Best Riding Shotgun Poems
Speeding down the highway
I lament my life so far
and meanwhile Death is gleeful,
riding shotgun in my car.
So I crank up the volume,
speakers thrumming bass guitar,
but Death just seems to dig it,
riding shotgun in my car.
One child is an addict
and the other lives too far,
as Death adjusts the seat-back,
riding shotgun in my car.
My husband's soul is breaking
while his son's a big rock star,
and now Death is laughing,
riding shotgun in my car.
As I mourn my unborn grand-kids
his smile becomes bizarre,
for this is Death beside me,
riding shotgun in my car.
Crashing at 190 sure would
leave a massive scar,
and meanwhile death is grinning,
riding shotgun in my car.
©Danielle White
Publican politicians talk in half-price right angles
Dodge City liberty
being smoking barrel bargain sold
at a chill,
Colt-45 degrees
AC (alcoholic crops) bootleggers selling
Prohibition license to breathe
Drunken Al Capone clones
riding shotgun,
spit spraying
automatic fire taxable oppression
Seasoned Caesar bag men love to casino dangle,
dance the Charleston Charlottesville style
Beat the audit odds with one-handed guile
Then sell out citizen we with gangsta ease,
rubbing out the actuary numbers
on our license to breathe
Tricky politicians speak Publicanese,
extorted exhalation
which wafts on a fabricated breeze
Pharaoh sons got a prison labor farm
gaming system,
printing free Monopoly money
to pyramid scheme burn
Ashes from cremated capitalist leaves
market fluctuate
on a jaded, emerald breeze
Covetous Equus heads,
harnessed to paper cloud chariots,
snorting war ozone air
Trojan horses wanting Roman legion liberty,
are told ain’t nothing Spartan sold shogun free
Dodge City living dead property
ain’t got no
Colt-45 trigger zombie release
Death stench in the decaying air
is crypt coming from
inhaled depths of iron lung oxy robbers
So don’t smoking barrel bother
to try and take a dirt-free emancipated sneeze,
if you don’t have a burial license to breathe
Each human around me sweats
Wears sunglasses
Smacked by gusts
A nesting couple hollows me,
Two tawny, tiny twitterpates
Ready for rainstorms,
And I would be happy.
But, this spring, I am still barren,
Like the young man's eyes
Across from me
I see sitting in midnight blue
Rising randomly observant riding shotgun
Glancing blue at human beauty
Asking aloud if hollow or healer
Earbuds grind
A slave to passion
Looking for mirrored darkness
In-between long pauses of reading
Dead poets,
Wishing for weather less crazy
Possibilites
Mouthing "Why did I let her in?"
"What if I take my life tomorrow?"
Vibes absorbent dancing Back-alley Wasteland.
I rustle my dryness fervently--
Dissuasion?--
When the next gust sweeps this asphalt lot,
My home.
He notices,
Eyes fully scoped
Blue iris majesty,
"Why didn't I care when she died?"
he asks me or maybe it's a question for my arms.
"Love summertime, hollow sunshine,"
And the sky of half-sun weeps
neither bitterness nor solace.
Together we would love
An oasis for the coming summer
Another real one
Doesn't wear sunglasses
Shading intentions unnatural,
Prone giftings pure fire
No human nor tree
Ever since has seen.
The young man's family returns.
The car starts.
The rain spreads to another heart
In Jersey; tawny twains uprooting sanity.
I part with this man
I've only seen once before
Wishing I'd spoken something
Besides "Soul firewood."
I’m riding shotgun in her car
as we drive through the night
neath Neil Armstrong’s moon
radio plays that Animal’s song
but San Francisco's almost as
far from this humid Oklahoma
night as Neil Armstrong’s cold
moon yet maybe I’ll get
past second base tonight.
