Bellaire, and East Liverpool,
houses are stacked on hillsides
with an array of slate,
tin and asbestos shingled roofs.
Ball fields and corn fields,
concrete parking lots and shopping malls
are full of busy people
who fail to appreciate
the river’s charity.
There are roads with cryptic names like Goose Run,
Pinch Run, Riddles Run, and Rush Run.
There are towns named Brilliant,
Costonia and Calcutta,
each with their own secrets.
North on Route 7 bars advertise Karaoke
and all you can eat fish fries.
A plethora of car lots and gift shops,
bait stores and gun supplies
dot the countryside with
a never-ending display
of marketing profanity,
but the river rolls on
never compromising her dignity
never surrendering her boundaries.
White-steepled churches
stand like beacons of redemption,
while billboards promote“Hell Fire Fireworks,”
“Gentlemen’s” clubs, sleazy motels
and the “Forbidden Zone Exit.”
Still the river moves along
around the hills and down the hollows
proud and powerful
chanting and rippling with satisfaction
a stalwart testament to her tenacity…
Categories:
motels, imagery, perspective, river, travel,
Form:
Free verse
I need you now
Never been the one
To pick up the phone
Lovers undone, so lost on the run
Emotions burning all bridges as flames consume
The heat of love knowing I have lost it all
Holding the bottle I tumble and fall
Used to have it, used to be the fastest ball
Now I shake and tremble afraid to make the last call
Always been a country boy
Playing with my truck and all my other men toys
You never saw a tear from me
But I have cried, behind the curtain you never see
Never could I ever say, I need you now, don’t go away
Being strong and hiding tears of pain and sorrow
Pushed you all away, there is no tomorrows
Inside I am the child, hoping for love somehow
Never been the one
To pick up the phone
Lovers always wondered why
Bridges burnt were safer back then
Holding on to long lost dreams
Losing my grip and fading fast
If only I wasn’t hidden so well you would surely have screamed
The pain of despair never far from Jim Beam
Never been the one
To pick up the phone
Lovers always wonder why
My guitar never played a song goodbye
Traveling down lonely roads
Motels and one gas station towns
Dust filled shoes and dust filled dreams
I rest my bones, till the next bus is seen
Never been the one
To pick up the phone
Lovers always wondered why
While I wandered away wishing death came by
Never been the one
To pick up the phone
Always wondered if true love exists
Lost love still would slash my lifeless wrists
Categories:
motels, emotions, heart, life, loneliness,
Form:
Lyric
The Snohomish County Health District is using the Angel of the Winds Casino's Everett arena. In order to treat victims of COVID-19. Whereas in Seattle 300 Army medical core medical professions are being utilized to treat patients not being effected by the Coronavirus. In Kent and Issaquah motels are being used to intern people affected by it. They are being monitored by the police. Yet in Kent, a homeless man broke lose and robbed a local convenience store.
The Army medical core is using the Seattle's CenturyLink Event Center and field. Treating non victims of COVID-19. Field hospitals are being established nationally and world wide. Treating this contemporary angel of death.
In Yakima twelve to thirteen inmates broke lose because their facility was being impacted by COVID-19. In several of the most impacted states, such as New York. The National Guard has been called out to render assistance. As of yesterday, thirty three of the fifty states have been effected by it.
There have been non essential business in Washington State. Ignoring Governor Jay Inslee's order to close down. First they will be warned, and finally they could lose their business licenses. For continued noncompliance.
President Donald Trump and Congress approved a stimulus package for our nation. Checks should be arriving direct deposit by the IRS in about two to three weeks. His stay at home order has been extended to April 30th.
Online schools are becoming the new normal for students. Even students without home computers can use their teacher's lesson plans. And in some areas home computers are being delivered to k-12 students.
We should watch, wait and pray for the COVID-19 to pass over us. By vanishing into thin air.
