Long Bumpers Poems
Long Bumpers Poems. Below are the most popular long Bumpers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bumpers poems by poem length and keyword.
I want to write about getting what you want
Does God always give you what you want?
You bet
If what you want is what He wants
Does He give you what you don't want?
No
So you can scratch that
And start with what you want
By praying that what He wants is only what you want
And only that
Am I making any sense?
You should only want what He wants
And that's that
Once you pray that, you will find that
He will bent over backward to give to you
It will take time
But you will find that - one by one it came true
And you totally forgot that that was what you prayed
Surprised yourself
God not only gives you what you want
But over and above what you want
I was driving a 2008 Honda Accord
It wasn't too old but not too new
Okay definitely was not new
Did not want to get another one, especially a new one
Until I have put in at least 200,000 miles
My plan was gun ho
It was all beat up - the bumpers anyway - scratched up and things
But God had a different idea
He set me up with a new car
Even had a car picked out for me
I had no plan to get a new one
sitting in the service department getting my car fixed
So you see
Once what you had that that what you want is what He wants
He will upgrade you
And not only give you what you want
But what He wants also
And what He wants is the best
I'm not complaining lol
Just thought I'd share that with you
I'm in the clouds
Because what I want the most has finally come true
Not the car!
Right with Him all the time :)
Pinballs
Flashing lights cacophonous torment
silent blindness screams of nothing
Plunger lost in apathy comfortless striking void
pistons firing on empty
Flippers halted in stagnant mid flight
motionless surreal delusion
Sensors tilted upside down and further
making no sense of no meaning
Bumpers like icy mountain’s thin air
pick axe forgotten on the descent
Sink holes covered in quick sand
vacuous craters enveloped madness
A ‘level’ play field and yet where are those balls
of courage to tell them how I really felt?
09th August 2018-08-08
Written for the contest: ‘I wish I had the balls to tell them how I really felt’.
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
~ To the tune of:
'Where Have All the Flowers Gone?' ~
Where have all the comics gone
Long time passing
Milton Berle and Alan King
Long time did their thing
Where have all their insults gone
Long time passing
Don Rickles and Groucho Marx
Echo in empty parks
Where has all the slapstick gone
Long time passing
Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe
Gave way to milquetoast shows
Where have all the tap dancers gone
Sammy Davis, Donald O’Connor
Bumpers and grinders of today
Do the greats a dishonor
Where have all the comics gone
Georgie Jessel and George Burns
Gone the way of Romantic poets’ poems
~ Like Keats’ ‘Ode to a Grecian Urn’
A child in time
Innocence was not youth, innocence was the times
We all sat at the dinner table
Discussions were lively, as adult’s sipped wine
That old Volkswagen, a trunk of memories
Now sitting in the graveyard of old rusty cars
Wishing for shinier days, and a fresh cold coca cola
Frozen in my mind, rusty bumpers, forever a time to cherish
Some dreamed of voyages to space
I dreamed of far away meadows
Where nothing ever changed
Childhoods magically suspended in time
Let me say, time is no ones friend
We spend it easily in our youth
We treasure it like frankincense with each passing day
Love captures our hearts, will time let it stay?
We see the world around us die
Knowing this is nature’s way
Pain, as loved ones fade
Wither away, as we linger on
Day after day
The same questions float in my head
Why do things have to change?
Am I not better off dead?
Love is bound by tears of the heart
A soft kiss or eyes that speak in lustful silence
It matters not, not at all
We must suffer this world as humans do
Me, I shall cling to yesterday
The days of abundance of spirit and youth
I shall dance inside these memories
These are the happy shadows of the past
Oh in the early days you couldn’t wait to get your hands on my curves
Now I am getting older, you simply don’t want to know
The times you got my motor running
How you loved to get me all fired up
Engines firing we went the full distance
Suddenly you lost all interest in me
Cashed me in for a younger prettier model
Ruthlessly you cast me aside, left me all alone
All I need now is a bit of love and affection
Put some polish on my bumpers and I’ll be raring to go
How I miss you being part of my life
Even after all these years I still pine for you
Abandoned when I still had so much left to give
Past my prime, now I’m on the scrapheap of life
Rusted and Busted Sponsored by Casarah Nance
06~12~16
Do you feel the great turning, the maelstrom coming around, spitting sparks of searing birds that circle each other screaming in a language like pain? Blisters burning feathers, beaks and eyes till they ignite like flares spiralling in the tempest of this world. High performance vehicles lose their wings in ever-turning pressure, four by fours and pickups, thousand cc superbikes all spinning round and round. Their windows, bumpers, lights and panels flail off into airy channels, ricochet off stop lights scutter down the highway till they form an evil spout. Sucking up the houses, gardens, fences, trees and chickens, dogs and cats and mice and rats and farmyard animals. Spinning them so hard they break up turning and exploding like cartons spraying all across the town. Gaining pace the maelstrom grows, widens, sucks up earth and loess, strips the soil and grinds it up and spits it out. Spreads over the terrain, living feeding off the pain, sucking the last seeds from the fields. Finds the streams and all the rivers, cuts them out like veal and liver, eats them up like a cannibal. The sound is like a roar of terror, amalgam of all vicious weather, battering, beating, bruising every soul. And yet we won’t stop the oil fields, pipelines, stripping whole horizons just for dirty shale.
