Long Freeways Poems
Long Freeways Poems. Below are the most popular long Freeways by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Freeways poems by poem length and keyword.
Im half awake, and glaring at the sunrise
distant brilliance slowly eating at my dry eyes
squinted to best witness the aureate Apollo
refract off blades soaked through with dew
heaven's first blush, midsummer quiet, and coffee scent
cast clarity, light unveiling the burden
weighing down on every living being
clearest with the coming of the day
burning black holes into my brain's blank slate
sundering my soul 'till shatter state
fast approaches on the infinity of empty space
veiled out ahead of me
Restless with the lethargy of baring witness
I stir the pit, and catch flames leap up
from within carbon prints of gray matter
quelled embers lay suffocating beneath
ash dunes and smoldering phoenix feathers
matted and clumped by filmy deliquescence
spent of all but their will to rise again.
I grasp at the green broken glass
strewn about my feet like seeds
planted by last night's ignorance
and the sin of forced forgetting that
we all someday pay recompense
for our vice's and the gluttonous
way we all practice immoderation.
The world is quiet in lull
humanity lost to an illusion
breathing soft
and sleeping soundly
altogether
We exist
to want and rub against
the way the world turns on
a crooked axis, each moment less lucid
than those sunspots and dewdrops
coursing through dirt-clay veins and
branding the cracked dirt with morning
I cant shake loose the afterimage
imprinted on my blunted senses
experiencing everything I reach
is less than whole
understanding the universe
exists as fragments blackened in spite
of time's one plight forever pulling it apart
The sunset split the sky,
the fire danced and spit,
and the condensation clotted.
I seized eternity that morning
amidst the doldrums of sleeping masses
its truth intimate and calming.
I sense slumber cease and the suburbs rustle
the dreamers stumble about in waking
to shower away their sweat and dreamt delusion
start their cars, and drive away in sync
I listen closely to their heavy sighs
the shift of sagging shoulder plates,
bent under with Atlas tugging at the reins
kind's struggle never ceases to
echo off of terra firma, quaking
with each clanking of the chains
that bind our beating hearts to
alarm clocks, freeways, work weeks
and the torment of monotony
Form:
SOME DAY THEY BE BACK HOME
(Ode To Jim Morrison)
By Roy A. Merritt
The Lizard King hissed and rasped
And crept up from behind
And the heat shivered 'round about
And made life seem sublime
And they listened to the vocals
Of that raging flashing poet
He was bound to a life so brief
And they certain that he know it
Pursuing women psychedelic pleasures
Getting higher and higher
Wishing all that encounter him
to set his life afire
And the sounds of the jungle
they buzzing with danger near
As the music of their native land
Was pounding in their ear
And these olive drab warriors
Mere children if at all
Toked and reminisced
And their life back there recalled
Driving down her freeways
Midnight alleys roamed
Crying in the darkness
Wishing to be back home
And the pounding beat sometimes scares them
Though friends nearby alone
Sick of the endless carnage
And wishing to be back home
And they wish they could mount that Crystal Ship
And fly to the moon reside
Cruising among the stars
On that slow rolling midnight ride
Come the morning they might be dead
Or take some poor fool's life
Dooming someone to sure eternity
They bring this land but strife
They have no notion they hate it
Hate it just as they
And wish they could flee this instant
And quickly fly away
Will it be that dear brothers
Or most assuredly it be the end
The end of us the end of us
My gentle lonely friend
And they wish they were with some LA woman
Had her curled up in their arms
Drinking in her promised pleasures
Surrendering to her charms
They would tease each other
And kindly verbal joust
As they listened to the music
There in that road house
You know they’d let it roll
Let it roll all night long
And now the distant choppers sound
And they wish they were back home
And now they know at last
They’re just riders, riders on the storm
This troubling life they're living now
Was planned before they were ever born
they know now it's just destiny
They have no say it's gone
And best they just submit dear friend
Some day they be back home
One way they’ll be back home,
One way they’ll be back home
This is the end
Keats’ Nightingale
The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism,
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.
Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active,
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth,
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth.
Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure,
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure,
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm.
When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn,
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety,
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity.
Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.
He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement;
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles,
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.
His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.
Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects,
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects;
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means.
When we planned our road trip we set up with Budget
that a Toyota Corolla would be waiting for us in Seattle
but after standing in line for 2 hours…I was a little rattled
When Budget ran out of cars and sent me to Avis…at their counter I was told…
“We don’t have your Toyota Corolla…but we can give you a new Kia Soul.”
Our Kia had 6 miles on it when we began our trip…
and as with any relationship we tried to take it slow…
while we navigated the Seattle freeways at night…we told her all the places she would go.
And she was such a good sport…wherever we went she gave it her best .
driving all around Seattle, Olympic national park and through the rains in the Northwest.
She took us all the way to the sun in glacier…she made this trip with ease
She drove right by a grizzly bear on our way to Lake Louise.
Through the dusty plains of Canada she waited patiently as we packed, unpacked and packed
and did not flinch in Montana when a pebble caused her windshield to crack.
We thought about substituting her because of that cracked windshield
but Deborah made the case
that in the 2000 miles we’d already driven….we’d grown accustomed to her face.
Besides, we figured at this point we had nothing to lose and everything to gain….
So on she drove us with her cracked windshield to Canada
then into Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine.
In Maine, like us, she rested for a few days…
and I could fulfill a promise I’m sure she had come to doubt
that I would take the time to clean her…all of her…inside and out.
We got her when she was just a baby
I’m glad we decided to keep her in spite of her little crack…
and when we returned her to Budget in Bangor
she had more 6800 miles on her back.
It’s funny that Corolla we thought we were going to drive…
on this trip never played a part
But we were happy with our substitute…the Kia Soul with heart.
In 48 days she grew a little older, she’s not as aligned as she once was
and she’s developed a few scars everyone can see…
Perhaps that’s why we love her so much…
because she’s a lot like Deborah and me.
It was on a Sunday morning in the village where I stay
Out walking with my dog, I heard some pensioners say
Did you hear about the earthquake, it was somewhere in our State
No magnitude has ever been like it, it's impossible to relate
Quickly I headed home, to view this terrible news
Upon turning on the TV, I'm in horror at what my eyes now view
The awesome Golden Gate Bridge, against an azure bluey day
Lies broken, distorted and twisted, as if it's foundations had given way
The camera now focuses on the mainland, capturing plumes of choking black
Freeways lie twisted and contorted, trains running from their tracks
Gas lines spew throwers of flames, sirens resonate in blaring sound
What was level hours before, have dropped from it's original grounds
Many reporters are now on the scene, as they pan out across the blue
From the helicopter of CNN, Alcatraz disappears from their view
Slowly the island it sat on, as if by magic, now it has gone
Words are heard through the speakers, what the hells gone wrong
The daylight turns to black, a city lies in shreds
Memories of 1906, when three thousand plus were dead
All through the night, tremors came and went
Has history repeated itself, the San Andreas Serpent
I am awoken in the morning, having left the TV on
Panic stricken reporters screaming, most of San Francisco's gone
Where once stood a city, lie pillars of battered ruins
Deep gorges surround them, in bloodied scattered strewn
There's a break in the programme, it's from Yellowstone National Park
The land is starting to rise, incredible is the remark
Geysers that once flowed often, have receded in their shower
Are we about to witness, another of her powers
Back to the CNN studios, more footage of the morning
Towering inferno's in sickened tears, the clock, the warning
I fall to my knees in remembrance of the date
It's December the 21st, has earth met it's fate
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
Got yourself some new wheels, huh?
I can hear the squeals of rubber burning
I cough exhaust…left behind, oh gosh! I’m holding just a pile of dented fenders…
suspended… Your bucks spent. Engine Red..that foreign bred truck!
