Long Hitchhike Poems
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We stopped in Cincinnati to see the cousins; that was a mistake.
We are still throwing them out of the car, they can hitchhike home.
We had never been there, and frankly seeing them was great.
But quite honestly I only came to Ohio to write this poem.
The travel advisor was so full of exciting things to do and see,
I was overwhelmed by the list – there were twenty-three
So I shut down the idea of another itinerary today and focused on the who’s.
Buckeye state claims Jesse Owens, Bombeck and Al Bundy who sells shoes.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is waiting just down the road for us
The National Underground Railroad Museum has caused the car a bit of fuss.
There is a German Village my husband is interested in, but not me.
I want to see The Christmas Story House, Number Twenty-Three.
One thing for sure, the next time I come to the Buckeye State, I come alone.
So I do not have to see the Dexter Mausoleum where I do not want to roam.
My husband and I have different ideas and I mean by the dozens
Which is why I am ready to dump him along this highway with his cousins.
Abnormality
God knows I don’t want to be normal
I want to stick out in a crowd
You have everyone look at me
And have them ask, “what in the hell is that”
I never want to wear a suit and tie
I want to go out in short pants and a muscle shirt
Black in color with a big dragon head on the front
I want to go into Macca’s and order a Whopper
And drink a forty year old New Coke
While eating a whole case of Twinkies
I never want to comb my hair or trim my beard
I want to wear glasses Elton John would turn down
I want to listen to the William Tell Overture
With lyrics added from Vanilla Ice
Maybe drive the wrong way on the freeway
Or hitchhike in the middle of the road
God knows I don’t want to be normal
I just want to be me
With all my quirks and strangeness
So accept me for who I am
Because I am not going to ever change
No matter who or what
I will always be the best me I can be
A sweet experience that I have had before,
has me turning around and coming back for more.
Consider me just a plain and ordinary man.
I was passing down a road in my Chevy Van.
What I saw next was not a fantasy.
I was fully awake, so it was pure reality.
Here was the cutest young girl any man would like.
She was standing to the side wanting to hitchhike.
Not knowing how long she was out, or where she had been,
I pulled over and asked her to climb in.
She was just like a princess with an angel’s face.
Soon, she would fall asleep while lying in her place.
Moonlight danced off the hair of this pretty dove.
Some time later in my van, we would make love.
On a small town dirt road they called “Main Street”,
this little princess walked away in bare feet.
Remembering how sweetly this little girl had kissed,
the princess became someone too difficult to resist.
A few miles down the road, I had to turn around.
I am just hoping this sweet girl can be found.
Based on the hit song "Chevy Van" by Sammy Johns
The dog ate my homework
When I turned around
My humor was stolen
By a circus clown
I was abducted by aliens
Is the reason I'm late
To pick you up
For our dinner date
I dropped the ball
With the sun in my eyes
Are a few of the excuses
And the reason why
I either do or I don't
Do the things that I do
So I'll stick with them all
As my excuse
I must have forgot
There was a time change
As my clock stopped
On the very same day
I lost my wallet
With your number inside
This would be the truth
If it wasn't a lie
I ran out of gas
So I had to hitchhike
I made a left
Instead of a right
I either do or I don't
Do the things that I do
So I'll stick with them all
As my excuse
Written: August 10, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
Quote: “Silence has its own alphabet; some truths are written between the sounds.” By Poet
***************
Silent letters gathered late,
whispering softly about fate—
a subtle S in “island” sighed,
while ghostly G in “gnarl” replied.
They hosted a hush-riot feast,
where knee bent knowing peace increased,
and every hymn wore velvet shoes
to tiptoe through its muted muse.
Our English spelling makes me sigh,
Like the G that hides in gnat and gnaw.
The silent K in knee and knife,
It is the strangest thing I ever saw!
Why do we put a B in climb?
It sits right there and makes no sound.
The W in write and wrong
Is just the laziest letter found!
And what about the U in guard?
Or P that sneaks inside a psych?
The T that lurks in watch and match—
It’s like a grammar hitchhike!
A ghostly H hangs out in ghost,
While receipts include a phantom P.
The B in debt and subtle schemes
Is utterly invisible to me!
Consider islands with their S,
Or how a column ends in N.
A scent has C or S (or both?)—
It drives me crazy now and then!
The O in leopard plays a trick,
The W in two is just a ghost.
These sneaky stowaways of script
Are what confuse the learners most!
Personification of the Elements – 9-1-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Elementals
Frigid currents gather stirring
Mists to rain hail in fists of fire and ice
From fractured magma stone eruptions
Crust and fire collide
In melted tornados
In hollows where minerals hitchhike
Into purple ruby hazes
Igneous bursts into fevered conundrums
Where four elementals convene
In cryptic crystals, intoxicated by emerald,
Fused laughing enigmas,
Shedding molten aqua teardrops,
Where fire and fury reside
Imprisoned in liquid stone,
Sparkling matrix thunders,
Compressed grit in animations
Of clear-cut brilliance
The Elementals speak
In captured eternal flames,
Water, stone and breath.