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
March 31, 2020
Categories:
motels, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Narrative
lovers
happy,warm
hiding, rushing, explaining
hotels, motels, cars, rooms
wanting, needing,cursing
cold, empty
enemies
contest Diamante
Categories:
motels, lust,
Form:
Diamante
For Naomi, life was beginning to get exciting in the fall of 1952...
At the age of 25 , a widow and the mother of two.
So you pack up your 1949 Dodge and off to Alaska you go...
Free land awaits those brave souls who will show.
Interstates had not been created back in that day...
And there were no motels at which to stay.
With five hundred dollars cash and two boys to raise...
Every mile became an adventure with praise.
Sometimes sleeping in the Dodge and drinking from a stream...
A young widow and her sons living the early American dream.
The Mississippi and the Missouri they crossed them too..
And the majesty of the Rockies they all three knew.
They made it to Spokane from Pennsylvania and that's as far
as they could go...
But the deep adventure they had only they could know.
Naomi is in her eighties now and doing well...
And the adventures she has had she loves to tell.
God has smiled upon her and given her a wonderful life...
She's been a daughter, a sister, a great-grandmother and an
adventuring wife.
In the fall of ' 52 America was different than it is now...
And she and her two boys can now reflect on the how.
From Pennsylvania to Washington, the goal was so close...
But a life time of adventure she had traveling from coast to coast.
The Alaskan dream still burns in her heart...
If she just could come up with five hundred dollars, she's
ready to depart.
TK<
Categories:
motels, adventure, travel,
Form:
Ballad
I met George one spring day as he cruised by, so sexy
he was a dreamy dream on a big motorcycle
and I was so young and at a lovely fanciful age, a butterfly
we spent our days riding the country roads
our nights under the stars in parks and beaches, kissing
I could not bring him home to my parents
he was wild, untamed and a free-spirit soaring on wings
and oh, so romantic
George was my blue sky and I was so in love
one day he said to me, lets go to Florida
we will leave for Daytona Beach today
I was thinking of mother and father not approving, hesitating
but the idea of the open road was appealing
I emptied my bank account that day
packed some stuff in a old backpack
and better judgement was left behind in our dust as we stormed away
oh, it was wonderful with the wind in our faces and the blue sky above
our black leather jackets flapping in the wind in tune with the soaring roar
we stopped in small towns along the way
slept in cheap motels at night
oh, it was romantic
we arrived at Daytona Beach and spent two weeks
nothing fancy like restaurants or shopping
just an amazing vacation I have never, ever forgotten
I often think of George and what he is doing, now
________________________________
April 12, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/wild and untamed
Copyright Protected, ID 04-662-570-12
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Premier contest, Memorable Vacation,
sponsor Shadow Hamilton, Judged 05/2015
Second Place
Categories:
motels, vacation,
Form:
Narrative
I met George one spring day as he cruised by, so sexy
he was a dreamy dream on a big motorcycle
and I was so young and at a lovely fanciful age, a butterfly
we spent our days riding the country roads
our nights under the stars in parks and beaches, kissing
I could not bring him home to my parents
he was wild, untamed and a free-spirit soaring on wings
and oh so romantic
George was my blue sky and I was so in love
one day he said to me, lets go to Florida
we will leave for Daytona Beach today
I was thinking of mother and father not approving, hesitating
but the idea of the open road was appealing
I emptied my bank account that day
packed some stuff in an old backpack
and better judgement was left behind in our dust as we stormed away
oh, it was wonderful with the wind in ours faces and the blue sky above
our black leather jackets flapping in the wind in tune with the soaring roar
we stopped in small towns along the way
slept in cheap motels at night
oh, it was romantic
we arrived at Daytona Beach and spent two wonderful weeks
nothing fancy like restaurants or shopping
just amazing love that I have never, ever forgotten
I often think of George and what he is doing, now
_______________________
April 12, 2015
Free Verse
Submitted to the contest, Romantic Poem (old/new), sponsor, Skat
Ninth Place
Categories:
motels, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Putting on the Ritz
Those weird faces
below glamorous make up,
The enormous laughs
under those debts,
Show off to whom
lesser privileged than you?
