Long Cars Poems
Long Cars Poems. Below are the most popular long Cars by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cars poems by poem length and keyword.
Thanks for the compliments
My smart phone limits navigation
Of this sight tho its newest technology
Well since the technology was
Bought off despite safety of many
Corporate selection instead of natural
Studabaker ruined by big three
You can't make cars safer you will
Offer the country something that's
Not on schedule for thirty years
But I digress Cause freedom not free
And its misrepresent in reality
No one fighting for freedom
Just upkeep of system cause the
Scholorship just offered a poor man
A shot at the spot from them to
Look down and not notice themselves
In a so called lesser man
Thank you for applying reason
To form understanding
Thank you for seeing poetic visualization
Instead simple word Smith
Creative release
And thank you for creating yourself
Thank u
Form:
on turning fifty
on turning fifty
today i looked in the rear view mirror
look back into the past
and see a speeding car go by
a decrepit car at that
unwashed, unkempt
with the driver having his nose in the air
the parallels to my life
more so with that car and driver epitomizing year fifty
... for my body and mind fringes on decrepitness, too
i reminiscence even more ...
at all the cars speeding by
all a blur
like the years of my life going by
in rapid succession
like i am ... how you say ... on a perfunctory march
i am, as we all are
my march, though, less happier than yours
fifty was a few years ago
and my nose stretches a little
how cute ... at least something still stretches
in my peripheral
the end of the freeway is near
how can it not be?
the aches and pains keep adding up
but what's eating me
are not the years going by
or the aches and pains
... it's having regrets
yes, regrets ...
it's taking the wrong fork in the road
earlier in life
and not having a foundation now
or having anything to show
it's watching everyone else tending to their
beautiful harvest ... as they turn fifty
their crops yielding and bountiful and rosy
i say bravo to them with all sincerity
yet how can this be ... my head shaking
and my harvest just a tumbleweed wreath of unplanted seeds,
unfulfilled dreams
... i hear a faint voice now of i told you so
yes mom you were so right
...what was that mom angels angels zap him,
zap him don't let him submit that...
huh? I can't hear you.
connie pachecho
4/13/17
In the intricate labyrinth of human existence,
where thoughts flow like rivers, untamed and deep,
there lies a deeply rooted disgust, woven into the fabric of society.
The human race, with its complicated dance of power and survival,
seems trapped in a web spun by animalistic fear, a relentless grip
in the honeycomb of survival, driven by an unending, primitive foolishness.
Families, marriages, and endless exchanges of power,
a symphony of dependency and aid, form the very essence
of what turns the stomach, a sickness born from proximity and bloodline.
Neighborhoods, districts, cities, states, and nations,
all intertwined, each hand reaching into the dark depths of the other,
desperate for a form of anchoring, a promise of continuity.
At twenty-five, most souls seem already exhausted,
a nation of beings, purposeless and mechanical,
driving their cars on the highways of mediocrity,
consuming and reproducing in a cycle of mindless repetition,
choosing leaders who reflect their most fractured reflections.
In this stream of consciousness, where each thought,
like a ghostly whisper, murmurs tales of disillusion,
I see a world collapsing under the weight of its own collective ignorance.
The poetry of human life has turned into a cacophony,
where every note is discordant, a nation lost in its own madness.
Yet, in this darkness, a melancholic beauty persists,
like a faint glimmer of hope in a sea of despair.
As I navigate through these shadowy corridors of thought,
there is a deep yearning for something more, a light to pierce the gloom,
to transcend the animalistic dance of survival,
and to touch the essence of true human potential.
In the depths of my soul, I seek the magic,
the spark that defies the chaos,
a vision of humanity unshackled by fear,
where the dance of existence becomes a symphony of harmony,
and the shadows of disgust are driven away by the dawn of a new, illuminated day.
Ah, twas most indeed innocent!
We had our morals, in our sights!
The scent of floral spring trees, on starlit nights.