From my English cottage
I can see America.
Éire sings, as it labors in my field of vision,
it's drunk on nostalgia as usual.
A great sail-winged albatross
glides across from one eye to the other.
The trip to Ohio
is a drawn-out unmusical note in a leaky
squeeze box.
From my Midwest window I can see
the top of a Walmart roof,
it has a beauty all of its own.
Morning and evening,
snow white seagulls fly in from Atlantis,
a dreaming place that only appears
when the sun perches upon
puffy eyelids.
In a twilit garden
(a place where paper roses
wrestle with living thorns),
time circles
seeking its way past another day.
The days hitchhike on my shoulder, I must travel
across the luna surface of my mind.
One deep breath should be enough
to push me just beyond the city dump.
When I die will I have known I took a trip to Dubai?
Or when I once sailed along the Caspian Sea
Will that time and place remember me?
Will I have known I toured the African plain?
Or trailed the Black Forest in the rain.
Will I remember I smoked ganja with a Rasta man?
As we laid bare across the white Caribbean sand.
When I die will it matter that I went to Dubai?
While my spirit filters through the ages still restless and cold
I will hitchhike a Boeing to haunt Abbey Road.
Wear the crowns and the jewels that queens once wore
and borrow a mink coat for my Paris tour.
Will you see my shadow as I drift through the snow?
Climbing atop of Mt Kilimanjaro.
Oh why, oh why did I go to Dubai?
When I visit my grave where my family still mourns
Replacing my flowers that have withered and torn.
I will ascend Mt Rushmore to sit on George’s face
While counting the stars and staring into space
Stowaway on the Challenger on its next mission,
raising my flag to claim my position.
I will return to earth and rest by a tall redwood tree
Tired from my journey as I sip hot lemongrass tea
I told a lie, I never went to Dubai
But I did once love that Caribbean man
as we made a print still engraved in the sand.
I have been restless in life as I will be death
For I want to feel freedom knowing I have little time left.
Go easy on me God for you have known my heart
I may have not been the best, but I did my part.
But doing my part isn't good enough for me
Because I live in a world that I’m dying to see.
For many days, I am yearning with my pastime longing to bargain for a mountain
Even though I am not knowledgeable about that marchant, for a dealer of that, then.
I long , I wish I could meet
A payment payable for the price, never could cease any upcoming, though hitchhike
I have a river of my own.
I would exchange that for the mountain
Who else is there, not knowing that the mountain costs less than the river
A mountain static, a river enchanting undercurrent for evermore, meandering trail
Yet, I will prefer the mountain in lieu of the river
I would buy
As I will be the thug, trying to be an equitable mug end, a moron.
Even Though the river, bought earlier was possible for a deltaic plain
During my childhood days, I had a brief, accountable memory
of the deltaic plane, free from any obesity
Enriched with the fullest swings of Butterflies, innumerable
When I reached my adolescence, the deltaic plane turned a misfit
Not one size fits all as the demand shows. Rather I loved the running undercurrent of the river.
Friends said, “In exchange for that small delta, this big river!
A deed, indeed!”
With full churns, I used to feel sheer Joy! Then!
Then I loved the river, with all my truth.
The river used to answer many questions of mine,
Such as, “Please inform about the weather forecast of this evening,
Will it rain today?”
Regarding that, the river replied, “Today, here it is a hot and humid northern breeze, passing through."
Only there is incessant down pouring rain over a small delta
What a rain it is! Seems like a festive eve!
I am no longer able to return to that delta.
He knew that! Everyone knows that.
No one is able to return to childhood days.
Now I yearn to buy a mountain.
The foothill of the mountain will be about dense forestry
I will travel along the forest, and then
This will all be all hard mountain trail
To the top, up close
The sky, hung, close, the lowly world underneath
An agonizingly ruthless silence, with no one nearby.
My voice will not be heard there, audible to no one.
Facing the world with the happening entity, I shall speak
Everyone is here for boasting, here I am a loner in my perceiving try
Instead of a victory, here, I beseech in mercy.
O my world! I am not sinful
Have mercy on me!
Copyright © Tamanna Ferdous | Year Posted 2024
my love,
would you mind if i took the time
to share a lovely chill that tickles my smile?
it's your eyes!
i'm afraid that i lose myself in them
in their promise
in their million shades of a million blues
i have to confess they inspire in me
a romantic desire.
when your eyes touch mine
my thoughts hitchhike on a highway of mischief
like a teenager barefoot on scorching hot slate.
sometimes
my sweet
i imagine
diving head first
into our locked stare
there i bathe in the milk of your
dream eyes
and in the fix of my wake
i reach the surface drenched
in the solitude
of your loving glare.
i feel compelled to tell you that my body
my whole body
trembles in my admiration of them
what I am trying to say
my love
is
oh my God
your eyes.