Long Interstates Poems
Long Interstates Poems. Below are the most popular long Interstates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interstates poems by poem length and keyword.
I rode a cloud to kiss a star
and it embraced me with its love light.
The universal eye…smiled.
Echoing energy sang of brotherhood;
angels don’t have any restricted clubs.
One is all and all is one.
The atomic transporter
never charges for a ride.
Currency is a mortal failing.
Dancing across invisible strings;
I hear the harmony of celestial song,
as it, eternally resounds.
Quantum leaping through timeless black holes;
I met myself and sang a reunion duet.
Elemental celebrations, lend a soul wisdom;
timeless secrets reveal themselves,
to souls on quantum journeys.
Inside, eternity’s map,
read only by belief;
shows the quantum interstates, leading home.
Trying to steer a car on snow
Is something I would rather not know
How to do, for it cannot be done
It is all kinds of weird, none of it fun.
If you have ever bowled in a lane,
Let me make this rather plain.
Your car is like a bowling ball.
Traveling into a gutter, down deep and all.
You watch it happen with disbelief
Not a thing you can do, as your day turns to grief.
If you think you can do this, good for you.
But what if we throw solid ice under your shoe?
Do you get in your car and try to drive on ice
Not listening to the radio who is telling you twice
The interstates are closed, the roads are a mess.
Why do you do this? Would you like to confess?
Trying to steer a car on ice, is like trying to steer
A house that is falling from the sky.
How to do it? It cannot be done.
It is all kinds of weird, and none of it fun.
Written 2/08/2019 Contest Feb Week 2, Any Form Any Theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
When I need an uplift for my weary soul and to clear my muddled mind.
I slowly cruise along a country road to see what treasures I might find.
I leave behind the frenzied traffic on the four-lane interstate,
To enjoy bucolic vistas along a gravel road, my languid soul to sate.
I see old barns with Mail Pouch Tobacco ads now faint due to age,
And remnants of Burma Shave signs with their charmin' adage.
Stately homes with white picket fences grace the country road,
With roses of every hue surroundin' emerald lawns all neatly mowed.
I cross a rickety wooden bridge 'neath which country boys are fishin',
And for long ago summer days of feckless youth, it gits me to wishin;!
A lady waves to me as she hangs her laundry on the clothesline to dry.
A sign on the old country store reads, 'Wave If You Can't Stop By!'
Farmers on John Deere tractors wave as they tend their fields of grain.
They sure kick up lots of dust and I reckon they're prayin' for some rain.
I rolled down the windows to savor the wonderful scent of new-mown hay,
And slow to let an Amish family in their buggy move along the way.
Fat cattle graze on lush meadows, each with a meanderin' stream.
Horses gaze at me over fences as they look askance and dream.
I loathe interstates where folks think they're in the Indy 500-mile race.
I prefer old country roads where life is enjoyed at a much slower pace!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
School gets out at one o’clock instead of three-thirty.
The teenagers drive around the town square, cuddled up.
Parents are calling to make sure they are wearing coats.
Grandmas are making chili, and grandpas are snoozing.
They picture their grandchildren home, safely drinking cider.
The air is frigid cold; no one should be out here.
Faces turn red in seconds, lips are chapped.
Teenagers are laughing, inside warm vehicles,
Twirling around on black ice, sliding into bushes
Small animals wish they were hibernating. Their feet freezing.
Icicles hang from the front of houses, glistening and blinking.
Frost on top of snow makes it dazzle like rhinestones
The blue white of the ground is lovely enough to make you cry.
Children are arguing with their parents, wanting to be out there.
Most come in within minutes, after realizing how brittle the wind is.
Others have to wait until they can barely walk on frostbitten toes.
Faces are pressed to windows, watching squirrels scurry.
One lone black dog attempts to walk across the snow
In a labored way, making slow progress
Mom and Dad are cooking pizzas, speaking of their own snow days
The youngest children are listening, attempting to relate
The others are looking at pictures of California on their I-phones
Snow Day 2020 is not so terribly different than Snow Day 1964
Snowdrifts, black ice, freezing rain on top of snow, interstates closed.
Making a memory as children begin frosting snowflake sugar cookies.
I dilly dally my way through a regular Monday
Icy rain covers my driveway by three o’clock
I slip and slide on it, weather reports come in
Monster storm is coming; the kind you get once in a century
My friends begin calling me
Do I have enough food and water?
