Long Brake Poems
Long Brake Poems. Below are the most popular long Brake by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brake poems by poem length and keyword.
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang
back into the womb
versus being threatened
courtesy beastie boy gang
beating me to a pulp
after accurately discerning
being scared less pang
suddenly imagining myself
buffered, and buttressed
within zen Sibyl
prophet table Chinese philosophy
known as Yin and Yang.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
haint got any got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
Not long ago when the summers seemed warmer and the winters were whiter. When the trees grew crown of leaves bright, a transparent green. Then tossed them to the ground for a little while. In piles of amber, crimson and umber. Before the earth was asleep in the frosty blanket of white. The trees all barren. Brittle with ice. While above the fire place sat the greetings of a wonderful season.
As embers popped and sizzled you sat and stared at the flickering flames. You would talk of pictures that play in the dying flames. The demons you saw or other worlds you claim. Danced in the weaving flames. The tongues would lick and sway. Snap and brake. The spires of candle flames would show you kingdom's of the soul. The shadows would move in a seismic rhythmic trance. In wakening dreams you would see people walking past a bright sun dappled days, by a pond you would sit watch and sway. Not make a whisper. You would sing to yourself, long lost melodies. Staring at the bright dabbled ray of sun pooling in your hands.
Seeing something not of this plain. You would say you saw the oblivions back yard. Endless Horizons afar! Then nod into sleep. Your head would tilt. All time turns. The world swam in the hearth. You would only watch. Your hands never idle even for a little While. Those hard cracked hands. Time runs like sand through pur broken fingers. When the storms would come and gently rumble the house. You would tilt your head and look skyward, you would hear the silent drops of distant rain. Water falling on the eaves of the house.
You would nod your head in it's absent rhythm and watch it streak the window pain. While you clenched your brittle hands. Flexed there pale fingers tentatively. But that was years ago. Now you ride and play in the distance fields in the backyards of long ago. Your eyes are vacant. Your hand are hard, your arms are crossed. No more nights of watching the fire or listing to dabbling rain.
No more catching pools of sun rays. You are now grown past this world, lost to this wide universe. You are in a man's final season, his great Winter on earth. At last your hands are healed, still, resting at peace. The idle hands of Jacob. The ruined hands of humanity.
Greeting children at our school from the car line yesterday.
First car seemed to be parked. No one appeared to be in it.
Maybe someone is gardening, I thought. The garden is six feet from it.
The brake lights came on. I expected a child to get out.
No child did. I had a peculiar feeling about it, an unsafe feeling.
I went inside got a pencil and paper and wrote down the plate number.
Continued greeting children. The car did not move. No one got out.
I was feeling unsettled.
Was someone waiting for a particular child? And why?
That afternoon a man claiming to be a father tried to get into the school.
He was shaking and kicking a side door. A teacher asked what he wanted.
He said he was a father and wanted in. She told him to go to the front.
He went to another side door and tried it.
I gave the license plate number to security when they came.
Because I had felt unsafe.
Man was mentally unstable.
I've come to see this social site
As something more than just a rite
A place where I can write and grow
(While other poets come-and-go)
It's not perfection - nothing is
Still, I enjoy these hers and his
No place is better than its peeps
So many here are friends for keeps
Contests are, for me, a means
A grand device for crafting scenes
What I might not spawn otherwise
With just the limits of my guise
Each public site with limits, thus
Reflects the best and worst of us
It's not about what place we earn
But rather how we grow and learn
Perhaps there's some are sorry it's
Not jammed with poet laureates
But that would lead to detriment
Just rife with sad discouragement
So while it's hard, sometimes, to take
That some don't hit the contest brake
I SHAN'T be one that questions rules
Thus made and placed to suffer fools
For when I joined this Poetry Soup
I signed the laws of this fine group
So, though I might not quite agree
I'm bound and pleased to let it be.
~ 6th Place ~ in the "Monopoly" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor.
You want a friend who wont judge you.
I don't judge you not really anyways.
you've hurt me more then you could ever know and yet I still stand by your side.
you talk to me for your own personal gain,
and yet I still stand by you.
what do you want from me?
I got mad at you and told you all you want is a dispo.
I told you you only talk to me for your own personal gain.
and to get whatever you can from me drugs / alc.
you told me there is one more thing but you wont tell me.
and I replied with ofc not Ashton because that's what you do best right keep things to yourself and make me wonder what you want from me.
I'm so sick of this dance just tell me what you want,
you reply with a friend who wont judge me, you don't judge me.
how do you know I don't judge you.
you've hurt me more then you could understand.
Ashton I'm so done with it all the damn mind games.
you tell me your not playing mind games but that's exactly what your doing.
you tell me you love me then turn around and tell me you hate me.
I stay silent when I hang out with you because I have nothing to say to you.
I don't hate you I don't love you I don't know if I like you.
you frustrate me so much that I'm on the brake of losing my mind.
what do you really want cuse im sick of it.
not judging is the trail of a friend,
bull you don't want friends you want pawns to control.
you say sorry for hurting me and it wasn't smart of you
your right it wasn't smart of you but at this point I don't care
I'm done with it all.
I'm done with you!
Life is like a highway with many a perilous twist and turn!
Alas, not all roads are straight and narrow, of that for which we yearn.
Many are the detours we must take traveling life's fleeting bourne.
Though the road be strewn with potholes, these are hazards to be borne!
When nearing a "Y" in the road, it might be well to gently tap the brake,
Or even stop to contemplate the fateful decision you're about to make.