Snap, crackle and Popular Mechanic…Look at the maniac go….!
Holy, Moly….must be rolling in dough!
Woe is me, a junk yard dog, pile of junk, smelly sneakers left in my trunk
There he goes….who knows where….how many horses…under that hood...?
Should I know? I’d fly too, if I could. Just scrap metal in my bellow.
Heavy pedal, limp and wasted..used to be his favorite girl…kept me polished, waxed
and oiled…now I’m soiled. No garage..no umbrella, who gives a rip? Worn out
engine, give up the ship! Cast away…..not in style…gave a ride to Gomer Pyle
“See the USA in your Chevrolet"…, ‘cept that I ain’t got no carburetor
See ya later gator…what’s the hurry fella? Did ya see the light was yellow?
Red light, yellow light…. see if we can make the green
Going green….going green,….does that mean his hybrid’s clean?
Anti-freeze, it makes me sneeze….can’t I have some oil please?
Give ‘er the gas, let’s see what she’s got!
OH.. forgot!…ain’t got my tires..I’m retired
Pubescent male migration, arcing over sunless streets
Hear that squeak……doctor told me oil leak
Honest Engine, joined the pack, no Pontiac to take that ride
Is there heaven for old cars? Car 54 where are you??
I got my kicks on Route 66, running relays, no baton, just open freeways
Son of a gun…give it the gun……vroom.. vroom… run… run!
One door closes, need new hoses, or I don’t go nowhere… no how
Pile of rust, I’ve been busted, up on blocks…what a crock!
My teeth and pride are all knocked in…windshield wipers brush a tear
Windshield wipers swipe the years…skid marks show behind my eyes
Teeth and pride are all knocked in, guess I’m just an old has been!
______________________________________
a stream of consciousness
On the corner of East and West streets,
there is a parallel lane that
heads south, and just north of that,
there are three roads in a
four-block radius
next to a six
lane freeway
and a
bike
path
and a
Pet Park with
a dog run by
the racetrack next to
the railroad yard between
the docks and the airport but
officer, my friend will drive me
home since I live eighty miles away.
*After celebrating my September 3rd birthday with my friend out of town, wearing my grey-seal hush puppies, I walked to the nearest phone booth (no such thing as cellphone people) to call a nearby friend, because the guy that brought me was just loaded into a cab being too drunk. I'm the only one who doesn't live in the area, and I ain't paying for no $100 cab ride. After hanging up with my friend, I slumped down in the phone booth with my hush puppies out the door, and the local police showed up and took my statement. They gave me a copy since my friend showed up. My friend told me to read it because he never saw a place like it in the San Francisco bay area. My nonet describes several different places miles apart. I'm describing two of my sisters' homes, my third sister's workplace (bike path), my workplace (airport/docks), my parents home (pet park) and my home (BART train/racetrack). Six-lane freeways are everywhere. The title says it.
Date: 08/20/2019
'Autumn or September or October Nonet ' Contest Info
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Let’s take a
Road trip
Together.
I want to go
Far away,
Maybe
Even to
Outer space
Where we can
Race the stars
Across
The night sky-
I’ll fly you
Around
On clouds,
Drift soft
On winds
Or burrow
Deep in the
Ground-
A landmark
Unto myself-
I’ll show you my
Favorite things
And
Kisses in the rain,
Point out the places
That I have been,
And which ones
I’d rather never
See again.
We’ll sing songs
Like lullabies
And drive
The days away-
The important part
Is that
I’m with you,
And my home
Is sitting in the seat
Next to me.
If we get pulled over,
Remind me
To get my head
Out of the clouds
And watch my hands
As they go near the seat,
I’m only getting a wallet
To show my ID
But we’re in a white man’s
Territory
And they already
Follow me,
Pull up beside
The 7-11 to watch
What I walk
Into,
Convenience stores
Are on alert
And sometimes
White people
See our license plate
And follow right behind,
Tailgate up
On my bumper
Till we leave
Their
State lines
And
A little ways past that too.
