Best Song Travel Poems
Son of a gun we were still young;
only 15 years gone by.
You were the first my kissing bubble to burst,
and for you, I think so was I.
I wanted to start putting other parts
of our bodies in the field of play;
But you stopped it instead as you paused and read
what Ann Landers had written to say:
Keep your petting on the outside, keep your tongues inside your mouth,
Keep your hands north of the border, don’t let them travel south.
There’s no use in trying to rush things and ruin the rest of your life,
So just hold his hands and hug him until you’re man and wife.
You stuck to your creed in spite of my plea,
and I didn’t want to press you;
So your hand I would hold and my tongue I would fold,
even though I want to undress you.
Late at night my conscience I’d fight,
still awake in my lonely bed;
Thinking of you and what I would do
if these words weren’t still stuck in my head:
Keep your petting on the outside, keep your tongues inside your mouth,
Keep your hands north of the border, don’t let them travel south.
There’s no use in trying to rush things and ruin the rest of your life,
So just hold his hands and hug him until you’re man and wife.
I followed your rules, played it cool
for the first ten to twenty dates;
But by the end of the year to me it was clear
we wouldn’t be tempting our fate.
So we parted our ways; ending our days
to see other people instead;
As I set forth looking of course
for a girl who hadn’t read:
Keep your petting on the outside, keep your tongues inside your mouth,
Keep your hands north of the border, don’t let them travel south.
There’s no use in trying to rush things and ruin the rest of your life,
So just hold his hands and hug him until you’re man and wife.
More than thirty years have disappeared;
For me two wives and four kids.
And as for you, I hear it’s true,
that getting married you never did.
I’ll never forget and never regret
That first kiss where we both did live;
And though I did slander poor ole Ms. Landers
to my daughter this advice I now give.
Keep your petting on the outside, keep your tongues inside your mouth,
Keep your hands north of the border, don’t let them travel south.
There’s no use in trying to rush things and ruin the rest of your life,
So just hold his hands and hug him until you’re man and wife.
Well you’re on the road for weeks at a time
so when you get home you’ll get a big surprise,
cause
I’m going to welcome you when you get home;
I’m going to take you back into the back bedroom.
I'm going to light all the candles Hun,
then I'm going to turn the music on.
You and I will have ourselves lots of fun...
Because it’s long overdue when you miss someone,
it’s long overdue when you miss someone.
Well I know your lonely when you’re gone
so am I baby don't you worry none,
cause
I'm going to welcome you when you get home;
I'm going to take you back into the back bedroom.
I'm going to take all of my clothes off Hun,
then I'm going to help you get your pants undone.
You and I will have ourselves lots of fun...
Because it’s long overdue when you miss someone,
Yah it’s long overdue when you miss someone.
Well I know you wonder if I'll be around,
I'm telling you baby I'm not leaving town,
cause
I'm going to welcome you when you get home;
I'm going to take you back into the back bedroom.
I'm going to lay you down on my bed Hun,
then I'm going to do all of the things you love,
you and I will have ourselves lots of fun...
Because it’s long overdue when you miss someone.
I said it’s long overdue when you miss someone.
Yah, you and I will have ourselves lots of fun...
Because
it’s long overdue when you miss someone.
Yah it’s long overdue when you miss someone.
I said it’s long overdue...
when you miss someone.
We boarded for the long ride on that train -
It brought back memories of being young.
Conductor: "Passengers will please refrain!"
Now 'City of New Orleans' on each tongue,
We sang through all those train songs we'd once sung:
The 'Loco-Motion', 'Marrakesh Express',
Then 'Peace Train', 'Love Train', 'Crazy Train' (a mess!)
We sang, 'Last Train to Clarksville' just for fun
And 'Chattanooga Choo Choo' (more or less!)
"We're gone 500 miles when day is done".
Flame trees flicker on way into town
but nothing kindles their flames to excite
the sleepy town set in its dampened, dank frown.
All the folks lie barricaded behind trenches
of never to be forgotten fights and campaigns
about, noise, litter, dogs and fences.
