Long Horsepower Poems
Long Horsepower Poems. Below are the most popular long Horsepower by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Horsepower poems by poem length and keyword.
Climb inside and buckle in
Anxiously twisting the key
As a mechanical symphony roars to life
Setting nine hundred horses free
The machine becomes an extension
Of my own flesh and bone
My heart beats in choppy rhythm
While eight cylinders scream in tone
Launch sequence initiated
The green bulb’s affirmative glare
Release one button as I depress another
The front tires suspend in mid air
The mechanical cavalry stampedes
While the pipes cry out their siren song
Defiantly embedding rubber into asphalt
Parallel stripes running dark and long
Every gear change seemingly effortless
Acceleration that flattens your chest
Control of the beast seems impossible
While every sense is put to the test
Heads swivel and jaws drop open
The earth quakes as I roll past
Vanishing into the darkness
Redefining the meaning of “fast”
For I have stared fear in the face
While others stood back and leered
I stomped my right foot in defiance
And clicked down to a lower gear
This - the Divine Unity
Of Man and his Machine
In water we may be baptised
But in horsepower we are redeemed
It was a Tuesday night and dull boredom had set in
‘ thought I heard my ol’ car say: “Take us for a spin!
Go pickup Bobby Mac and maybe Cindy too,
‘Cause it’s Tuesday night … and there’s nothin’ else to do”.
Bobby Mac rode “shotgun” with Cindy in between
While I gripped that steerin’ wheel, and drove through Abilene
We stopped ’n got some soft drinks an’ an order of French fries
Then off we sped again - crusin’ ‘neath those Texas skies
Cindy’s eyes were sparklin’ when Bobby told a joke
Once I had to stop the car, ( ‘cause I had spilt my Coke!)
Then Bobby Mac, he asked me: “Just what can this car do …
Can it reach a hundred … or maybe go on through?”
I turned around and cruised on down to Ol’ Comanche Road.
I was rev’in’ up my engine, while the dual exhausts bellowed
I popped the clutch - tires protested with their clouds of smoke
Horsepower erupted through every bore and stroke
The needle on the dashboard gauge was approaching one-oh-oh
And then I felt that right front tire when it decided to “let go”
It happened in a heartbeat, but slow motions’ what I see
For now I’ll relive that awful night for all eternity.
And Cindy has no sparkle left within her big brown eyes
And Bobby Mac’s no jokes to tell ‘neath those Texas skies
While I sit here on this cloud with Bob and Cindy Lou
… Now and forever more … they’ll be Nothin’ Else to Do.
Don’t speed.
Horsepower
David J Walker
It occurs to me that while
Horses can run
Could they actually pull a
Rocketship past the moon
Headed to the sun?
Apollo 11, for instance,
And just for fun
Is said to have had
32 million horsepower
As if each one
Was Harnessed with leather straps
And brightly polished brass bells
And as the crowd swells
off they run
At the crack of a whip
32 million horses all at once
Leap upward up-ward with a
6 Million tun
payload
Kicking up dust
All those horses needing to
Generate 7.5 million pounds
of thrust
at liftoff, that is
Off towards the sun
Hooves pounding
Harness bells ringing and
Commander Neil Armstrong
On top cracking the whip
Singing, suns of the pioneer's songs
Headed to the moon on his
32 million Horse-drawn rocket ship.
Can you hear the voices of
Those Space Cowboys stepping lightly
As their horses
Fertilize the surface of the moon?
“Ahhhh ..Houston… We Have a problem here”
“Who is gonna clean this up?”
My grandfather
seemed wise with years
walking his rural spiritual path
in a relentlessly white
Christian dualistic church
dividing sinful nature
from sacred spirit.
He counseled:
Do not mix
religion and politics.
I wonder
how he would feel
about this mix
of sacred and profane
if he were to meet
my out lesbian activist
senior UU minister.
