Long Gasoline Poems
Long Gasoline Poems. Below are the most popular long Gasoline by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gasoline poems by poem length and keyword.
I didn’t want to light the flame,
But damn, you handed me the match.
We played a bitter little game—
Now neither one can scratch the scratch.
I offered peace, I begged, I tried,
You laughed and chose the sword instead.
So now the happy parts have died—
I burned the photos in my head.
The goal was never you or me,
It somehow morphed into “the win.”
A hollow crown for victory,
A throne of ash and spite and sin.
I killed myself to keep you out,
Destroyed the bridge, then danced alone.
A funeral march in one-man clout,
Applauding ghosts with broken bone.
I sacrificed the laughing days,
The warmth, the couch, the late-night talks.
Replaced it with this molten maze—
You brought the knives, I brought the locks.
So raise a glass to all we were,
Then smash it like I smashed our past.
This ain't revenge—it's just the blur
Of love gone nuclear at last.
I didn’t flinch—I struck the spark,
With gasoline and steady hand.
You screamed, but I preferred the dark—
I smiled while torching all we planned.
You thought I’d beg, crawl back, forgive?
I gutted “hope” and wore its skin.
You want a war? Then let’s not live—
I don't lose fights. I just cave in.
I saw the white flag in my grip,
But blood makes prettier décor.
Peace? Please. I’d rather let it rip—
Your silence begged me for a war.
Each happy thought, I carved apart,
A scalpel through our wedding song.
I nailed our love up like art—
Then laughed, ‘cause hell, it felt so wrong.
I cracked my mind to break your hold,
Poured bleach on every shared regret.
You turned my warmth to something cold—
So now you’re just a smoking threat.
You made me choose: your soul or mine.
I chose to burn us both alive.
This isn’t hate—it’s the design
Of someone done trying to survive.
So here we are, no love, no you.
No me, just echoes drenched in red.
The prize? A throne of shattered truth.
The cost? My last soft thought is dead.
Trump is impossible, the media say
Hope he’s gone soon, many pray
He’s vile, vulgar and repulsive
Not to mention totally impulsive
Says what he wants, when he wants – Imagine that!
Tells so many ‘stretchers’ – His tongue’s an acrobat!
‘Course the Southern border’s quiet these days
And gasoline costs way less, by the way
Amidst predictions of economic disaster not coming true
There’s a boon and a boom in store for me and you
He’s taken out Iran and now Venezuela
Their pariah rulers about to crater
But who cares about prosperity, peace and hope
~ The President needs to be more celibate than the Pope
-O Lord
The morning sun taste like almonds and cinnamon;
And your daughter her voice smelled liken lavender;
~Florescent Father breath resonates~
As the music sounded heavy as thunderous rain storms;
So the color green feels like satin emeralds pearls;
The color red taste like licks from a new born pup;
~The Father's touch embraces me~
As midnight rain is bitter as heated cactus leaves;
The wind look as a muddled dream as:
I'm seeing him walk envisioned was like hearing:
Bells from the church Cathedral;
~Florescent Father breath resonates~
-Tasting the night’s dinner was like watching Angels eating heavenly manna;
Hear her cry was like tasting honey nectar
Smelling the gasoline was like touching autumn's camp fire
~My Father's eyes and heart kisses me~
Touching her dying father’s hand was like seeing
A brazen burnt horizon, orange scene dry compensating;
We're yet alive as my Florescent Father breath resonates~
-O Lord
The Father's touch embraces me~
My Father's eyes and heart kisses me~
We're yet alive as my Florescent Father breath resonates~
8/13/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
written for project North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)assignment
Gasoline tears
The truck
Plows forward
Into the masses
Blood and destruction
Morality hijacked by abduction
Evil deeds pervade these cloudy days
Compassion is tossed into the sea in place of the devils seduction
Humanity dances with both tears and foe, the meek shall be the victors
Satan’s followers shall face the garrote, headless will be those boa constrictors
Do not be fooled by silent ones and men behind masks disguising their petty angers
Humanity dances with both tears and foe, the meek shall be the victors
Rays of the sun, the glow of the moon, and the beat of loves heart
Flower gardens shall grow tall, on the soil of the rotten evil ones
Goodwill shall peak behind the clouds, hugging humanity
Compassion shall dance on angelic wings
Love and passion triumphant
Plows forward towards
Eternity
Gathered my belongings and I burned them as an offering
to who I might one day become if I could let them go.
I knew this gesture could be seen as one more case of posturing
but I’d grown tired of who I was and all that status quo.
Wind was blowing, killed the flame, so I poured on more gasoline
and never gave a single thought that I, too, might be burned.
In my head it would be like what you’d see on the silver screen
where Karma only bites the ones whose lessons are not learned.
And the flames rose up
And the smoke blew away
Everything I had been
Only yesterday…
Sitting in a lawn chair with the green grass tickling my feet,
complacently I watched as my possessions turned to ash.
