Long Drive Poems
Long Drive Poems. Below are the most popular long Drive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drive poems by poem length and keyword.
Renegade trees pop up faster than dandelions all over my yard
I live in the country where I credit good old fashioned Kansas clay.
I wake up in the morning and bam, six new stalwart soldiers.
They guard wildlife as well as me, of course.
Fox, wolf, squirrel, bunnies, owls and cardinals live in these trees.
They prance or hop out sometimes, just to show me they are there.
I have elm, mulberry, willow, walnut, oak and acorns for sure.
I do not rake up any walnuts or acorns, preferring to feed squirrels.
I am rarely gone, but one time I was gone for four whole days.
When I drove down my drive, the trees waved in elaborate ways.
Their branches were flying up in the air on both sides, like a hello.
As soon as the car stopped, the waving stopped.
My husband asked me “What is up with those trees?”
“I think they were telling me hello,” I replies.
I hugged them extra hard that day,
And I swear they squeezed me back.
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:
“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”
“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
.
.
Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
oh
come
my love
and take
a trip with
me upon a
sailing ship
we'll sail the
mighty River Nile
relax, take my hand
awhile, magical times
and spooky night tombs
historical sites and temples
where sands of desert extend
in all of these incredible regions
the reeds as they
rush by azure
waters
reflect
the
sky
Valley of the Kings, the land upon which we touch in awe
ancient Egyptian feluccas are silent on the water
stretch to try to find our one genuine drive
the need to reach out and stifle the blaze.
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Written: May 26, 2023
1St Place Contest Winner
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1220 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Sponsored by: Vanya Evangeline
How empty can an inbox possibly be?
Not unlike a door..... practically off at hinges
The paint is definitely peeling
More than one shutter has fallen astray.
One piece at a time
Have you ever seen that?
How old houses....
the shutters give way one slat at a time
It's almost like watching a clock tick
After 1 year the slat on the front shutter drops by 1/4
of an inch
By year two there are three slats on the front shutter and four on the back falling falling slowly
Drop an inch...drop an inch
small little pieces of wood losing their ballast
By year five the paint's chipping on all of the shutters
you can tell they were all red once or some dreadful pungent green
Then great shards of paint seem to start clinging off of the clapboards too
Can see it almost like a song
plunky pock rock or a slow lanquid sad ballad
a song of one lost a sea or to storm or just decay
the first chip of paint is the first note
and then all of a sudden the whole house seems to want to join in and it's chip chip chip , chuck,chuck pluck pluck plunky plunkity and it's a symphony of lost paint chips like raindrops sound in an empty metal pail
Neglect
nobody cares ....that the shutters are falling apart
and no one cares that the symphony of chips of paint has begun
because nobody lives there anymore and no one is listening except fro teh occasional drive by
If that house was an inbox.
It would understand mine
Such
an empty house
When you're the first person to enter
an empty house...
It's like you're swirling the dust
of the only thing that lives there
elves and fairies and dust dune devils
it's like they know you're there
But there is just the eerie silence
The elves, sprites, ghosts and memories cling to what remains of the tattered curtain...awaiting a...curtain call?
The house is never ever really empty
The walls remember the hands
The ash remembers the fire
The sink can still taste the water and feel the rust
Even the dust on the floorboards remembers what it was like to be mud on a boot or a cell of her skin
An empty house has more inhabitants
than my inbox
in the beginning....My inbox had a voice
Maybe even my in-box remembers
how it once said
"You've got mail"
My Way
When I hear the song, “My Way.” I think of the narrow road I used
to walk in the valley of my Shangri-La, with lions in the tall grass
green crocodiles in the ditches and wolves in the woods
My dog came along on my wandering, she accepted the wildlife but had a fear of sheep that stopped feet when she came near
Behind a low wall, an ancient mule lived, belonged to no one but itself; the animal was glad to see me, knew I had a few slices of bread and kind words stroking its flanks, to my dog's annoyance.
So, we lived, the grapes on vine full of juice and free to eat, what more can anyone ask for.
One day, when the mule died, they came put a rope on her hind legs, dragged her to a hollow
a digger dug a hole; I mourned her passing, but the next year an abundance flowers grew on her grave the nature honored her passing.
Oh, how old we grow, the dog preferred sitting on the terrace when
not sleeping on the sofa, I had a scooter and drove every day to my secret paradise, but my visit was much shorter than before
The wildlife had been in my mind.
My dog died, I buried her in a cave between two sandstones; our time together had been too short, but happy.
I continued to drive, but the road was dusty, the wind blew and I had a wintry heart.
So, old man, you did it your way, but who is going to bury you?