Clearly
we have mixed up
our religious community
within our local political culture
When we called
this gendered clergy person
we did not ask her
to leave her politics
at any sacred
ordained door.
On the contrary
we recognize
and celebrate
that she
and we
are politically empowered
and disempowered,
enlightened
and unenlightened identities
with naturally spiritual experiences,
family traditions
and theological
ecological
and un-ecological agendas.
I wonder
would my grandfather notice:
If calling an out
feminist lesbian
as our minister
mixes religion
and politics,
against his well-meant advice
So too:
Calling a straight
white male
as his first
and second
and third
and fourth
and fifth
and sixth...
pastor
was also mixing politics
and religion
and sexuality
Also against his own patriarchal
not feminist,
monotheistic
not polytheistic,
monoculturing
not polyculturally resilient
healthy loving advice
Especially for a family farmer
valuing crop
and income diversity
who started out
as an adolescent
relying on organic horsepower,
spirited stallions
and mares
capable of peak experiences
and making ponies
and fertilizing fields
with sacred regenerative practices
for exercising empowering agency
Giving birth
to future
naturally religious
politically enlightened
and unenlightened
gender role identified bodies
Yang strong
and Yintegral flowing
wu-wei admixtures of secular politics
and sacred enculturing religious
integrity
Monotheistic awe
and polytheistic wonder
and panentheistic integrity
and atheistic questioning experiences
cooperatively inclusive
Resiliently polycultural
political and sexual
dynamic communicators
within enlightened tribes
togathering
across cooperatively empowering species.
A chill wind bites coyly at exposed necks,
not yet draped in tourniquets of wool.
A wrapping of white, buries ribbons of asphalt.
The ways fills with metallic horsepower.
Goblets of slush like spittle fall, splat,
upon once virginal snowfields.
The rape of Winter had begun.
Rutting like rabid beasts in heat,
the roadways lay revealed before the power of the storm.
Cumulous clouds belch from grills of chrome.
As Winter like the Sabine Women, weapon in hand,
pummels the oncoming horde with icicles.
Power falls from an angry, cloud-filled, sky
weighty and white, Winter defends herself.
The surge of day brings forth an endless tide of travelers;
trampling her breast, ravaging, the once pristine vista;
shredding the thin veil of purity, only the Goddess brings;
laying waste, in mounds of mud like filth, The Mother.
She curls inward. Her indrawn breath freezes gears
grinding, screeching, shrieking the earth succumbs.
In snow like ash she lays vanquished.
The most thrilling experience anyone can get
is speeding along in a convertible Corvette
This powerful four-wheeled machine is much better than good
when it’s got over four hundred horsepower under the hood.
Driving one of these gems is moving in first class
There is plenty of get up and go under that shell of fiberglass.
What a sweet time on a warm summer’s day
when I can zoom down an open highway.
Just my sweet attractive doll is riding beside me.
We move along at the speed limit so carefree.
You haven’t driven until you get inside a Corvette.
Chevrolet’s sporty model is the best one yet.
This baby displays her true colors when the flag’s unfurled.
There is nothing quite like her anywhere in the world.
Snow White has put on her grey sludge dress,
turning from princess to drudge overnight,
She is a pidgin that takes its ill-fed feathers
to brighter patches of sky
seeking less frozen crumbs.
Roads have curbs of dark pack-ice,
we drive our carriages,
pink-eyed and just whiskers away
from a shivering daydream.
Horsepower pulls us through
to an evening that mimics the gray
face of the day.
Let it rain, let it splash this chill air
to dry, Spanish hills.
Ohio for now, has put its fairy tales away,
in sports bars we drink
until mugs slide between drowsy lips
as easy as slippers of glass.
Let Jacqueline, Jacque, and sophisticated Parisians rave about the Eiffel Tower
Romantic poets write in egregious excess of their cozy, intimate leafy bowers
Leave scientists and paleontologists to their study of fossils and dinosaurs--
As for me, nothing compares with a home-from-work, end-of-the-day shower.