In safe suburbia, for you and me.
Blessed were we, to live , virginially .
Life today has so changed!
As drugs of all kinds have driven kids
deranged.
Death by gun, is considered, normal
not strange.
A quick snapshot for you, of today’s
world, so changed!
Death you accept, as normal as any sunrise?
Funerals, you think are normal,I
Surmise.
When will you ever expect to live free
of fear?
You have given up totally,haven’t you my dear!
1/29/2022
beautiful drive through winding roads
forest paths and clear sky
shopping in town an hour away
riding high, friend and I
park my car in the parking lot
walking a honeycomb
of shopping, coffee , and dining
we're primed to head back home
how many times I’ve parked my car
forgot where it may be,
the exact location it was.
there are fools just like me
I don't have a fancy remote
Sigh! to set off my car
alarm and locate it by noise
I know it can’t be far
I’m tired of losing my white car
wandering up and down
trying my key to see which door.
I must look like a clown
a skill I still have not mastered
nightmares do still haunt me
looking ,but never there, stranded
it’s been towed without me
7/24/2016
True story. One day I tried my key in four different cars because they all look the same as mind and my friend just laughed at me.
Rhyme every 2nd and 4th line with a 8 6 8 6 syllable count using
http://www.howmanysyllables.com/
She sits on a street corner with a teardrop in her eye
Wishing she were in the cars of the people driving by
Her mother left with some john about two months ago
The man with the eviction notice didn’t care she had no place else to go
She carries in her small backpack everything she owns
The coming of the winter colds is in the winds that have blown
The bed she made on a City Park bench can comfort her no more
Her absences in the public school do not entice anyone to go looking for …
… the poor little black girl that nobody cares about
She has potential deep inside of her buried beneath the hunger pains
But nobody in this busy world recognizes what there is to gain
She is doing everything she possibly can to stop from turning tricks
But the only thing her mother taught her was how to hide the bruises from her kicks
The Styrofoam cup she holds out to strangers hasn’t collected any coin
People just leave her looks of disgust as if she is at fault for being forlorn
Shadows cast by the high-rise buildings grow longer with the setting sun
As commuters begin their journeys home she stands up in front of everyone …
… and the poor little black girl lets out a booming shout
“I don’t do this because I want to; being abandoned was not my choice;
I tried quietly to ask for help – but today I will use my voice
I turned thirteen years old today – the anniversary of another girl’s mistake
Is it too much to ask for, just once, a piece of cake?”
“You can pretend that I don’t exist; you can pretend that you’re better than me;
You can long for that future day when I am no longer here for you to see;
You can hate me and fear me and just turn your head the other way;
But you will see me again, sitting by our Father to hear your excuses come judgment day”
Businessmen and businesswomen stopped for just a minute
They looked around at one another not sure of the message or how to spin it
Then continued towards their taxis, subways, ferries and their cars
She stood alone after the sun went down beneath the twinkling stars …
It is up to you, now, to determine how this story turns out
Oh, the longings of a heart
Still waiting for romance to start
Such youthful whims and teenage dreams
They haunt my memory, it seems
Though cars and clothes in dancing beat
distracted from l’amour’s defeat
I knew they’d never ease the void
of urgent dreams yet unemployed
To love and be loved for all time
the requisite for life sublime
And so I persevered and found
The heart to which my love is bound
Though many years have furthered by
Emotions only magnify
So I recall as life rewinds
Fantastic dreams of simple minds
I heard you talk with your girlfriends
over mai tais the other day,
I heard clearly from the kitchen
the sorts of things you had to say.
You said good things about me, yes,
but then you started to complain,
and talked about all of the things
that you say you’re going to ‘change.’
You don’t like that I own some guns,
or that I sometimes watch NASCAR,
that I will not vote for lefties,
and prefer trucks to tiny cars.
You don’t like that I think Broadway
is a torture to be endured,
and you think that your influence
will somehow make me ‘more cultured.’