Just ignore
It,
I know you’ll say,
But I’ll make sure
We make it safe
To a nice hotel
Where we can stay.
I’ll get us a room on the
Third floor
So I only have to watch
The door
I won’t sleep and
You’ll take the bed-
And when you are well
Rested,
We’ll get in the car again.
Drive into sunsets
And great canyons
And see all the things
That make up the
Free land we’re in-
Living
With one eye
Scanning the
Horizon
To see if we need
To get on the road
Again,
I’m double checking
Every blind spot
For ghosts
With pale skin-
I guess
What I'm trying to say
Is that
Our freeways
Are an open range
And I’m just
Standing in the way….
You know what,
I don’t want
To go on a road trip,
Lets just stay inside
Where it is a bit
Safer.
"The streams are my veins."
Rivers, rather than flowing around us, deliver vitality to every cell and fiber in the body. They are the life-giving arteries and veins of the earth. By Poet
Sarcastic, keen vision makes me shiver,
Some light gills merge to shape a grand river.
My shattered lungs could burst the concrete chains,
Each song stirs the vent veins of the liver.
All gentlest sounds conspire to clear my veins,
Your love flows like the Nile through Egypt's plains.
But can I ignore your love in my face?
Don't miss wetting the dense stems with your mains.
Wasting flowers could divest her of grace,
My soul was relieved by the tune's embrace.
Allow viewing realms from the onset.
She fascinates every time with the lace.
No applied falseness but switches my mindset,
I am just leery about this concept.
Dull words of fear, half peace, and half sorrow,
A halt would be marked; I lack an outset.
They say you were all over the bellow,
Croon in a shrewd tone, and you will follow.
Once you head me going, I'm harsh to sway,
I've seen creeks full of life rushing 'morrow.
A calm stream bears lithe life into the clay,
Reap peace and calm, at sea, don't jump astray.
All the sounds are causing my veins to stream,
No mountains or freeways prompt me to stray.
My veins run through my mind like magic-dream,
It's glum, but I note them in my bloodstream.
Your love spares me from being powerless,
When you wake up, it won't stop meaning realms.
Written: August 2nd, 2022
Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1ST Place Contest Winner
Used: HMS.COM// 10 syllables per line
Rhyme: AAbA-BBcB-CCdC...
The call to the East,
a low deep murmur,
a tune of sombre dulcet tones plays out - non-invasive,
A surreal hum through the air
as the crescent moon hangs low
A spiritual beacon for the faithful,
Prayers, as the day begins,
a blessing for all - unknown.
The gentle breeze plays its part,
a welcoming coolness before the heat arrives.
It's warm, a prelude to the dry heat to come
Not stifling, just hot
that sits still around you
bringing the moisture to your skin lightly
to change the colours of winters flesh to honey.
As my companions sleep,
the sun begins to wake,
the hubbub of commuters begins to escalate and grow
drowning out the 5am serenity - shades of pink a glow.
The space is alive, traffic moving,
breeze is cool, yet the air is warm and comfortable,
pollution rises where I sit watching the commuters.
Airport hotels, freeways, no hint of spice or salt from the sea,
just a metropolis as I wait for my friends to wake.
The view of walkways and lights,
an Emirates tail fin slowly moves between.
From this perspective it seems surreal,
lacking the space and depth to land a plane,
yet there it is, taxiing its way through the glass jungle of illuminated buildings.
Lighting a cigarette - no concept of time
as I luxuriate with both coffee and tea,
on the front balcony area of the waiting space -
an external cafe style seating - alone.
Security wanders through,
an occasional traveller for the shuttle bus
heading to some unknown destination waits,
and with the hum of cars there is a peace,
a silence and stillness - unhurried morning serenity.
It is time to move, to pack, to travel for the savannah,
as Nairobi awaits our next adventure.
We left Sunday,
I have slept thrice but only one day has passed.
It is Monday