Imagining a better place, a house way up on Easy Street,
Where I could spend my lazy days just twirling my moustache.
Wind was growing, felt the heat so I moved my chair back a bit,
distancing myself from all the things that I’d thrown out.
Now short on accelerant , I packed away my arson kit.
Never felt so certain though down deep I still felt doubt.
And the flames all danced
In a weird display
That I would have feared
Only yesterday…
As the sun was setting all the embers started sputtering
and slowly growing colder in the evening Autumn air.
And I could feel my heart, like a butterfly was fluttering
looking for escape or just an answer to a prayer.
Wind was gently dying down. Packed the car, anticipating
moving on and moving up and reinventing me.
Red and orange, the glowing coals were still so oddly captivating,
so I stayed to witness the end of the mystery.
And the flames all died
Like an old cliché
That I might have said
Only yesterday…
I can't deny the allure of stability.
A red-brick house with a front porch and wooden pickets,
A mango tree with summer-drooping branches,
A spice garden in pitchers and pots.
The long corridor that runs to the living room,
The stairs that lead up to the worldly roof.
Chiming winds curling the curtains on the windows,
Darkness receding from south to north.
Where Your steps will echo in the rhythm of the rain,
And where I will be, drenched in your scent,
Reciting Tagore.
Ah!
What a life it'll be!
You, me and eternity.
I want it all and I want the road,
Sunsets, gasoline and upcoming bends.
My greed has never known bounds,
My hubris to get to you and get away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 19 / 12 / 2016
'Sansar' means family microcosmical, while in a broader sense it denotes the physical world.
A is for gasoline and matches
B is for Las Cruces, Lincoln County and Natchez
C is for zebras wearing stripes
D is for frozen broken pipes
E is girls with long eyelashes
F is lightning when it flashes
G is for toy boats that float in rain
H is an old man, without his cane
I is for apricots and spiced yams
J is for white wine, garlic and clams
K is for consciousness and free will
L is predestination, flavored with dill
M is for the back or was it the front
N is a hound that refuses to hunt
O is for lazybones and slackers
P is for catfish and stale crackers
Q is for lion - king of the jungle
R is for antibiotics and antifungal
S is the feeling you get when you're sick
T is for candles burned to the wick
U is for dreams caught in snatches
V if for blue jeans and sewed on patches
W is a fellow who is soft in the head
X says it's time he goes to bed
Y is to ask why he can't spell
Z is to answer he rhymes pretty well
Hell hath no fury like a woman with PMS.
It's that time of the month and I'm in distress.
I'm hiding in the bedroom and it's a good thing that the door is latched.
My wife poured a gallon of gasoline over my head and lit a match.
It's times like these that make me regret that I even know her.
When I asked what's for dinner, she came at me with a flamethrower.
My head and torso are covered with burns that are third degree.
She's trying to chop down the door, somebody please help me!
I need somebody's help and I'm prepared to beg.
I just jumped out the window and broke my legs.
When it comes to my wife's PMS, I never win.
I don't mind my injuries just as long as I never see her again.
(This is a fictional poem.)
I know she is there. I want her smell.
I need her rage, I want her to show me her anger.
She stirs me up, keeps me riled, twist me her way.
Pyromaniac! My daddy said. What is wrong with you?
His voice haunts me.
The sight of him screaming in my face.
Over and over.
Parading nightly.
Her dancing, twirling, prancing whirling happy flames.
Her whirling dress of reds, oranges and yellows.
I know she is there. I need her smell. I glance at my mother.
Is she asleep? Can I get by with it tonight?
I tiptoe to the garage where the gasoline is kept.
He has locked it!
I am enraged.
She is calling my name.
Demanding.
Commanding.
Begging me to spread her wrath.
Luckily an axe was left in the tree stump.
I had left it myself.
I chop a hole in the garage.
What are you doing?
I chop a hole in my dad.
I am in a frenzy now.
Gasoline, gasoline, I am coming, my love.
Pyromaniac? Sure. I might be. Who am I to say?
I am enraged.
I am possessed.
I am fire.
Stand back, voices.
I pick up the gasoline.
Shut up voices!
I am THE fire!
I am pyro.
Going to the top
Of the mountain isn't easy
It requires readiness
Energy and preparedness
Have the wisdom of a mountaineer
The courage of a lumberjack
And the intuation of a camper
First step to a hike is interesting
The base camp is life's stationary
Going further is already breath gasping
The mind is questioning to return
You're not halfway yet the body is aching
The wind is howling and you stop once in a while
How long you move forward the knee is tired
Never give up the banner, go for your dream
Hope and strength is your gasoline, go for it
The night is dawning and the sun will break through
The summit is near and soon you'll be there
As long as there's a way up there you'll get there
If there's no way, make a way to be there
Man is design to conquer what is under the sun.