The addict rests in the darkness
Comfortable in his skin
Knowing
Does not doubt his actions
Moves forward swiftly
Alone
Bottle and stash by his side
Chaos as his neighbour
Top down
Cruising
Upon awakening its us
Who needs to pick
ourselves up
wonder
where we have been
Where's the money I had
Who's that lying in my bed
With shame as our witness
Our mouths stinking of cigarettes
Our clothes stained from whatever
it was that happened last night
Or maybe we never left
the house at all
awaking once again to the
pain in our heads
the pain in our hearts
And in that moment we choose
Us or addict
Who will rule that day
Alone, alone she wants us
To terrify us with her stories
To playback the defeats and indiscretions
setting her trap
Coming together in all ways
Whether it is in this room or the next
Saying what there is to say
Opening our ears
Opening our hearts
Lessens his grip
Today I rise after stumbling
and scraping my knees
From there I thanked God for
my opportunity to rise
From there I shift the focus
from my torment to my opportunity
From my pain to my gratitude
I place one foot in front of the other
Open my heart to healing
Giving God the wheel
Gordon Martin Feb 4, 2017
Ah, my teenage years!
Unforgettable
The fun driving lessons
In the summertime,
many moons ago
with my dearly departed father
lingering,
precious,
magnolia-scented memories
Perennially haunting
and tantalizingly close
to recall
I fondly remember
my father's patience
through it all
Riding shotgun,
helping me
steer the wheel
with a steady left hand
"Easy now, son...easy on the gas pedal..."
"Return the steering wheel after every turn..."
Oh, I remember
those calm, silken words of his
all too well
Memories worth
more than gold;
too expensive
to be bought
Lines Of Ten That Remind You What It Was Like Back Then Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One (Winner: 2nd Place)
Date written and posted: 09/27/2018
Military boots grip the pavement,
hair in a Sarah Connor ponytail
Got her sunglasses on at midnight,
waiting patiently for the right ride
to stop
And swing open an invitation
to rest her road wary bones
From the bend of the elbow,
to the cut leather gloved hand
waving a five finger salute
With a Rambo blade strapped to the thigh
of her shredded, faded blue jeans,
she has no hesitation riding shotgun
with a human unknown
Inside her deerskin vest,
she holsters a Beretta 9-mil
Trained as a sniper ... shoot to kill
Speaking politely to the stranger,
she tersely says: “keep your hands off the merchandise,
and keep your eyes on the road
And please, don’t make me have to say it twice ...
I'm saying this once, and I'm saying it nice"
With a nod of understanding,
they both settle in for the long haul
The ten thousand raven-strand beauty
says she’s going halfway to wherever
the occupant’s destination is
She remarks with a wry smile: “tonight ain’t such a bad day to live”
The driver assesses the situation,
and glumly decides that tonight ain’t a good day to die
So the hitchhiker exits from the vehicle,
thanks the stranger for the rest and the ride
After getting a bath, a meal and a good night sleep
from the local comfort environs;
she packs her gear, it’s time to be on the move again
There’s always someplace that can use her unique skills
Heading back to the edge of the road,
with no particular place in mind to go ... just stay on the eagle fly
Wing it on the sky dive
Hitchhiker, free and windblown —
With storm cloud eyes thunder bursting,
she only focuses on which car to next parachute in
I learnt to ride
many years ago,
upon a mare
who was rather slow!
Dear old Fruitgum
became a great chum,
each Saturday hack,
riding shotgun at the back!
Inspiration has abandoned me my life without muse
Creation just laughs at me what more can I lose
Thought keeps pestering me to try and think again
Concentration waves farewell to me smiling with a grin
Family seems lost to me though they are not to blame
Friends no longer think of me the reason being the same
Lovers simply ignore me as if I never existed
Strangers just look at me the outcast, the evil, sadistic
Pain seems to love me though for it never leaves my side
Suffering is riding shotgun in this pains miserable ride
Anger is boiling over tearing me apart seam by seam
Aggression is sizing up all of the hated as I scream
Positivity seems a little tied up to deal with my thoughts
Negativity runs the race within me and never will be caught
Physically my strength seems to be on extended vacation
Mentally my mind needs to eat for i am dying from starvation
bmdavey@02/16/23
I've been on this journey for over a year , it's hard to imagine. For a whole year I have held
the reigns up here on the wagon. It's a long trip down a winding mountain road. My foot is on
the break, can I control this heavy load? I had lots of doubt when I started this journey.
