Long Mustang Poems
Long Mustang Poems. Below are the most popular long Mustang by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mustang poems by poem length and keyword.
It was 1999
Shotgun rider
2000 green mustang
My sis, always beside her
Landed the same job
Only Mexican restaurant in town
Put gas in our car
Kept our wheels going round
All dolled up
Kissed our parents goodnight
Pretend to go to bed
Cruising feeling right
Idiots with wheels
License to drive
Dr. Pepper and cigarettes
Never felt so alive
Introduced to Mary Jane
She was a silly lady
Laying on the hood of our car
Listening to Slim Shady
Hungry for boys
Just a tease
Looking fly in our prime
The birds and the bees
The dawning of 2000
Life as we knew it, about to end
Eyes met at 12:01
We both began to grin
Cheers to a good year
Twice as old as I was then
Thinking of my sis today
Missing my best friend
Her love was a parking garage kiosk
Take your ticket when you enter
The money saved is legal tender
Places money in the slot
Park the car in open spot
Her love was a parking garage kiosk
Promptly throws her arms around him
Said she'd never ,ever liked him
Plants a kiss right on the lips
As she's going leaves a tip
Her love's a parking garage kiosk
It's a different story different man
The miners gold is in the pan
Mounts with fury and with ease
Makes a slush fund if you please
Kiosk
Drive the car and the yellow mustang
Go to the moon and drink some Tang
She feels no guilt or no sorrow
Pays the ticket we"ll meet tomorrow
Park the car
Fran, the zoo’s favourite orangutang
Was caught today playing with a boomerang
Later to onlookers she showed her fang
As she stuffed her face with banana pie meringue
As one hand held on to the overhang
From which she forever swang
With boundless energy Fran sprang
And joyfully bells rang and rang
That night Fran got into her yellow mustang
And drove to a karaoke and sang
Her words had the perfect slang
Although most painful was their twang
As though Fran felt a sudden pang
She ended with an awesome bang
Said goodnight to all the gang
Can you believe this whole shebang
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on September 15, 2018 for contest PLAYING WITH WORDS UNDER FIRE sponsored by CAREN KRUTSINGER - RANKED 1ST
I remember fish sticks for Friday night dinners
And having phones mounted on the wall
And when calling my parents to come pick me up
Hearing the operator ask, “Do you accept this call”
I remember cartoons on Saturday mornings
And TV shows in black and white
I remember staying outside all day to play
Until blanketed by the dark of night
I remember wearing high-tops – the Converse All-Star kind
And having to put on a tie for school
I remember that bottle spinning round and round
And when it stopped – what we would do
I remember my brother’s red Mustang
The first car I would learn to drive
I remember the angry end of my father’s belt
Having been caught in another lie
I remember ice-skating on St. Leonard’s pond
And on summer nights sneaking into the pool
I remember gagging on that cigar puff
Trying to pretend I was really cool
I remember playing baseball with right field out of play
Because we didn’t have enough for two full teams
I remember at camp doing a panty raid
And laughing at the girl's frantic screams
I remember tear drops forming in my eyes
The day my brother went away to college
I remember agonizing over asking her out
But not being equipped with the ask-out knowledge
I remember wearing the cap and gown
As “Pomp and Circumstances” they played
And, even though this happened a lifetime ago
I remember like it was yesterday
“Mustang Rain”.
I'm sitting here in silence, going quietly insane.
Your standing there in the pouring rain..
I turn my rain-stick again and again.
Desert darkness lit by a glow:
Storm, lightning flashes stab the distance
I'm thinking of your mustang hair dripping with rain!
But I sit here alone, going quietly insane.
My dreaming: I was next to you: wishing the same!
The storm in your hair...
Wishing we were together with our hair in the rain.
Rolling thunder lost in your voice.
The sound of rain, that eases our pain.
Rivers of rain through your mustang’s hair,
Mustang wind blowing through your mane.
But I sit here alone, going quietly insane.
A flash in the distance,
maybe it's rain?
The winds blow the storm around in circles
But it doesn't mean rain?
I'm turning my rain-stick time and time again.
Just singing aloud, in silence.
But I sit here alone, going quietly insane.
Eagles ride the wind.
Thunder shakes through the ground,
and rolls through the Distance.
Distant tails of rain.
Smell of rain, lightning flashes, through the clouds.
Makes love to the darkness: time and time again.
Putting loneliness to sleep, accepting the pain.
Memories: The smell of your wet hair.
Dancing alone in the Mustang
I sit here alone, going quietly insane.
You sit there alone, going quietly insane.
Dancing alone in the Mustang rain.
I’ve ridden long ’cross windswept land,
Seen men lie with a shake of hand.
Smiles can fool, and words can bend—
But a horse stays honest ‘til the end.
People come with masks and games,
Talk in riddles, shift the blame.
But a mustang don’t play make-believe—
He gives what’s real, not what you need.
A horse don’t gossip, scheme, or plot,
He don’t forget what folks forgot.
