Long Northbound Poems
Long Northbound Poems. Below are the most popular long Northbound by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Northbound poems by poem length and keyword.
We ourselves must walk the path.
Buddha
We ourselves must dance Earth's revolving
evolving
revolutionary viral path
empowering and disempowering
healing violence
and hurting peace,
Compassion
wandering toward multilateral peace
restoring cooperatively just ways,
co-invested means
We ourselves must sing
global gospel harmonies,
anthems for political empowering directions,
against economic disempowering elections
Dancing away
from our ego/eco-singing selves,
ancient memory paths
before division
into secular v sacred,
natural v spiritual,
Left yang-strength v Right yin-flow,
Western resilience v Eastern resonance
on every NorthBound co-arising
co-gravitating trail.
cold wars
and silvery spoons
make me solemn
in the self-closing eyes
always priggish
as a desolate diver
I blindly follow
the northbound shoals
hoarse in the black iris
I'm a tipsy toad
howling in heaven
with frigid manners
resurrected again
in a parquet parlour
of colliding sighs
the highland highwaymen
set up bonfires
in instinctive phobia
of the uninvited mirage
rural gravestones
salute the lightning
with tremendous pride
still frivolous
over the glum expressions
during prohibition
I smile with a frown
when my chapped lips
touch salty chips
into exile
to shock, to astound
Riding Wild Unto The Sun like a Night Light
with the Sword of Swords for the Last Knight,
Full Speed Into Valleys of Chivalry
Golden Helmet and Shield, here comes the Holy Cavalier
Trodding on Lucid Cavalry
Archetype Vangelis Defying Gravity,
Ascending Ethers from the Wild West, Northbound
Fire Wielding, Shaffron, Crinnets and Crown
Gallant and Free, moving Swiftly in Nobility
Into Halls Of Legendry and Infinity,
Cloudbound to breach Summits and Ranks
Armored with Ankhs and Sage,
Gryphon Crest on the Chest, Chanting Psalms Of Eternity
Mentally, Physically, Spiritually in Full Rigidity,
Blazing Untamed in Astro Luminosity
Crossing Thresholds of Astral Plains, to bring Cosmic Rain, in Cosmic Ferocity
Solar Glowing like Opal Stones
Blitzing like Drumfire, like Wild Stallions Of Old
Headstrong, Into the Heart to Reach for Stars
and Ignite the Sacred Flame into Bonfires,
Ever-Valiant, Ever-Forth in Heroic Strides
The Mantra, for The Bastions Enterprise
Into the Realms of the Soul for the Illusive Grail and Stone
and claim the Victory over Misery and Flesh and Bone,
where Legends are Born and Phoenix Fly
there Tales Echo of Battlecries,
and The Valiant is reminded in Repose, of Tales Of Ghosts
and Walks Into the Hills Of Zion, The Last Of Caballeros
Image of Coyote Animal Snow by Pixabay
Coyote Corner
Coyotes are wolves near cognate brothers,
closer to jackals who are bred o'er seas,
plus, noted slang for smugglers of mothers
and tots who lacked to grasp the ABCs.
Found hereabouts the USA, merely
south of the border some ways then back up
northbound throughout Canada. Stars queerly
dusk also dawn ... wreak howls, dull stares faceup.
Coyotes balance the way that they hunt;
when they are alone, they pounce on small prey,
nevertheless, whenever they confront
larger beast's, pack forms and perfects the slay.
When faced by coyotes, thrash your body,
yell, throw objects or be a wolf and *pee.
*Though blood brothers, wolves are also a coyote's nemesis and they are quite savvy of "marking one's territory".
2021 June 1
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND SONNET
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 July 30
For a few weeks, they descend upon Central Park greens.
To refresh and feed after a long northbound journey.
Flying through thousands of gray and blue miles.
Arriving in feathered shawls in every color and style.
Pasty-eyed birders come out to happily greet them.
Praying to get a picture of that ooh-ahh moment.
Beautiful things fancy to play hide and tease.
In thorny brambles and the tallest of trees.
Chirping "try and find me-try and find me".
They stay until they've gained proper strength.
Growing weary of the hide-and-seek game.
Leaving behind the concrete embedded in violence.
And a few precious gems to appease pasty eyes.