'Smile and wave' the response to encounters.
Gossip and tattle-tail endless behind closed doors,
for everyone knows everything, and about everyone blabbers.
Nothing changes, nothing excites, change on timeout.
The town heart's pace is fixed on 'set in ones ways'.
Everything in its place, nothing to catch fire, the pilot snuffed out.
The flame trees bloom anew each spring
blinding weary drivers entering the town,
sparing them the sight of sameness, staleness, tedium within.
I can still remember visiting a small musical town,
a young boy holding his hat and singing his heart out for money.
His love for music was heart warming,
John was this little fellow's names.
He wore a big smile with big blue eyes,
as he walked and greeted each visitors.
A few years later I went back to that small musical town,
John had gown into a teen.
He was still singing his heart out,
but now he played a flute.
Over the years I traveled to many towns,
some how John was always on my mind.
One day a friend asked me about John,
then we decided to take a trip.
Could we even find John she asked?
The town had not changed,
but John had.
John was much older with gray in his hair,
playing an organ grinder and singing away.
He realized me right away,
we hugged like old times.
I see you have a different musical instrument,
John's face light up with pride.
His dad was the last organ grinder in town,
when he died~John had to carry on.
John and his dog Blue carry on for his dad,
the town and visitors still enjoy his musical talents.
a lei
warmly undulates in the harbor,
scented blossoms in the surf,
welcoming each voyager
with frangipani, plumeria, shells and
haku mele. the ukulele and current
gently pulls with mellifluous undertow.
a garland aloha and hula hips
enhance each Polynesian hug
in passionate sunrise and sunset hues.
8/7/2018
haku mele — weaving a poetic text, chant, or song
I didn’t grow up wearin' no wandering shoes.
No, I didn’t grow up wearin' no wandering shoes.
Mostly I just stayed at home, didn’t have no urge to roam.
I didn’t grow up wearin' no wandering shoes.
I didn’t wanna leave my neighborhood.
No, I didn’t wanna leave my neighborhood.
But my friends married, moved away; no gal asked for me to stay.
I felt it time to leave my neighborhood.
(Chorus)
I didn’t loaf around in loafers,
But I snuck around in sneakers.
I marched around in Corc’rans lotsa klicks.
Spit-shined a dozen oxfords.
Once knew some secret passwords.
Now I’m slowly limping towards the River Styx.
I didn’t wanna travel round the world.
No, I didn’t wanna travel round the world.
Each three years I signed the lines, lived in Europe sev’ral times.
I kinda liked a trav'lin' round the world.
(repeat chorus)
I found I rather liked those wandering shoes.
I found I rather liked those wandering shoes.
Met a gal in Paris, France; we hooked up and took a chance.
Eventually I tossed those wandering shoes.
(repeat chorus to fade)
Get them wheels a rolling.
A rolling on down the road.
Keep them wheels a turning.
A turning with a heavy load.
Now, I got my baby crying.
A crying that I left from home.
Got my baby crying.
Crying that she'll be alone..
Because I'm taking a long lonely highway.
A long lonely highway from home.
Taking a long lonely highway.
A long lonely stretch of road.
Taking a long lonely highway.
And carrying a heavy load..
Now, I got my baby crying.
A crying that I left from home.
Got my baby crying..
Crying that she'll be alone..
And if I'm out here any longer.
Any longer away from home.
Out here any longer.
Out here all alone..
If I'm out here any longer.
Out here on this road.
I'll be missing my baby.
My baby that I left at home.
I'll be missing my baby.
My baby's all alone..
Now, I got my baby crying.
A crying that I left from home.
Got my baby crying.
Crying that she'll be alone..
Country Song(Truck Driver Lyrics) By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2015..ALL rights reserved..
The law was searching everywhere.
In every place you can imagine.
Far from home.
So far away.
It was a nice day.
It was OK..
It was a nice day, to get out of here.
We took the last train..
The fast train..
We took the last train..
Out of here..
Most of the time.
We were on the run..
From the law, and the misunderstandings.
Misunderstood by the right arm.
