Long Jeeps Poems
Long Jeeps Poems. Below are the most popular long Jeeps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jeeps poems by poem length and keyword.
Human hunters with spiffy new clothes
Driving jeeps, yelling obscenities,
Blowing their inflated egos up with puff
Their guns are huge, angry, and mean.
I run from them but I cannot get far.
BAM! They murder me in front of my child.
Who will take care of him now?
I do not die quickly, so they knife me.
Over and over; I feel their rage.
They must hate elephants, I think.
Not realizing all they want is my tusk.
I see my young calf looking at me.
He does not understand.
I am a butterfly now, heading toward the rainbow bridge.
I expect him to follow but they do not kill him right away.
His ivory is not big enough yet.
Soon I think.
I am from low cars
From classic old cars and car shows
To race cars and race events
From street racing and on the track
To sunset and sunrise joyrides
From cheers, victories, and even trophies
To boos and losses
But everyday is great when you’re from low cars
I am from lifted trucks
From Chevys and diesels
To offroad Jeeps and lifted Blazers
From black smoke and burnouts
To speeding tickets and even citations
From big, wide, tires and mud flaps
To the beautiful sound of the roaring engine
But everyday is great when you’re from lifted trucks
I am from a shop
From once clean clothes to work clothes
To a dirty cement floor
From mud everywhere and oil spills covering the ground
To working hard and getting your hands dirty
From cars and trucks that enter broken
To repairing and restoring, where they leave fixed
But everyday is great when you’re from a shop
No matter where I am, I am always
from low cars, lifted trucks, and a shop
Those BMX bikers were kicking up dust
But the blockade ahead meant they had to have trust
The little green guy with a face like a sprout
Would come up with something to help them all out
The soldiers in Jeep’s that were blocking the road
Studied their sergeant who grinned as he strode
His carbine was loaded and held firm and steady
Hey kids, you've run out of road... already
The kids saw that soon they’d have no road at all
For first there were Jeeps... then a twenty foot wall
Their wrinkled up friend better do something good
As each of them peddled as fast as they could
The soldiers could see that those bikes they weren't slowing
Those bikes were still coming... but wouldn't be going
Machine carbines raised at the oncoming children
No soldier was sure they’d be able to kill them
Faster and faster those pedals were spinning
The little green alien just sat there grinning
And then they soared over those Jeeps, that’s not all
Those kids all got splatted against that brick wall
*
[and then Mr Spielberg responded in person
I think I just might film a different version]
Where is the flamingo’s moon? It should have been here by now.
No one knew, but we were feeling exasperated, some feeling bitter.
Social media had prepared us for this gorgeous moon for a month.
She was supposed to be fuchsia with a touch of some pink glitter.
Wrong place! Another traveler announced; we need to go now.
We jumped into our jeeps and RVs and followed him of course.
Flamingo’s moon was up ahead, easily seen in the distance.
I hear she came from Venus, yelled an unknown source.
A thousand of us sat on the beach staring at the flamingo moon.
She was giving orders to flamingos in some ethereal way.
We were whispery or silent, for there was such awe in the air.
Frankly, this might have been my most glorious day.
Firecracker - a paper or cardboard cylinder filled with an explosive and having a fuse, for discharging to make a noise.
Firethe Southern sergeant shouts to the boys behind him
In unison, we live or die together, light the fuse. The enemy
Rises up from behind a rocky outcropping
Effectively blocking the allied advance. Shrapnel
Crescendos from the jeeps in the rear, cutting down
Riflemen not killed instantly by the attack.
Another night passes, nightmares replay the
Carnage of a war un-won, I see the bodies of friends
Killed in the name of God. Every dead man
Earnestly left life not knowing if
Right was truly in their
Side.
There were many ingenious things that helped win World War Two.
Jeeps, Higgins Boats and Victory Ships just to name a few.
Other things were vital such as radar, C-rations and wrenches,
But the ungainly steel helmet won favor with guys in the trenches!
Though the soldier always tried his best to look meticulous,
That "pot" atop his head did make him look somewhat ridiculous!
Designed to protect the head as directed by Army ukases,
The enterprising American soldier found for it many other uses!
It was used as a portable sink in which to wash and shave,
And it came in handy as a bathtub for the occasional lave.
It made a great laundry tub for the scrubbing of his drawers.
(Heretofore, Mom took care of such mundane domestic chores!)
Hunkering in his foxhole to evade the dreaded Grim Reaper,
It became a useful shovel as he strove to dig a little deeper!
On numerous occasions in it he was served his meager chow.