As those affluents
will never look at you !
Luxury of the motels
and wine in pubs,
Those night lusts
and hefty gifts,
Moving in bigger cars
owning king sized houses,
Best of attire
embellished in sapphire,
False faces of ritz
truth dumped deep within.
Whence our kids
crave for foods,
And poor naked in streets
are covered only in mist,
Longing for a meal
as hunger eats mankind.
Why can't we be modest
to accept in dignity,
When at the lounge we stand,
Counting our guests
wishing there was a miss,
Showing liberty at heart
that weeps on money shed,
Hard earnings wasted
on an imitation game,
Pocketed inside out ersatz,
Putting on the Ritz !
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma
Written Sept 8th, 2015
For contest by Judy Konos
Awarded 1st place win
Categories:
motels, crazy, money,
Form:
Free verse
The Hi-ways and the By-ways
By Franklin Price
6/5/2016
The hi-ways and the bi-ways long before the Super-way,
Driving 'round the country different, here are memories of the day
The roads were mostly two lane, speeds were fast at fifty-five.
Had to watch out for the tractors to get there breathing and alive.
No white lines on the edges. No reflectors on the lines.
Speed traps in the small towns; directly paid the cops the fines
Watched for ads of Burma Shave. The signs all in a row
With quirky little sayings; looked for ones we didn't know.
Stopped to eat at truck stops; the best food was there you know.
Pro drivers always ate there. Where else should travelers go?
Could stay the night in teepees or a small white Alamo
Many themed motels along the way; creative places we could go
Had to drive through every town; that's why the roads were made
Here's what I saw there in them before the memories of them fade
The highway was the main street; sometimes the railroad by its side
Small stores were there for shopping. Restaurant food was country fried
Always was a barber shop and a small department store
A hardware place with everything you could ever want and more
A church or two that closed the shops were there on holy ground
All attended in their very best when Sunday rolled around
A station there to get some gas, someone to top the tanks,
Check the oil, wash the windows and at the end to give you thanks
To fill up cost a buck or two to get us on our way
Always got change for a five; that's how it was back in the day.
Categories:
motels, car, history, travel,
Form:
Couplet
Another wild weekend , yes it is the race,
here in Alabama, a lot of money they make.
Sometimes I work them, if I have the time,
but the part I don't like, is not getting home until
after nine.
Thousands flood our little town,
waving their flags, Talladega bound.
Big rigs, little rigs, and all in between,
they come from all over, the biggest crowd,
I think I have ever seen.
Camp grounds full, and motels too,
cheering their drivers, these fans are true.
Sunday is the big day, another winner we'll have,
when they start their engines, you have to shout.
Number 88 is my favorite this year,
maybe tomorrow the winners circle, then I'll cheer.
So good luck to all, glad you all are here.
Categories:
motels, life, sports, thank you,
Form:
Narrative
Empty
A hammock swings to and fro in the wind
As if propelled by an unseen foot.
A tricycle lies abandoned by the porch,
One handle grip with its multicolored
Streamers long gone, a wheel missing,
Its once-resplendent pink paint eaten with rust.
The “For Sale” is old. It sways tipsily,
Tilting in the wind, covered in graffiti.
Where is the little girl who used to play
In this lonely and forsaken yard?
Where is the boy who whiled away the hours
Reading and dreaming in the hammock?
Where is the mother who tended these gardens,
Now full of weeds, and the father whose children
Greeted him joyfully at the end of the day?
What calamitous series of disasters
Befell this family, to force them out,
To make them leave the home they loved?
Maybe they sleep now in cheap motels and
Eat their frugal meal at a breakfast bar
Or live in a noisy, overcrowded shelter.
Or do they move from place to place,
Rootless, living in a car, dreaming of that
Joy-filled home they left behind, a lifetime ago?
