Long Jeep Poems
Long Jeep Poems. Below are the most popular long Jeep by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jeep poems by poem length and keyword.
We live opposite a huge farm,
I find living here such a charm,
The cows and the sheep,
Abundant, as the farmer does his
His rounds in his Jeep
Makes living where we are,
A dream, but city life is not far.
This farm has horses too,
Though not too many just a few,
And pigs and goats
And pretty small winding roads,
It has a small river that winds its way
Beside a road, it takes all day
To walk along and pick wild flowers,
I adore sudden summery showers.
Mealies and sunflowers are planted
And manure is put down once a year,
Ridding us of sinuses, that’s quite clear.
The sound of the tractor ploughing,
A joy to hear, as it’s furrowing,
The land, planting seeds that grow
And look like soldiers such a show,
They stand up straight and tall,
Never have I seen one fall.
I pray for rain and fear a drought
So happy when dark clouds about,
And love a downpour feel the relief,
The mealies feel, for sun like a thief,
Steals a probable storm, but when rain
Pours and drizzles for days, mealies gain.
Beautiful plants that now must,
Wither and dry, and wait for first frost
Before they are harvested, or it will cost,
The farmer his whole crop, if not done
Just right, they will rot,
And the farmer will reap naught!
I watch this every year,
But now I sadly fear,
Will see my farm no more,
Which gave me joy, galore.
A new era starts on the 1st November,
Moving into a secure complex, so December
And Christmas will be in our new abode,
We have reached a crossroad,
Which I’ve decided to look forward to,
A move which had to happen, we knew!
Footnote:
In S. Africa we refer to corn as "Mealies"
The curious eighteen-month-old decided to try
To enjoy his crib, and play with his jeep one morning.
His mother slept in until nine o’clock,
But woke with a start.
Scared to death to look in the crib.
Then she heard squeals of delight
And realized he was sing-babbling,
Playing, entertaining himself.
She wisely did not scoop him up.
Instead, watched his play, smiling at him.
For another year he stayed in his crib
In the morning, and played with toys
And his mother happily slept late,
Catching up on tiny pieces of lost sleep
She had experienced the first few months
Of his life.
Mr. Roscoe Schlink was drafted into the army in Bean Blossom, Indiana,
And was sent for basic training at Fort Fumble in the state of Louisiana.
He was given innumerable shots, yelled at a lot and shorn of all his hair,
Taught to salute, do an about face and issued baggy fatigues to wear!
He aspired to be a pilot but sarge said, "No, I need you in the infantry, son!
I'm gonna teach you ever' thing you need to know about shootin' this here gun!"
To the firing range they went, the sarge in a jeep, the corporals in a truck,
But Roscoe and his pals had to march fifteen miles - that was just their luck!
At the firing range they were issued weapons and instruction was begun.
Said sarge, "This here is yer rifle or yer 'piece' - don't you never call it a gun!
Engrave the serial number of yer 'piece' in yer skulls and don't fergit it!
And you'd better keep it as sparklin' clean as you will yer messin' kit!"
They tried to teach him to fire from the sitting, standing and prone position,
And to take careful aim and not fool around wasting precious ammunition!
Roscoe took steady aim and squeezed the trigger as he had been taught.
Bulls-eye! Alas, he hit another feller's target and his score came to naught!
He was sent to the European Theatre where he somehow survived the strife.
Renown for poor aim, his buddies steered clear of him fearing for their life!
But he redeemed himself winning the Silver Star, an honor his pals never got!
He was lauded for capturing two hundred prisoners without firing a shot!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The conference
I had gone to a writer's conference
The room was full of authors only interested
in reading and pushing their book
I had brought a book called Hunger, written
by Knut Hamsun, the pages were loose and
kept falling off, but there was a picture
of him a stern man-looking intellectual
The leader of the meeting, a man who was
proud he had not gone to college and said
he knew more than anybody else
did want to read Hamsun's book, because
Knut had gone to university in Oslo
Since the room was full of writers pushing
their work and didn't want to be influenced
by other voices, I left
In the parking lot, all the cars were white, my
car was a Russian jeep called Lada, but
I couldn't find it, so took my leave of the scene
I was relaxin' on the patio the other day, musin' as I often do,
About a few things that brought about vic'try in Dubya Dubya Two.
There were no computers, cell phones, night goggles, drones or such.
How we won the war sans such contrivances, I have wondered much!
One thing that played a vital role was Coca Cola fer GIs their thirst to quench!
Another was Rosie the Riveter in baggy coveralls wieldin' hammer and wrench!
Moms saved grease, tended vic'try gardens and the kids collected scrap,
And workin' overtime makin' planes, tanks and guns was dear old Pap!
Air Raid Wardens prowled about at night raisin' 'ell if they saw a gleam of light.
Plane Watchers strained their orbs so enemy planes would never over-flight.
"Kilroy Was Here!" was our battle cry but no one ever saw that elusive dude!
Glenn Miller kept spirits high playin' "Dawn Patrol" and romantic "In The Mood!"