Fractured Light Fragments
Ghostly gloom, born of foreboding stillness,
Cut to smithereens - shattered shards of energy escape
From the whirlwinds in feral fragments with serrated cutting edges -
Wary night watch warned of sirocco’s spinning untamed spiral catastrophe -
Blinding firebolts erupt splitting open serenity
Nightfall dodges crackling outbursts of released electric voltage flying wild
Splintered slivers of eye piercing shards - ragged air’s racing volatility
Sorcerer of sonic thunder bumpers, releases all pent up booms
Rips wide the momentary abyss of suspended oblivion
Slamming closed jagged air’s fractured ozone.
Smashed bits of broken midnight solitude crumble in the drumfire
Rumble in rushing waves of tattered sound through towering thunderheads,
Torn edges of reverberation echo again -
Flashing shadows stalk tranquility with their slashing thunder.
7-21-21
Contest: Fragmented Spaces
Sponsor: Constance La France
Fractured Storm
Ghostly gloom born in brooding stillness
Cut to smithereens with shards of energy
Whirlwinds in feral fragments shrillness
Warn of wild catastrophe.
Blinding firebolts erupt to split serenity
Nightfall dodges crackling outbursts released
Platinum tempests burst electricity
Splintered lights race on volatility increased.
Sonic thunder bumpers, let go pent up booms
Rip wide the transitory abyss
Slams closed jagged air as thunder looms
Solitude in ragged sound dismissed
Smashed bits of broken midnight crumble
Air’s torn edges reverberate in harrowing echoes
Drumfire’s waves of serrated sound rumble
Flashing thunderheads shriek in falsettos.
Night watch sees siroccos spiral spin
As raindrops on the dry earth sizzle
Downpours splash in roaring torrents din
Gales at rest – storm remnants sing thin whistles.
12-29-21
Contest: Weather
Sponsor: Angela Tune
N/A - 1-5-22
Contest: Your Second Chance 1st
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Firebolts can be found in the Merriam- Webster Dictionary
summer rain
cotton candy clouds
whispy trails like spun sugar ~
sly mists mask the skies
muggy breathless air
leaves hang limp upon their boughs ~
mute the summer song
heat in mirages
shimmering waves sweltering ~
sweet star jasmine blooms
winds like banshees rise
hypnotic dust shadows spin ~
crickets take cover
monsoon clouds rumble
dark humid fury gathers ~
lightning waits to strike
thunder bumpers swell
full of humid heaviness ~
fevered fireballs flair
muggy raindrops fall
scent of rain on sidewalks
drought runs for its life.
8-1-22
Roll up to the amusement arcade.
Behold all the video games you can play -
Dodgem car driving games, smash-'em-up derbies.
Claw-crane lunge-and-snag-a-toy games,
Pop-a-shot in basketball hoops,
Pac-Man, Mario, Galaga, Street Fighter.
Way-back in the far shadowy back corner is the
Old ‘Pinball-For-Poesy’ Machine,
with lights blazing like a disco-machine.
“5 Stanzas Fires for a Buck,” reads the sign.
Come on, Come on, give it a go,
you might spark a thought or two!
So I pay my coin!
Down drops the first shiny metal shot.
I pull back the plunger thing, and let it fly!
Off it goes, ricochets off the bumpers.
Careens off the slingshots and rings.
Blasting up and down ramps, snakes and ladders.
Bells ring, lights flash, up goes the score!
Then—look out!
Just when the ball is about to go down the rabbit hole,
I flip the paddle at the bottom, timed with every twitch of nerve,
up goes the ball into the next phrase.
Up it soars, triggering flashes of memory and firecracker thoughts,
thumps, bumps and clangor in my brain.
The bells and whistles ring -
It’s a riot of sparks and sound.
Sadly then, it ends, when my time and luck runs out.
After the fifth ball drops down the abyss,
I’m out!
The poet is thrilled that someone paid to play the game.
Grateful that the reader shared their pinball plunge,
with all its bumps, thrills, bells and whistles.
Following the orbit of words and sparks,
written with the intention of meaning,
hidden between the lines, in the magician’s puzzle of suggestion.
The poet is happy for the reader to
see what they see, hear what they hear,
feel every pulse and flash inside themselves.
Without the poet casting a spell, or implying meaning,
in the telling.