Long Hitch Poems
Long Hitch Poems. Below are the most popular long Hitch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hitch poems by poem length and keyword.
Bring me a cup of Java, honey, and put some coffee in the water, will you?...
Whoa there! Bet you can feel the withering sarcasm in that simple phrase...
People, I welcome you to the world of crime novels by James Hadley Chase...
With cryptic titles like I'll Bury My Dead, it's a crime novel befitting even the dead...
The protagonists in every novel, Mr Chase humanized each of them in good stead...
As a crime writer, Mr Chase has no master, or even an equal of his calibre...
Dialogues, suave and cultured or in the low life lingo, is excellence beyond compare...
Most of all, the many believable twists and turns in every one of his crime story...
You'll empathise with the hero and the heroine, and root for them in each story...
What Is Better Than Money is yet another master yarn uniquely spun by Mr Chase...
About how a piano player bidding time tangled with a junky beauty with trilling vocals ....
It is amazing how you will identify with the struggling two bit piano player as he grapples...
With the opportunity of a lifetime to hitch his economic wagon on a less than perfect starlet..
In No Orchids For Miss Blandish, I remember rereading the same book twice over...
To be thrilled and to savour how the master story teller spun the story altogether...
Mind you, I was back then just a little boy, given access to the senior section of the library..
Faced with rows and decks of all kind of books, I was a bewildered boy lost in the library...
Then I spied a rather worn out hard cover book entitled No Orchids for Miss Blandish...
Small in print, yellowed in pages and looked slightly misbegotten, but the title intrigued..
Reaching home, I could not put down the book once I started reading that slim book...
I was thrilled, I was truly engrossed in a fascinating tale of crime found within a book...
Etched in my memory to this day, I recall vividly the awe and the joy in novels by Mr Chase...
Little wonder through the years I often read and reread crime novels spun by Mr Chase...
James Hadley Chase, crime story teller supreme, without any cheap graphic x rated scenes...
He is the ultimate maestro for story characters and crime tales that electrify your senses...
Readers, Mr James Hadley Chase, he's The Man for grippping realistic crime stories....!!!
It wasn’t the life she wanted.
This life drained the light from her eyes,
Turning them to deep gray circles,
Her voice lost its tone,
She lost herself.
Mothering was not a part of the plan.
She was supposed to get out.
Out of the town,
Out of the house,
Out of the state,
Go to school,
Go to college,
Go to work.
Grab the job of her dreams by the reigns,
Ride it into the fantastically detailed future
That she’d been planning since the 6th grade.
A home,
A steadfast group of friends,
Maybe a dog.
But not a kid.
Not a husband.
This was not the plan.
Over the years, she learned to pretend,
If not for the kids, for herself,
For the husband,
That she was happy.
Trapped in this provincial life,
She was happy.
Wake up at 7 a.m.,
Make the bed,
Walk downstairs,
Make coffee,
Make breakfast,
Remake the bed that you forgot to make.
Wake the kids,
Get them ready for school,
Get the keys,
Get in the car,
Get on the road.
Go home.
Sleep because you can never sleep at night,
Trapped in the spiraling paradox
That prances in your mind,
Telling you that this is not your life.
It shouldn’t be.
It can’t be.
At 3:00 p.m.,
Get back in the car,
Get the kids from school,
Get the kids back home,
Get back on the road,
Resist the urge to keep driving
Past the house, into the night,
Never to be seen again.
Resist the urge.
Because you have to.
At 10:00 p.m.,
Make sure the kids are in bed,
Make sure the lights are dimmed,
Make sure the stove and oven are turned off,
Go to your room,
Your husband won’t be home yet,
Not for another 2 hours.
You’ve got time to kill.
Read a book,
Look for flights,
Watch a show,
Cry into your pillow,
Because no one has given you their shoulder
For a very, very long time.
Husband comes home at 12:00 a.m.,
He takes a shower,
Crawls into bed next to you,
You exchange pleasantries,
He turns off the bedside lamp,
Within minutes, he’s asleep.
What to do tonight?
Another successful day,
Set off without a hitch.
Walk back downstairs,
Fold the hampers of laundry,
It’s 3:00 a.m. now,
The kids will be up in 4 hours.
You’ve got time to kill.
Maybe this time,
You and time can trade places.
Maybe this time,
You can keep driving.
Maybe this time,
You can be free.
Maybe, but not today.