Reverence the Lord for He Cares for Us: By Dana Redricks
We should reverence the Lord. He has the power of life and death. This passage Paul tells us, God loves us, and no one can take that love, or snatch us out of God's Hand. He loves us so much He knows every detail about each one of us. Just as God cares for the birds of the air, and everything He created, God values us above all things." “I say to you, My friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will point out to you whom you should fear: fear the One who, after He has killed, has authority and power to hurl [you] into hell; yes, I say to you, [stand in great awe of God and] fear Him! Are not five sparrows sold for two copper coins? Yet not one of them has [ever] been forgotten in the presence of God. Indeed the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not be afraid; you are far more valuable than many sparrows." (Luke 12:4-7).“The power of your enemies is a limited power (Luke 12:4): I say unto you, my friends” (Christ’s disciples are his friends, he calls them friends, and gives them this friendly advice), “be not afraid, do not disquiet yourselves with tormenting fears of the power and rage of men.” Note, Those whom Christ owns for his friends need not be afraid of any enemies. “Be not afraid, no, not of them that kill the body, let it not be in the power of scoffers, not even of murderers, to drive you off from your work, for you that have learned to triumph over death may say, even of them, Let them do their worst, after that there is no more that they can do; the immortal soul lives, and is happy, and enjoys itself and its God, and sets them all at defiance.” Those can do Christ’s disciples no real harm, and therefore ought not to be dreaded, who can but kill the body; for they only send that to its rest, and the soul to its joy, the sooner." Matthew Henry Commentary
When I was a child,
I had a wonderful dream,
In my dream,
I saw Jesus Christ,
By the road He passed by,
And He was riding on His bike;
Then, when He saw me,
In front of me, He stopped
And He invited me to ride.
His hands were so soft,
He extended and I hold;
With a smile, he said,
"Come to me my child,
Come with me, I am Jesus Christ.
Like your father,
I drive you safely to school,
Don't be afraid, I am not a ghost.
My clothes show
That I am Holy and Pure,
Come with me,
Because I love you forever more.
--FEATURED POEM FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF OCT,. 2012-- Thank you so much PS for featuring my poem!
Love in the Lord will save you
Love in the Lord will help you
Love in the Lord will prepare you
Love in the Lord will drive you
Love in the Lord will work you
Love in the Lord will pay you
Love in the Lord will change you
Love in the Lord will teach you
Love in the Lord will gear you
Love in the Lord will develop you
Love in the Lord will give you what you need
Love in the Lord will get you what you want
Love in the Lord will increase you
Love in the Lord will become you
Love in the Lord will go with you
Love in the Lord will right you
Love in the Lord will set you apart
Love in the Lord will love you
Love in the Lord will welcome you
Love in the Lord will prolong your life
Love in the Lord will fight for you
Love in the Lord will advance you
Love in the Lord will give you life
Love in the Lord will see you
His heart was black as coal a cantankerous soul
So cruel and so unkind
He was ever so clever but never would ever
Reveal what's on his mind
It was commonly known was a cad fully grown
And a savage from birth
His only decision and only one vision
Was to ravage the Earth
Then one night in a dream the most devilish scheme
Ever devised by man
On a day in December a day we'd remember
He hatched his evil plan
With his hatred alive he then took a long drive
Down to the hotel Ritz
Soon his plan implemented a bomb he invented
That would blow it to bits
As a matter of fact he thought the hotel was packed
But it was empty instead
By the light of the moon the bomb blew up way too soon
And brought it down on his head
The news got the story it was ever so gory
But we all know the rest
No longer no trouble lied dead in the rubble
The hotels only guest
It's good to be modern, don't you think?
Bowling alley, skating rink.
If we moderns want a swim,
we drive our cars down to the gym.
We've mastered plastics, studied steel,
no fears about tomorrow's meal:
our meat is packed, our fruit is tinned,
our ships can move without the wind!
But, seeking boons beyond all these,
we want to grab some colonies.
You know the kind of thing we mean --
the sea is blue, the forest green,
they pick wild fruit, bask in the sun,
they've never seen a gatling gun,
and when we show up with our forces,
we'll help ourselves to their resources.
We'll load the booty on our ship,
and sail away (and pay them zip) --
back to the belching chimney stacks
of Huddersfield or Halifax,
and "manufacture" something new
(the chocolate egg, the high-heel shoe)
then ship it back to Paradise,
and make them buy it. We win twice!
But 1860 -- what a shock!
Three new kids show up on the block,
see Martinique and Mandalay --
and say, "hey guys, we wanna play!"
The Slant-Eyes, Eyeties and the Hermans
(the Japanese, Italians, Germans)
can now boast countries of their own,
and want to join the Modern Zone.
But Britain and France (and here's the rub!)
are running an exclusive club.
They won't allow the new boys in.
So sit back, watch the war begin!