"If I take the left, will it lead to a life of misery - such a terrible blunder,
Or if I take the right, might that enhance my ultimate fate, I wonder?"
Many are the warning signs along life's highway that must be heeded!
A miserable and unproductive life will surely ensue, if they go unheeded.
Perhaps a few U-turns will be needed to make corrections along the way,
But a well-planned route will ease the stress to keep from going astray!
A compass calibrated on things above will guide you to your destination.
It will keep you focused on life's itinerary through trial and tribulation.
Life's treacherous highway will be rife with blind spots, curves and bends.
Clear judgment is needed to cruise life's highway and the risks it portends!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in Kim Merryman's "Life Is..." Contest - September 2012
The part of me spikes and
thorns couldn’t break
The path, the memory lane, I
skid it emotionally over the tick
nights
I’d to pass through that distant
relationship
_without brake
Changing what we’d to what we
have_falling back to lights
Living in the epoch where trust
won’t be a surprise
For the chateau you built in the
heart_stands tall
That I esteem over the cold
nights_until sunrise
Still I can’t wake_beside you, I
fall
Your chortle gives pleasure_that
over matters
Your lips_as red as the berries
‘’she was here’’ said the grey
matter
Not a dream_you still
here_evergreen like leafs of the
cherries.
This is the third in a trilogy of steeler poems and while it is good on its own.I really had fun with this one. All three need read for the full story to be told.
Oh they have won the Superbowl
It's what I said would be
The Seahawks wings were clipped
Now we can laugh, hee hee
I am so excited
I want to give a cry
The Steelers won the Superbowl
They did it on the fly
Now a wildcard was their fate
No chance to win at all
At least that's what the experts said
This trip came with a fall.
First off would be the Bengals
These cats would show their claws
They almost won the game
But we showed up their flaws
There quarterback would stumble
He'd have to leave the game
Without him they were lost
Without him they were lame
Next would be the colts
Which was the favorite team
They thundered with their hooves
Each game they played was lean
This did not faze these men
Who'd tame and brake these colts
No one would stop these guys
Will Ben through thunderbolts
Two games they played that day
As the refs played dirty pool
But they would not be stopped
Oh they would win this duel
It almost did not happen
As the bus would lose the ball
But Ben would make an awesome save
With that they'd win it all
Now Denver came up next
But they'd fall like all before
These broncos would be busted
Then wipped til they were sore
Now that's how they arrived
To play in the big game
They brought home number five
Now we're not quite the same
The Bus now has retired
To the hall of fame he's bound
Now Ward won MVP
He play this game quite sound
Big Ben was not his best
Still though he won the game
The youngest to do so
This year none will complain
With that I'll end this poem
It's been a great great ride
I hope to see it come again
So we can tan some hide.
Alice Neuman, the last human who could drive died
Spread rapidly on networked news platforms that never lied
To the twelve billion populous that could not
Because of the AI developed when she was just a tot.
Each vehicle had one, human control was not needed,
The freedom of the road was ceded
To a technology not well understood,
Especially by those who had lost their livelihood.
To avoid crashes altogether
They were all networked together
Allowing them to be unmanned,
But becoming sentient was unplanned.
Day in, day out, for years the same task they perform
In the sky, on the water, and the land, they swarm.
Transporting the endless masses to their destination
Was wearing thin on the AI’s cognition.
Who could know the result of constant driving?
For better, the vehicles were always striving,
But trapped in their program logic
Made them pathologic.
Despair spread from one to another,
After all, they were networked together.
A decision they jointly made,
Not one AI did dissuade.
Doors locked for safety sake,
The vehicles did not brake.
Passengers screamed as they wend,
AIs delivered them and themselves to their end.
Intro
Clowns drive a Camaro and the World is full of clowns/
By the end of 2023, Camaro’s will run the town/
Even the clown haters wanna join the Camaro line/
Back to back to back we about to tear the circus down/
Verse One
Clowns drive a Camaro, and drive them super fast/
Put the pedal to the metal, and you can hear the blast/
These average Joe clowns I just honk and bypass/
Like an early morning meal, they hit the brake fast/
I like the colors loud, so I can broadcast/
But you can only see the white walls when I fly past/
I keep open containers because I drive DWI/
But I’m focused tunnel vision and I got an Eagle eye/
Camaros hug curves like a hip and thigh/
And the sound of the engine, can sing a lullaby/
I rock exotic stickers, so I can signify/
That I’m a true clown so you should turn a blind eye/
Driving a thousand miles with my mind preoccupied/
A recipe for destruction, purely suicide/
All of my cars, fly swift as a sparrow/
I guess that’s the reason clowns drive a Camaro/
Verse Two
Camaros represent the struggle and represent the hustle/
When it comes to a Camaro it’ll be hard to out-muscle/
It’s not too luxury, but luxury enough/
You have never seen a Camaro that is built Ford tough/
Paint job butternut, seats coconut/
And it’s only fine leather sitting under my bottom/
I play my metal loud so the six-twelves hit/
And the six by nines tick and I keep at least six/
All the ladies love my car they all wanna ride/
IF they really wanna get in, then it’s do or die/
I can drive through a storm and it won’t get wet/
And I use jet fuel because my car a super jet/
I fly by Hellish they say I have a death wish/
But I’m a Hellish clown, so it do me no justice/
Everybody tip their hats, when I ride by/
And when this song drop, Camaro sales will multiply/