Next day
A beautiful woman
Drove me to near Chicago
In a red mustang
Might have been
The girl in the song
Took it easy
Digging her vibe
She invited home
But was not sure
If her estranged husband
Would welcome me
So, I am being foolish
And inexperienced with women
Did not go to her place
And always regretted
That I had lost
My chance that day
Then on to Chicago
Several rides later
Visited friends
Hit the road again
A series of uneventful rides
With truckers
And others
And a week later
I ended in New York City
Slept along the way
In cars
In truck stops
In high way rest stops
Always moving
Always going
None stop talking
And lots of free weed
And beer
And conversation
One more memorable ride
Occurred outside Albany
On my return to Chicago
A middle age creepy looking man
Picked me up
In a brand-new Cadillac
He was he said a dynamite deliverer
For the Mafia
Went to various places
To blow up ****
He hated a lot of people
Particularly hippies from California
And Jewish people
Looking at me to confirm
That I was both
I told him that I lived in New York
And had never been to California
And although I might have looked Jewish
As I what was called back in the day
A “Jewfro”
I was not Jewish
Many years later I discovered
That I am indeed part Jewish
But then I did not know
And I felt a bit of strategic information
Might keep me alive
Then I realized that he was just jiving with me
And we relaxed
And he pulled out some weed
And beer
And we mellowed out
But I believe that he really was with the mob
Perhaps not a dynamite dealer
A real made Italian made mafia member
By Chicago
I had enough
I called my Dad
Told him what had happened
Wanted a ticket home
And he sent me a ticket
And 500 dollars
And I went home
I told him I would tell him
My tales some day
But never did
I learned so much
About my fellow Americans
And the strange vibe
That was 1975
And now it is too late
But I wanted to finally
Tell the world
Of my hitchhiking tales
In search of America 1975
end part two check out my poetry blog https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com for this and other poems
On a beautiful afternoon, crisp and sunny, I set out on a trek to the nearby woods. Except my camera, intentionally picked up, I hadn’t carried with me any other goods. All along, I saw wild flowers and strange herbs and paused to take pictures, but kept moving. No doubt, it was a rewarding experience. The lure of the unknown seemed bewitching. From the cluster of flowers on a sprawling tree, the wind wafted a rare exotic smell which I inhaled to my heart’s content. All along, I heard the twitter of chirping sparrows and some other birds and could spot large squirrels with striped designs and bushy tails. Proceeding further, heard a gurgling sound. It must be a small cataract, I did suppose. My guess was right. It fell off a rock and ran into a stream with murmur enough to lull one to sweet repose. The whistle of a quail fell in my ears and the rhythm of the tapping of a wood pecker and the creaking of dry leaves under my feet…all familiar sounds to any forest trekker! Feeling happy over my progress without a hitch, listening to the soft cajoling of birds and the confused drone of honey bees, I walked playfully stamping on the weeds.
woodland paths unwind
bringing multi scenes in row~
joy to heart and soul
By the time I reached half my way, the forest fell into darkness much
earlier to sunset. It shattered my peace and blotted out my sight, that I started running wild feeling violently upset. I knew I had strayed off the accustomed path, saw the dark sky above and heard a foreboding owl’s hoot. My path was severely obstructed by a tangle of creepers. I felt so puzzled that I could hear the loud thump of my heart. Under a thicket, covered with brambles, I saw a sudden movement as that of a beast and was afraid to look over my shoulders. My teeth chattered and my knees smote. I swooned unable to think or act, hear or see. For how long I lay there in a trance, not sure. When I woke, I saw myself lying at the foot of a tree. To my great relief, I saw the sun beams filtering down and an orange tint streaming across the foggy sky. I couldn’t say if I saw heaven or hell. Better to say, I experienced both.
unexpected turns,
life takes, landing us in angst~
yet, add to our strength
“Deep, deep, deep. Listen and hear our faint gait.
Sanitation, fluorescent lights, and a PC pillow for smother.
Agree! Agree! Atone! Suck it in and suff-o-cate.
White-ness. Black. Ev’ry creed, faith, and color. Listen to Nanny State and call her your mother.”
A wilting flower and grass that’s mowed
Are ever learning why the wilt and why the harm
Innovation, creativity, and where Americana once flowed
Abandoned by the Deep as “fly over” and robbed and made empty the house and the farm
Nude, nude hush in the cellar and the hand can’t hold the gavel
“Trade with China, take arms to China. In Syria sustain the war.
Rude, rude, rude! Abuse of power and a ban on travel.”
Rightful tariffs to the farmers and the market still tends to soar
“Bully the one we call a bully or brute.
A triggered, flying milkshake will save a safe space.
‘You get out and make a crowd!’ You fight! You punch! -- You loot!
And if you see his son about, spit in his face and invade the place.”
Knowledge of good and evil, and the tree from which it sprang
Covet, covet, corrupt in Kiev; greed was found a-Bidden
An Arkansas mansion mem’ry and sight on the oval did haunt and did pang
An outsider, and drainage of septic forbidden
“The farmers don’t want handouts or charity.”