He learns your heart, he knows your ways—
And still he stands through all your days.
I’ve trusted folks, and paid the price,
Heard sweet tongues deal loaded dice.
But reins in hand and saddle tight—
A horse rides true in day or night.
I’d take a horse ‘fore any crowd,
Where truth runs quiet, not loud.
They don’t judge tears, they don’t fake grace—
Just steady strength in an open space.
So when I die, don’t dress me grand,
No polished wood or preacher’s stand.
Just lay me down beneath the sky—
With horses grazin’ wanderin’ by.
My uncle died yesterday
He was an octogenarian
His stroke made him slur
To me, he is ever youthful
Riding a nicotine stained Mustang
Breaking free from his bridle
Breaking free from his bride
Leaving his two sons and wife
Long time since he whittled for me
A while since he carved driftwood
Since, he enticed a second mare
A girl to ride shotgun when broken
I wrote to not cry his passing
Though I never really knew him
I cried for the end of a generation
Now old, I inherit his vacant seat
Someday my son will cry for me
My mother says all things die
Even soju spilled evaporates
When the bottle tips I’ll pass away
Feel myself burbling away
Few will mourn a falling leaf
Few see Mustangs falling off a cliff
Even fewer still will see their art
In his imperfections I see myself
Do his estranged sons grieve?
When he is buried in Forest Lawn
When laid to rest by his parents
I wonder why I cry for an old man
Was it for him or myself behind?
Perhaps it is to honor any life
Ahead will be my parent’s rest
Behind me my son’s mourning
Find peace in a falling leaf
Winter is coming for us
We have only four seasons
Ride that broken-down Mustang
Never let go of the reins
Watch him canter ahead
I'll be joining him bareback
Help me to not feel jealous
Today is a good day to die
Uncle
I can't so joke or play or waste much time until I know
whether the english man is dealing magic
or pun the mustang horse
or mushroom rice or beans or moon
or even sometimes absorb her whims
or whether yesterday things were both nationalism
and patriotism and hope of many, many, many peaceful
world or astang-
Or what do you think is solicitation in fantasy and mystery
except sometimes the woods is a glimpse nightmare
leaning skeleton of some of our whims?, or glass
or something in the mustang horse?, I can count how
many times the moon is a reign is an english rumour
or whisper, tis neither too blue or old or black, yes
astang?.
They started when the need to keep the school together,
as the golden sided fish travelled in their world of water.
Is isn't difficult to imagine riding one of them,
herding the school to keep it from becoming chum.
Just as the West had its run with the herds on the trail,
So too, does the water have its schools run with their tail.
If I can dream of being a ropin' a doggie,
I can certainly dream of keeping a golden school being caught by a froggy.
"Yahoo, ride 'em and push 'em there cowboy" on your mustang pony,
"Yeeha, keep 'em swimming and together" on your seahorse pony.
They're a little harder to saddle under the water the way they ride,
Upright without legs and a tail that they can't hide.
I'd name my seahorse "Blue",
That's the world he'd travel in, too.
Herding the schools of golden sided fish,
Knowing that none would ever reach a dish.
It's fun to imagine riding "ol' Blue",
And that's the way I'll leave it for you.
I took up bicycling because I couldn't run
At best it provided scenery and fun.
A sense of achievement cresting the hill
The fun of swooping like an eagle on the kill.
First lesson learned: if you happen to be slow,
Old ladies on recumbents aren’t your ego’s foe.
If you carry a reputation bubble, someone will pierce the skin:
Better to be yourself; it’s not a race to win.
I cycled with a group, into an old town in the West
We left our bikes unlocked, the place seemed safe and blest.
Then the best bike disappeared, a thief had a new ride
We chipped in to buy a new one, as the owner cried.
I took a wrong turn one time, as the group continued on:
I went up a mountain road, by a golden sun.
Something seemed wrong and a feeling of unease grew:
Then the sign at the summit was a final clue.
I learned to stop and check the map; that time is wisely spent.
Why lose a silver dollar when you could lose a cent?
Turning back from sunk costs is sometimes the way to go.
I reached camp by sunset, sore from head to toe.
I told a cousin about cycling, it seemed insane to him
Just turning wheels, till the empty mind goes dim.
I told a cliche of freedom, but the point he couldn't see.
His Ford Mustang could get him faster from point A to point B.
I learned when I was tired, danger flashed code red:
Cutting corners is easy, and easy can mean dead.
A pleasant ride can turn suddenly to pain,
A bright auspicious morning to a night of freezing rain.
A fellow told me of a ride his high school friends once took
They reached the Montauk end, no need for a guidebook
Them took the ferry to New London, let the pedals rip.
Now they're in their sixties, but they still talk about that trip.
There's a shrinking world of places safe to go
Too many cars, too much crime, and ideology overflow.
But for now, it can be a pleasant way to spend some time
The open air, the open road, on your shoulders the sunshine.