It was the right arm of the law..
It was a fast chase, from a rat race.
By the right arm of the law.
Far from home.
So far away.
It was a nice day.
It was OK..
It was a nice day, to get out of here.
We took the last train.
The fast train.
We took the last train.
Out of here..
Most of our time, we spent together.
So far from home.
We're chased forever..
By the right arm of the law..
It was a fast chase, from a rat race.
By the right arm of the law.
So far from home.
So far away.
It was a nice day..
It was OK..
We took the last train.
The fast train.
We took the last train.
Out of here..
We took the last train.
The fast train.
We took the last train..
Out of here..
We took the last train.
The fast train.
We took the last train..
Out of here...
Last Train Song by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1983,2014..All rights reserved..
Why'd I hide it
Yeah that kind of riot
When you sigh and the silence shrieks louder than verbs and
And the direction the affection takes then
Pressures the perfectionist in-
To layman's ways of saying "let's be friends"
So the road is fired up though you know the tire's cut
And the stereo it plays "here we go"
It makes eerie tones
They come oh straight from
A joke even though
That's a story baby we both really know
Oh we're stop and go to gamble
And at lights hear advice
The rambles from a manhole
But let's not forget the device
It's mobile but not handheld
No the heart it doesn't crash oh before it gets trampled
The temple table's overturned
Turns out we're late
'Cause the clover caught aflame baby we waited so it burned
But that's okay
You say the gamble ex-changes it
It makes the coins get weightless and
And turns the green into an urn
Oh we're stop and go to gamble
And at lights hear advice
The rambles from a manhole
But let's not forget the device
It's mobile but not handheld
No the heart it doesn't crash oh before it gets trampled
No the heart it doesn't crash oh before it gets trampled
Breezy, fast and sung,
But not out with religion,
Imprisoned in stain.
Joined PoetrySoup 21/7/2015
A mournful train whistle,
that most evocative sound,
heralds the departure and
the wheels start their round
There can have been few things as
satisfying as a long slow train ride,
especially across those rolling spaces
seen from a window, safely sat inside.
We dreamed our American dreams,
listened to all those train songs,
in our minds made those journeys
as we sat and sang along.
The Midnight Special with its hope
heard from the institutional hell
of the state penitentiary
with its prisoner filled cells.
Hank sang the California Zephyr,
Willie the City of New Orleans,
Seeming strange exotic places
where none of us had ever been.
We heard all those legends.
learned them one and all,
The Orange Blossom Special,
The Wabash Cannonball,
and it seemed to us in those days
railroad tracks were the veins
carrying the lifeblood of America
on those romantically named trains.
Now the world has moved on
and travel is too fast.
No time now for the enjoyment
of a journey that lasts;
an age of innocence is gone,
an enemy has extended his reach
all the way to Fortress America
which has been so badly breached.
I’ll dream my American dream
with the contentment I will find
as I listen to my music and ride
again those trains there in my mind
Oh, without this jet phobia, here's what I'd do:
Go traveling to Bimini, then on to Peru.
We'd hop on an aeroplane, and be there by noon.
We'd take in the sights, hike up Machu Picchu.
It sure would be fun if I could go with you…
The aeroplane's my enemy; I know this is true.
The pilot's a nightmare, and I don't trust the crew.
I'd travel the world; wish that dream could come true.
To hurtle through space leaves me nerves all unglued,
And I lose my resolve just like smoke through a flue.
Can't break away on holiday; this fear, I can't lose.
So I flip on the telly, take a journey, then snooze.
—————
To the tune of “Pavement Artist” (also “Chim Chim Cher-ee”)
From the musical “Mary Poppins”
Written on 03/13/2022
A New Jersey-ite, his name Hobo Ken
For singing ballads, he had quite a yen
He would sing like Sinatra
From Vegas to Sumatra
On rails he rode with fellow jobless men
September 03, 2020
Completely Your Choice (3) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Boeing, Going, Gong
The aircraft company's swan song
Boeing, Boeing, Bong
737's high on marijuana ~ So Long