The staring house now stands bereft,
Bewildered, wondering - where is the family that
Once lived and loved inside its empty shell?
It seems to wait in loneliness, pining for
Those happier days of oh, so long ago,
While the hammock swings to and fro in the wind.
Categories:
motels, grief, house, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Personification
The first time that Godly Committee took seat
The latecomers found not a space to sit
Drawn up was the Heavenly Constitution
To regulate the earthly institution
Life on earth was just made to be flawless
In contrast with the abyss that is floorless
Life was made to sound like nice Christmas jingles
Instead men on earth created concrete jungles
Where prostitution dominates brothels
This is how paupers are made in motels
God expects creation to come to fruition
But men just trust more in their intuition
One group is being consumed in idealism
The other group upholds empiricism
Believing that life is through experience
Where conclusions are by experiments
Baked are theories that are metaphysical
Formulas that are mathematical
Perfect conclusions of theories come not
Solutions by formulas turn to naught
Men think creation to be accidental
But cosmos is divinely transcendental
System of creation eludes the man's mind
That is the order of God for mankind
Categories:
motels, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
Small, cut in half by Route Sixty-Six,
with farms and ranches scattered around.
Theaters, cafes, motels, your picks
Saturdays, everyone came to town.
What fun walking down crowded Main Street.
giving a farm boy a furtive glance.
Then movies, popcorn, something sweet
to watch Fred and Ginger glide and dance.
The tranquil aura of peacefulness,
of hometown, friends, and a picture show.
We didn't think of days that would pass
and our small town we would soon outgrow.
One day, we all left to find our dreams,
farms dried up with recurring drought.
Town forgotten in I-Forty's schemes,
the town withers within and without.
Our last reunion, old times we share,
sunshine, laughter, tears we can still find
in boarded stores, steets beyond repair
in our small hometown we left behind.
Categories:
motels, change, growing up, home,
Form:
Rhyme
NYC nior in black and white
NYC nior in black and white
Dark landscapes 1957 NYC
of automats radio city and hotdog stands
memories of things past
Take us back to lucid dreams of light and shadows cast
set the stage late night dark wet NY detectives on the beat
slow moving like grit and steel they stride down the great white way
steam and clouds shoot to the sky from sewer covers
smoke rings blast out from bill boards of urban midnight cowboys
from route 66
On the street hipsters glide down in pinstriped suits
cool sleek long with straddled watch chains dragging
smoking stogies from drooping lips
wing tipped shoes rested on black boxes at shoe shiners row at 53rd and lex
wanting fem defal’s dark diva’s in fish nets tight red skin dresses with sleek spike heels long cigarettes with long brim hats and netted veils as they walk the line swinging their Purses leaning against posts on the foggy corners
Dharma bums gaze at city lights dreaming of old bards songs
through garment push carts and rushing feet
in the machinery of the steamy night
the boxcars moving past open doors
The cities glare in shadows bare
neon signs striptease flashing in the backdrop of honking horns and traffic
night clubs casinos and one night stands in greasy motels
pool hall hustler’s poker players loan sharker's and scheamers
whisky bars dockyard and widowed screams
tenement houses windows open curtains drawn
sweat and muscle tee shirts yelling out to others
saxophone city of butchers boozers bribers and brown baggers
Bright yellow checkers and taxis on Times Square
down the smoke hazed dark lanes against the hard walls
slim Jim zoot suiter’s lazy dazed side leaning
roll loaded dice with steaming cheap Tricks
Newspaper stands and barbers shops with marbled checker floors
white steaming towels with waiting hot lather
man with straight edge and black leather strap leans over
with Sinatra playing in the back
Neon city balanced in chaotic disorder of abstract lines
of municipal signs
city where monk lady day and Coltrane play Improve
in old coffee houses of smoke filled cafes for pennies a day
as street poets whisper and drink their troubles away
dreaming of Brando bogie smoking Joe's and blondes
of slip hips and jive
Categories:
motels, imagery,
Form:
Free verse