But past year’s labor sets this year’s price
And The Salt of the Earth today will have clarity
The cream off the barrel of tariffs is their due, and the tycoon’s not calling it “nice”
“I’ll still call you a hater. You deplorable vulture!
Because the map in November robbed us our due!”
It’s not 'the other' we hate; it’s your stainless-steal culture
You polled the what, -- (here a hint and a Midwestern clue)
you owned the what, but Deep, my dear, you forgot about us and left sour the Who.
Warm, warm, yellow warm incandescent nourishes
Blue, blue, sterile, starving, hopeless erie --essence
Nanny off the hitch and hands uncuffed --a dirt road gives and flourishes
With the death of equity and the light of equality. And the tapestry shall dawn irid--escence
The long bulb dies along the edges and fringes
Clinical, global culture to the bin
The gate has fallen off its rusted hinges
And the incandescent will win.
9NINtyFIVE5
9NINtyFIVE5
CharlaXFabels
CharlaX
Eye the fabulist fabelist maker of dreams for ewe still remember the poem eye
wrote where eye mentioned the fact that eye think they are liners for birdcages
the most that people have been to me is nice there was a few Christians who
liked some of my poetry for JESUS. This is not a fable in the puerile sense of the
word. BUT this ewe is a giant dandylion poem eye make them bleed eye scritch
and scratch them and twist the ending oblong into infinity. Eye feel a need to
defend myself to my detractors after all even CharlaX had a mother. It was more
than that a family eye had a place to eat a room to sleep. An important man is
never needed until the end too late to make the needed differences. Pomp and
pestle pistle listed they sent my picture eye won a contest all they wanted was for
me to buy a lot of plaque. FlaX and cotton homespun medley lay upon the
CharlaX belly nice long drinks in the afternoon writing a poem making a fabel
swan it leans this way and that way falling to pieces and parts of words become
gentle rain long dripping drops of waterial motion lapping at shadows of love.
Fancy markings of worded pleasures for years of estranger in the wooded glen
fords and glen glens. The caterpillar tracks in the proper syntax is a Diatribe.
Nominal feeds paid out and lost in space with gasses let loose that rival skunks
in size and areal width the size of that thing just look Ethel the size of that thing in
centimeters all alone would equal the lower belt of corn in the Midwestern state
of Iowa they called CharlaX to come he wielded his Hermann Maurice axe phone
and refused to budget a car rental he does not hitch hike anymore he walks back
and forth from one glorious day into the next of time come forth thou CharlaX from
the grave concerns of formidable returns on investments given in earnest
anticipations of reaped rewarded inclinations please come to Kansas and chop
the wheat down with your western ax make bread for all the millions of the crew.
The penny tossed in air so heated by debated frenzy of the sharkless few was
tails a lucky brake for yew.
Republican 'Sandburs!'
Republican sandburs are such an annoyance,
This kind of a weed seems to love to hitch ride,
They scoff at man's brotherhood, scorn to share taxes
Humanity sometimes, well, feels set aside.
Of course, there are weeds among Democrats also
Whose sins are more social but flow more with tide.
Republican sinners though are just such beginners,
Like teens who feel randy, without any pride.
'Right' wants what they want, let the devil take hindmost,
When wealthy folks write the laws, guess who gets screwed?
"I've got mine! You get yours! Of course, rich are privileged!"
Your new job's low pay? So ungrateful and rude!
For children of rich folk, their birth makes them better,
Advantage though blinds them, and logic is crude,
Folk's wealth opens doors and encourages loathing
Of self, as entitled kids exploit subdued!
Is voter suppression a difficult concept?
Does unequal pay prove a man's work's worth more?
Division of labor improve a home's value?
Does sharing of power mean life's more a chore?
Does taking advantage of folks make you happy?
Your friend disrespected, does he then explore?
Does God hate the peacemaker? Just loves a winner?
Does He praise barns raised or amenable door?
I’m sure that the Dems do blow trunks of mouse haters,
The swell who make Demons of Jews and most Blacks,
Who know most their wives are much smarter than they are,
There’s no way in Hell these fools ever relax!
Their “Lock them up! Lock them up!” screams they’re just lemmings.
“Just die!” 'Right' translated, the point of attacks!
Sharia Law model for “God knows I’m Right!” folks,
Sure compromise Kool-Aid kills more than “Fake Facts!”