It was used as a milk pail for milking an obliging cow!
To rest his weary bones the helmet became a comfortable seat.
For all-around utility this handy-dandy gadget couldn't be beat!
Oh! And by the way it saved innumerable lives along the way,
Since its sole intended purpose was to keep shot and shell at bay!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Data, social media, hardware, cyberbullying, software, internet connection, zip drive.
If the people who had to throw out pianos from covered wagons opened their ears to our world of today and heard our current speak,
they would probably believe that they have awoken on a different planet, one with an odd new language.
Can you fathom what they would think when they hear us banty about words like computer, telephone, digital reality, video games, refrigerators,
Electricity, Chryslers, Fords, Chevys, Jeeps, and Buicks?
A glimpse of a turned on TV set would probably have them climbing back into their wagon to hide under grandma’s lovingly made blanket, to pray that it would
go away.
Which makes me wonder, what was their word for glitzy and awesome?
As culture changes and evolves, so do our words.
BRONZE WINNER POEM
Allpoetry Contest
July 26
_______________________
for a decade I journeyed as a stray
kept at bay — raggedy, scrappy, unhappy
across hills, through forests, city alleys
eating bits from bins, hurting my shins
no friends ventured near, other felines feared
oozing ridicule at my spaceless situation
it seemed hopeless, though a graduation
I felt in my bones —-
cute kids that crossed my catty path
looked askance or laughed raucous
my coat was flea-ridden, I could not
scratch or lick, tongue too dry, sob sigh
then cold black night I upwards gazed
at sky’s Lyrans flickering haze
saw there cousin jaguar’s light bright
beaming keen sheen across golf fairway
green
followed it with last bit of heart strength
surely that country club is beckoning hence
perhaps some human mind divine sits at a
fire like my past-life home, when seventh
life was lost in an unremembered toss
arrived at glass sliding door dead beat
patter-pitter smelt fish broth hot in golf
lounge besot — tobacco smoke, leather
slowly holy sneaked in to peep from under
their luxury jeeps, their chatter seeped
then a frequency stabbed core, piercing dart
my kundalini gave a fart —- juices trickled
down throat as master’s voice tickled !
he who lost cat at picnic spot mauve mystic
moons ago, caressed now golf clubs stylistic
like shields, wielding realistic
memory came flooding back, hacking armour
sack, until amorous I felt again sane charmer
it started to rain when he saw forlorn paws
did not recognise my jagged haggard flaws
under empty belly he hooked golf arms
marched to kitchen, a strategy warrior
commandeered cook for lukewarm saucer
I drank and drank until eyes transparent
felt panther genes unlock invincible
convinced here I was to rest my head
at golf field’s masculine sanctuary stead
listening to his heavenly chit-chat spread
live among good clubs waiting patient
for recognition that I was the one nascent
as I heal peeling layers of wandering
connection again, rebirthing commencing
last of my nine —- I will shine !
I want to know everything about you, I said.
She began talking, until I was green in my head.
I had opened up the floodgates of a woman who’d been dead.
I was the first person in fifty years who had stupidly said
Let me know everything. I am glad to hear about your life.
Now I understood more why she had never been a wife.
Every story was horrible, terribly, the worst, oh, so bad.
It was the worst conversation I had never ever had.
She did not pause for breath, she ran off like a horse.
She had so many ideas, she got me sometimes off course.
Her car had broken down, she had lost at least sixty-three jobs.
I wanted her to stop, but she kept going, and I mean in gobs.
So how did you like Great Great Aunt Tula? My mother asked.
I had been held hostage for days, in her full attention I had basked.
She had stories galore, and told some more than one time.
I heard every disgusting story; she was filled with gritty and grime.
It must have been interesting, my husband said later.
No it wasn’t I told him. No jeeps, elephants, circuses or alligator.
No traveling stories, or things that would be any way upbeat.
At least she had a great time, which I think was sweet.
our Jeeps pulled into hanger four as we saluted our first Sgt my thoughts were racing again as home became a vivid battle zone of raw emotions several caskets lined the entrance way inside of the chanook bravely I'd placed flags on each one clutching my dogtags trying to remember my name it could have very well been Col Sgt or perhaps private Kennedy I focused solely on the name tags of the fallen my mind settled into an untimely grief where I'd forgotten my duffel bag behind leaning against a stone walk way inside carrying a pasttime of glory forgotten was my mind mingling about sorted nerves of steel that shattered apon take off over high calm waters as I noticed a sea of dark tears I bottled them for souvenirs