As if the things that I enjoy
somehow will leave you demeaned?
You even said that,”He’s so close
to being the man of my dreams!”
And when I brought it up later
you didn’t seem to understand,
said,”But babe, why wouldn’t you want
to grow into a better man?”
You got mad when I pointed out
the truth of the words you had said,
that it meant you didn’t really love
the man that you lay with in bed.
You love a hypothetical,
and not the person that you have,
that I’m somehow not good enough,
and that your presence is a salve.
Now imagine the reaction if
I went and said those word to you?
You’d be furious, up in arms,
the whole internet would be too.
To think that a man could somehow
demand a woman become more,
we’d have psychotic feminazis
come and explode right thought our doors!
Yet when women want to ‘change a man’
we just nod our heads and smile?
You such double-standards just
leave most men feeling defiled.
I don’t love you for what you will be,
No, I love you for what you are.
I don’t pretend I can ‘fix you,’
treat the imperfections and scars.
So I will be what I must be,
and I will like what makes me glad,
even if that involves some things
that you don’t get, or think are bad.
The vision you have in your head
is a dream and will remain so,
such ‘perfection’ is fantasy,
and that should not come as a blow.
I’m a partner, no a project,
so please accept this if you can,
I can’t be the man you dream of,
only the best of what I am.
My car stalled in the restaurant parking lot.
The waiter ran out,
To give me back my wallet.
I saw him waver from behind the restaurant window.
I have two identities.
I called the tow truck.
The driver told me what he thinks.
I feel the bumps in the rental car.
With me.
I’ve never been in the alternate dimension.
But the gravel I drive over has.
Driving in an unfamiliar car.
Becomes closer.
Slowing down but I wish…
My rental car stalled.
That’s what it’s like.
You rent a car, and rent a car, and rent a car.
A tow truck comes over, and over, and over.
Blue, green, red.
Cars I’ve driven in my head.
Waking up and I’m in Ohio.
I used to live there.
The other one.
I have two identities.
Me and the woman in the grey car.
She knew but said nothing.
She led him on, through the busy Congo junction
He only knew sound, oh and touch
She only knew sight and touch, and love
Their bones ached I guess, the tatters, the dirt, the old age!
He, he followed faithfully towards a Matatu that refused them
Oh the Makanga, that son of man, god, goddess, whatever!
So I asked God, WHY???
He looked up and stared and I stared back,
My mum taught me; staring is a bad behavior,
I did anyway, proudly!
I saw he was tired, old, sick
Oh my God! He carried a log on his shoulder
Still he walked on, in Kileleshwa
The cars, the houses, the wealth, the poverty bare!
I dared the question, until WHEN Lord???
The vicar this Sunday
Oh yes he will goddem say it
“God knows everything, He says trust me.”
I will retort, I will sneer, I will say it
“To hell with you all and your gods!”
The sheep will throw a WHAT??
God loves everyone the same
Some die of hunger, poor health, injustice!
All the same, God loves
God is all powerful and mighty, He is LORD!
Gadhafi, Hitler, Osama, Moi
They all lived among us
Genocide, terrorism, corruption, America!
They all kiss us “good night”
I beg the question
Is God good all the time;
All the time God is good???
You worry me, with your mouth agape
Save your judgment, I will save my sarcasm
What have I done to help?
What God is doing to help, I ask back
“God does not make what happens”
Save me the sermon,
I know not of Satan, devil, serpent, my foot!
The father rapes, the mother is murdered, the man is righted
The world is happy, crap! The world is sad!
A million sleep in the streets, a bunch in the slumbers
Patience in Jehovah you say???
I rest my case, I case with the owner of me
I case and question my existence
If at all it is any better than any of the rest
That others are used to show me grace and gratefulness
Vicar, are you serious, this sermon, really?
A leg she misses, where is the grace?
The grace in me having one, she doesn’t!!!
Yes I question God, WHY???