Would I misjudge the next curve and wind up on a gurney? Up the next steep grade will my
team stumble and fall? Down the upcoming grade will the break hold at all? The road is long
and down it I trod. Riding shotgun ,is my good buddy God. So I will hitch up my team and
take the reigns everyday. Before I lay down, I will humbly pray. At every sunrise I will ask
him to guide me. I will follow his will down life's endless highway. Remember the road you
have traveled behind you. The end is far but don't let it blind you. Stay on course, remember
your task. God will grant you new life. You just have to ask.
Appointment with the sandman,interrupted
Snooze button,untouched.Not this year
Phone’s ringing,wake up call.Accept
Voices in my head,loud and clear
Blood in my veins,steaming hot
Candle lit dinner with my soul,psychedelic
Steak on my plate,medium rare
Affairs of the heart,complicated
Howling wolves,it’s a full moon
I’ll wear my heart on my sleeve,proudly so
Etched into my skin,will be my aces
Riding shotgun with my diamond-cut fists
The left side of my brain,unhinged
A few screws still lay on the ground
I’ll have that molotov cocktail, to go
Don’t forget to put that story in the doggy bag
I fear a storm is coming,ill need that umbrella
On second thought,let me appeal to its better nature
What thoughts run through your head pretty storm?
Do you dream of hurricanes or clear blue skies?
Have you ever been in love ? Or did you lose your heart to this unapologetic world?
Does the thought of dying alone send shivers down your spine? Or does it excite you like a child on a trampoline?
Do you wish the eclipse would last forever or are you secretly in love with the sun?
Would you sweep this town if he was yours?
Would you count sheep if you tasted his rays?
Or would you rather terrorize this town than admit your feelings for him?
Such questions keep me up at night
I wonder if they have the same effect on you
I have to go now but here is my number
If you ever feel like talking about new beginnings
JGM
Left toothbrushless mine pilfered along with shampoo,deodorant, razors and other such, found me wasted in Walmart, thieving Gnomes at the last homeless shelter are my suspects. His name tag said Elvis, greeting customers at the starting gate, navigating shopping cart jockeys with cherubs riding shotgun, my request for the location of items is answered Presley style "Past houseware" he Hound Dogged lip curled.
Among waffle irons and toasters in an aisle devoid of housewife print skirts, your memory purchased my thoughts, forging past bedding, linen sheets how we once tangled and ravaged, is that your image disappearing into lingerie.
Jesus on his employee name badge suffering from price tag neurosis."Love potion? We don't sell that vagabundo polo." He growled with picante breath.
You told me I could find everything I needed here, but not even Walmart has what it would take to make you love me again.
I hope Target is open!
©2019
I’ve spent my entire life sharpening my bullets
like row upon row upon row of metal teeth
that are shed when the shark is biting
riding the night sky lightening
lighting the night sky writing
God’s hand is forced
to sign his own name
regarding all unsettled business
the Devil’s keeping score
and I will see you when I see you
God is riding shotgun
I am riding God’s shotgun
Downtown dead weight
Hurled like a heavy piece of irony
Specks of sometimes riding shotgun
Blankets of stars that never sleep
Upheaval and missions of monsters
World gone wrong messages
Edging ever closer to weary
Sometimes a great notion
Readiness and tangible freedom
Waxing moons breathing shallow
Deliveries to empty doorsteps
Time again and again
Forward the motion in prayer
Forlorn and high like a kite
Innocence dressed immaculate
Down the road apiece
My girl dumped me, she couldn't hack it
She said it was her or my fake leather jacket
We were together for 30 days
This jacket has cozied up to six Shaneyneys
Judy is my next target, so now I will have to chase her
I am the Mac Daddy rollin' in my Pacer
Camielle comes along and tempts my fate
Judy is now off the slate
Women need to use more self control
I am too much, I am hard to hold
Tomorrow there will be another one in line
I will not mess with her if she looks like the bride of Frankenstein
My dad is stressed, he's really working his pacemaker
I take him to the hospital, he's riding shotgun in my Pacer
The hospital will keep him over night
I buy some Mad dog 20/20, it's time to get tight
I am called the next day to pick him up
I tell him no ride, if you don't have a lid for that cup
I get pulled over for a sobriety test
The cop tells me I don't look my best
He makes me walk the long straight line
Then count forwards and backwards between 1 and 9
He tells me my car is so ugly, he's got to shoot me with his tazer
After the jolt I am allowed to leave steady rollin' in my Pacer