I have enough to last six to eight months.
Also a hundred pounds of dog food for my two pony dogs.
Tuesday I awake to snow as tall as my porch
It is not bitter cold, but it is uncomfortably cold.
Wednesday is the kicker.
We are supposed to have more snow, more ice and fifty mile an hour winds.
My feet are cold tonight; I wonder how things will go in the morning.
Our temperature is going to drop from 28 to 16 degrees.
The interstates and highways around and through Kansas City are closed.
Mayor asks us to all stay home; schools are cancelled.
The electric company sent us a notice to expect outages.
Monster storm, you deserve a name.
I will call you Monster Helen after the meanest teacher I ever had
And the nicest teacher I ever had, both named Helen.
I remember the world before all the people and cars.
The animals lived in peace and harmony with the land.
I was the lifeline to places both near and far.
It was a time which you may never understand.
I led the way for early settlers to cross to the west,
Trying to give them a smooth and trouble-free ride.
There were plenty of places along the way to rest,
In little towns that sprouted up on either side.
As the years went by, the world was in a hurry,
So I was covered in gravel and stone, and then paved.
During the war, interstates were made to ease the worry,
And many others like me would never be saved.
The quaint little communities that once were thriving
Became dusty old ghost towns almost overnight.
I became riddled with weeds that would not stop growing,
And soon I was deserted; out of mind, out of sight.
My glory days returned through a short-lived t.v. show,
And people remembered where they used to get their kicks.
If a trip down memory lane is where you want to go,
Then keep me alive by taking a drive down Route 66.
We need to send a message for Washington to hear
We need to make a statement and make it loud and clear
Leave rigs double parked in every town
Come on truckers. Shut it down
Block the highways. Set your course.
Show our politicians a united force
Politicians! While you're kissing babies remember this
We've got something you can kiss
We wanted a leader. We got a clown.
So let's go truckers. Shut it down.
It is time to start sending a message to our OPEC owned and
operated congresss. If you can't stop the oil gougiing prices, we can stop the
entire country. What happens if the last of the American cowboys, the truck
drivers, unite? If they double park their rigs on the interstates all over the country,
unhook them and leave them there? These guys are getting shafted by the same
people who subsidize airlines so the executives can milk the living hell out of it.
Meanwhile, not only the independent, but any small trucking company can't afford
to stay in business. It is time to shut it down
Early in the morning you boarded it
and for a ride from Rock Island to Chicago.
tickets bought
for an outing
anticipated all week
First, it lumbered on the main track
through rail yards, warehouses, aging
factories where your fathers worked
as it clicked and clacked its way
out of town. It passed back yards
in East Moline where early morning
residents walked, secrets revealed.
You wanted to tell them there was
so much more
to the life they’d known
you were young
You were on summer break
from college and sharing
the journey with high school
friends on a Saturday off
from summer jobs
vistas of countryside
east of town opened
fields vibrant and green
After three hours a towering
skyline grew before your eager eyes
of Chicago, a city so great that each time
it stirred your imagination and after
you got off the train the Hancock Building
looked just blocks away
the mecca sought
reached into
open skies
You walked through the Loop
and by the El, overhead commuter tracks
past small ethnic restaurants and crowded
sidewalks where a woman with a shaved head
danced with her man and you gasped
o, a wonder of the music played
moment-by-moment
you embraced stories
each neighborhood revealed
You walked from hours to get
to your destination to go up
do the observation deck and
view other skyscrapers and
interstates web their way
through a metropolis as it
rose in the midst of fields and farms
just to the east
the sun shimmered
on an endless lake
Looking at the map, the worn creases
Roads, interstates, lakes and valleys
Pastel colors on crinkled paper
Time will pull and tug in small amounts
Though met with violent resistance
Many springs have soothed the fever
Thoughts of you are gentler now
Years have worn harsh edges down
The southern states of our youth
A smile, a photograph tucked into a book
The dreams that happen less and less
Little tremors where mountains once toppled
I went for a drive yesterday
Alone, thank god
The landscape went by so fast
I feel the sun through the windshield
It's hot, it burns my eyes, but I feel it
And I like that I can feel
It's in these soft, quiet, gentle times
When breathing isn't such a chore
Yes, we will live on--
The river moves forward
I've made peace with you