Mean ol' sergeants yelled and screamed at recruits whippin' 'em into shape!
(Second lieutenants were a nuisance - good fer nuthin' except fer addin' red tape!)
We would never, ever have won the war without the lowly but reliable jeep,
Nor the GI helmet, great fer bathin', boilin' beans or yer joe to steep!
V-mail letters kept loved ones in touch - there was no E-mail way back when!
War Bond Rallies to "Keep 'Em Flying" and "Buy A Jeep" were held now and then.
Folks tightened their belts fer the rationin' of tires, sugar, coffee and meat.
These are just a few things that helped bring about the enemy's utter defeat!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
In honor of Remembrance Day and those that serve.
Tour of Duty©
I awaken from a fitful sleep
One where slumber was not very deep
The night before after counting many a sheep
My eyes closed and they did meet
A dream was had that made me sneep
You and I were there in a jeep
As I mentioned another tour you said nary a peep
But in your eyes I capture “what the bleep”
We both know the long stay at an outkeep
The enemy would be nearby and they are prone to creep
The sacrifice again would require a big leap
Is this a mistake or am I being wheep
Once again into our love my duty does seep
For a promise I knew I could not keep
Is the price for going to war really this cheap
The returns not guaranteed and the climb out steep
Or maybe we need to stop and make a clean sweep
And throw our relationship onto the scrapheap
Hearing those words make us both weep
For a promise I knew I could not keep
Andreas Simic©
Inferiority complex viz mine (mien)
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heep,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nanobot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches,
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hindsight
analogous to Snoop doggy dog.
Pope Frances
It is a warm sunny day in Lisbon, the pope sits atop of
Mercedes Jeep, he looks like an easy target for assassins
Men in black suits and open jackets hurry alongside the jeep
except for one lifeguard, who wears a gray suit his black suit
is still at the cleaners
The pope is heading for the big park, along the route
There are thousands of young people, waving flags from many nations
Russian flag, Ukrainian banner, it is all here, except perhaps
the Israeli flag, I assume there are no catholic Jews.
Where the road narrows before going into the park, the jeep
slows down, a girl reaches out her arms the pope touches her
hand
Overwhelmed, she faints.
In the park, thousands of young people the atmosphere is
elated, people being happy among a symbol of a public faith
On a stage, young women graciously, in a decorous manner
dance, I gather they are angels from many countries
The pope sits on a throne stool partly in away from the wind
he waves and smiles benignly to the dancers.
The Bishop of Lisbon, speaks wishing the pope welcome
he has a dreary voice, but thankfully it is a short speech
nevertheless, the people applaud
Now it is the turn of two famous female singers to sing
one sings angelically about heaven, the other sings Fado
Great applause, the bishop of Lisbon looks at his wristwatch.
Now it is the pope's turn to speak, the park is silent not
to miss a word. Alas, it is time for my biscuit and afternoon tea.
I stand in ******** like a British guard patrolling the keep
A private eye from nine to five but lose control when I sleep
Behold what I see is crime and sin that roams in the street
Your home, your retreat, the woods, the plateau, and the creek
The ocean, the beach, a plane, a bus, boat, or a jeep
Deceptions everywhere, at any time no moment for peace
The thrown and the king, it’s there as you approach the regime
But as focus decreases, it needs a microscope to be seen
It grows from a seed...as it blossoms, the hand becomes a possum
Alive but standing still to be a mannequin with problems
And the vanity accomplished helps profanity demolish
Your beliefs and thoughts until you see your sanity abolished
Damn if we could all just get along without someone believing
Everything they heard I wouldn’t have these clouds up underneath me
Life is like a tree, see it grows, and then it branches out
And plants a seed in mother nature 'til she screams and passes out
You asked about it here it is, like pyramids it’s quite complex
“Up and Down” and “Right to Left”, it all rotates like “Life and Death”
But it depends on how you visualize and what your eyes detect
It’s a “Circle of Events” so you cannot deny the steps
Try your best to put an end to it, you’ll just apply a stress
Cause if you die you’ll live again it’s written in the bibles text
But life is what you make it basically the way you write reflects
Wether or not you kept it simple or made it all complex .
Destination midnight,
a new year,
and time to close.
I feel sick and don't want to be here,
what a holiday,
again,
alone.
Eleven thirty,
really,
it was eleven twenty five,
like a half an hour ago.
Busy,
A worker bee drone,
struggling to find his way home.
Finally,
I'm free,
sober and walking home.
I spot my boy in his
black
Jeep Liberty,
drunk driving.
Swerving all over the road.
"YO"
he yells,
with an intoxicated tone.
So, I drove
the half mile
to my lake side abode.
My room-mates had an itch,
For a New Year kiss,
unwilling to miss
this drunken colliegate mix.
I too needed a fix!!!
Capa Alpha Zeta,
Beer pong &
Crunk dance.
Drunken conversations loom,
young adults yearn,
seeding thier late night romance.
To be Continued.....
"Destination, Jeep"
Jared Pickett
1/2/10
Asavvy1