Long Tooth
Oct 17, 2018
Poet's Notes:
To my many Republican friends who I know this poem will annoy,
can you not extend at least the Grace that this poem offers you to
your more liberal "brothers in Christ?" We all know we sin all the time,
in spite of our desire to follow Christ. Consider the pain you inflict
on the planet when you are not open to other's viewpoints and
their right to have them. Surely being "Dead Right" leaves something
to be desired.
Oh, yes, angels are real ...
Late fall of 1974, just after Halloween -
I was driving home from prep school one Friday afternoon,
After a long week of intense studies and soccer ...
On Interstate 295 between Yarmouth and Falmouth.
I had just pulled into the left lane to pass a tractor-trailer truck,
And ... BAM!!
A loud bang like a shot gun!
The car was immediately uncontrollable,
So I knew at once I'd blown the left front tire ...
I slammed on the brakes and pulled into the median strip,
Far enough so it wouldn't bother traffic,
But with enough shoulder that I could still change the tire,
(Which I had done more than once before).
Only as soon as I opened the trunk and checked,
I discovered, to my chagrin, that the "spare" tire was flat also!
I knew then I was in for a long, tiring afternoon,
So I put out two markers, left the trunk open so folks would know,
Turned on the emergency flashers, locked it up,
And started my long walk back to town, (about three miles).
Oh, people still hitch-hiked a lot in those days,
But I'd been raised to believe it was dangerous,
So I kept my thumbs tucked into my straight-leg corduroys.
All-in-all it took almost three hours to walk back,
Call home for a ride, wait for my mom to come after me,
And get back to where the car was on the highway ...
But when we finally DID get to the car, there was a surprise ...
Waiting to greet me was a brand new tire, already installed on the car,
Another new tire in the trunk where the spare had been,
And when I went to get into the car and head home,
A fifty-dollar-bill had been stuffed up into the door handle!!
With only a Christian fish symbol written on it!
I ran an ad in the local paper the following week,
Then they did a small story on it,
But I NEVER found out who had blessed me that day.
Yet, I never forgot it, either, and to this day ...
I always pay for the two-or-three cars behind me,
Whenever I go through the toll booth on the highway ...
And when I DO, I think of that angel ...
And I say a prayer for them ...
For I know they got as much of a blessing from it as I did ...
Well ... maybe not QUITE as much! ;-)
When I was young I couldn’t wait to go outside and play
when school was not in session on Christopher Columbus Day.
We were taught all the stories…how he sailed the ocean blue
with the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria…in 1492.
We were taught he was a great explorer, across the oceans his boats swirled.
We were taught this Italian man who sailed for Spain discovered our new world.
He’s such a navigation hero our history books proclaim
that cities across this nation are christened in his name.
He’s been given the ultimate accolade…banks are closed and children play
as we commemorate Christopher Columbus with his very own holiday...
But then a strange thing happened, we found the history books were skewed
and we weren’t ready for the things we read or the feelings that ensued.
It seems this new world theory comes with a little hitch
Columbus wasn’t looking for America he just wanted to get rich.
He thought he’d sail to Asia when he left Spain that fateful day
but he was wrong about the route and America got in the way.
It was in the Caribbean not America where Columbus made landfall.
The fact is…he never landed on or visited America at all.
About his claim of discovering a new world…it’s a very misleading stat
I think the Native Americans might have something to say about that.
Because if I’m not mistaken they were here many years before
Christopher Columbus accidentally bumped into their shore.
And would a man who we’ve been taught was courageous, great and brave
kill the people who were already here or turn them into slaves?
Would we still look at Columbus Day with as much innocence and pride
If we knew how he decimated a people and committed genocide?
No, I think it’s time we stop giving Columbus so much dignity and glory
and teach our children while they’re in school…both sides of the story.
Perhaps then all of America will commemorate and cheer
those who really discovered our country…
you know, the ones who were already here.
So the next generation of children will be excited to go outside and play
when their school is not in session on Indigenous People’s Day.
When was the beginning of time, and how long is forever? Beginning implies that, before then, there was 'no prior'.
God has neither a beginning, nor is there an end of life to Him. When, What, Why, Who, Where, and How are 'Forever Questions'.
God created humans at a given time and in a given space. Created in 'a forever state', only disobedience could alter such state.
They in turn surrendered their right to 'a forever state'. This right to 'a forever state' could be restored Through Christ Alone.
In a sense, we can hitch a free ride with him to 'a place called forever'. Forever speaks to me of a time period whose period is unending.
Yet, in a larger sense, the two words, forever and period, should never be allowed in the same sentence. Oops.
Forever implies there is time without an end, with a timepiece that has no winder.
Forever implies that there is nothing indicating to me when or if 'this is over'.
Before the beginning, there was God. After forever, there will always be God.
12152017 PS Contest, After Forever, John Lawless