Political scientists dissect the machinations of international superpowers
Historians pore over WW2 battles and the heroics of Dwight David Eisenhower
Gardeners & green thumbers extol the myriad virtues of planting flowers--
But as for me, no occupation holds a candle to the pleasure of a bracing shower.
The downtown office crowd breathlessly counts down the minutes to Friday's Happy Hour
Bartenders mix exotic drinks like Coconut Pussycats, Lady Godivas, or plain old Whiskey Sours
College professors soar above the mundane pursuits of common workers, in their cushy ivory towers--
Yet as for me, there's no finer pursuit than the anticipation of a relaxing, refreshing shower.
Cooks and master chefs endlessly debate palate appeal of asparagus tips and fried cauliflower
Efficiency experts squeeze the most from a production line's manpower output per man hour
Grease jockeys and auto mechanics wax rapturous about muscle cars and their horsepower--
Whereas all I can think about the entire working day is returning home to a steamy, hot shower.
So please remember, my friend:
No matter how sour your whey
No matter how dour your day
No matter your willpower fade
Your brainpower stray
Even if your boss forgets your pay--
Simply wash all of your cares away
With a shower at the end of each day!
Time's natural spaces,
a universe of footprints in remembered places.
Need kicks me in the ass
and head.
Trauma iafterflows,
undertows,
crashing carnage
with runaway horsepower.
Want is a branching step,
coincidentally left-producing and right-consuming
memory footprints on Earth's beach of time,
some more resiliently resonant
before erasing surf remerges,
and some less formed before washing into history's cultural flow
of confluent wild consciousness.
Time bilaterally steps through
sands of positive place in negative space,
resolving comprehensive consciousness.
Footprints in sands of trauma time
regenerate decomposing memory
within nature's wild chaos
outflowing rhyme.
Earthlings have no time
without sufficient stepping space
We experience rightful yin
without expelling wrongful yang
We co-arise no perfect vacuum
no perfect bad,
no perfect glad
save well-timed balance
in-between surfing appositionals
Bipedal potential
for comprehensive consciousness
in mind's harmonious heart
beating co-empathic lust for trust
informing and exforming lungs
fueled by nature's spirited intelligence.
Our shortages of universal healthy time,
our misconceptions about balancing wealthy walking space,
that
mislead to suicidal
patricidal
fratricidal
matricidal
ecocidal
tidal footprints into quicksand's chaos
Riptide's karmic grace
for recreating tomorrow's spacious beach
awaiting more transgenerative feet
and resonant heads,
bodies with minds
surfing seasoned time's
indigenous wisdom.
Time passionately flows
and enfolds frequent nature's voice
for each to hear with dissonant noise
while listening in keys of confluent choice.
Time's polypathic space,
universal footprints
in memory's unitarian place.
THE UN-BEETABLE BUG
Simplicity, elasticity, beauty in the thirties,
not like some sedans, ugly and beastly
This popular car and it's history from the past,
from it's World War two template, it sure did last
How many know why it's being came to be,
a car for the German people, to what you've seen
The Sixties starts the decade of the Summer of love,
unique form of the bug fits these times like a glove
Born in Germany in yellow, black, blue or white,
but see I desire the color red so alluringly bright
Won't you agree, it looks sexy, pretty and nice?
This models size and style sparkles to burst some spice
Its voluptuous rounds makes it friendly and sleek,
to busy roads and highways surely it can easily sneak
It may look slow but I tell you: you are wrong!
This small car runs like the shooting star song.
Alongside trucks or vans, it doesn't tremble a fear
as when I turn the key, horsepower shy with its gear.
Easy so easy, I can turn the wheels to any curves
soothing so soothing to my sometimes worried nerves
Many a design of automobiles will pass
but hey, my red Volkswagen still holds the class.
The "un-beetable" Beetle bug definitely hits a big shot
to a parking lot you can easily save her a spot
___________________________________________________________
12/30/2015 15.55pm