The new year found me alone at a deserted roadside,
not knowing where to go but thumbing for a ride.
The signposts displayed 2023 South and 2024 North.
Motorists, speeding along in both directions,
saw my two thumbs up pointing in both directions.
They all stared, as if to say, "Make up your mind".
It did not matter to me where it took me, my mind
was set to board any ride that bothered to stop.
Whether we care or dare to go here or there, thumbing
and bombing without care can take us just about anywhere.
As it happened, a Southbound motorist picked me up, and
before I knew it, I was seeing places I had already been.
I felt like a kid on a merry-go-round, except that I felt no fun.
The driver then said to me that some of us might feel like going
backward or staying put for fear of where the Northbound lanes would
lead. And then he said, "The only eyes we have are in front of our heads".
010824PS
In 1967, fresh out of high school at seventeen, I boarded a northbound bus to the metropolis of the mid-west. After arriving in Chicago, while waiting to be picked up by a family member, I met my first con-artist who ripped me off for ten dollars. That's the way I was welcomed to Chicago. Chicago provided my first full-time job with a metal plating company. In 1969 I experienced my first airplane flight from Chicago to Memphis, Tn., and in the Spring of 1968, I witnessed a riot in Chicago. It was the most confusing, the darkest, and the longest night of my life. After turning twenty-one, I cast my first ballot in Chicago. Attended a Chicago City-College a year before enrolling in a four-year college from which I graduated in 1972. Fresh out of college at twenty-two, got married in Evanston, a Chicago suburb. In 1973, fourteen months after getting married, just shy of my twenty-fourth birthday, had my first child in southern Wisconsin, 100 miles north of Chicago. In 1974 at the age of twenty-four, I bought my first car in Zion, a Chicago suburb. Chicago was where I rented my first apartment and shortly thereafter, I experienced my first burglary at this apartment. Sometime later, while all alone on a dark city street, I was strong-armed robbed for the first and only time in Chicago. Where I grew up there were lots of alcoholics, but I met my first heroin addict in Chicago. I attended my first Major League Baseball game at Wrigley Field in Chicago. I did not realize until this week that there were so many firsts in Chicago, and I suspect if I kept at this there would be a lot more. May it suffice to end this journey with three more firsts in Chicago: First bike, first kiss, first accident(my fault)........
051520PS
NOT MANY KNOW OF BOXCAR JACK
WHO LIVES ON A TRAIN GOING WAY BACK
HEARING THE SOUND OF THE CLITITY CLACK
THAT COMES FROM BEAT OF A NORTHBOUND TRACK
WELL BOXCAR WAS A MUSIC MAN
PLAYING HIS GUITAR WHEN HE CAN
STRUMMING OUT A HEARTFELT TUNE
NEVER STOPPING NONE TO SOON
BOXCAR WAS ALSO A LADIES MAN
HAD THEM SPREAD ALL OVER THE LAND
THEY LOVED TO HEAR HIM SING HIS TUNE
THE RASPY VOICE WOULD MAKE THEM SWOON
THEY’D DRESS HIM UP AND FEED HIM WELL
A HOMELESS MAN YOU’D NEVER TELL
A DAY OR TWO HE’D SING HIS SONG
WHEN RESTLESS CAME HE’D THEN BE GONE
HEADED DOWN THAT SOUTHBOUND TRACK
HEARING THE BEAT OF THE CLITITY CLACK
DREAMING UP ANOTHER SONG
OF LOVE GONE RIGHT AND THEN GONE WRONG
I MET BOXCAR WAY DOWN IN MACON
LOOKING SAD AND ALL FORSAKEN
I ASKED HIM WHAT THE PROBLEM WAS
WHY THE TEARS, WHAT WAS THE CAUSE?
BOXCAR TOLD ME IT WAS LOVE
A GODDESS BORN FROM UP ABOVE
A GIRL SO SWEET AND SLIGHTLY SILLY
WHOSE MOTHER CALLED HER LITTLE MILLIE
BUT MOMMA TOLD HER HE WAS WRONG.
HE DIDN’T SING THE PROPER SONG
NO JOB HAD HE OR DOLLAR BILLS
TO KEEP HER WARM FROM WINTER CHILLS
SO BOXCAR’S ON A WESTBOUND TRACK
TO HEAR THE BEAT OF THE CLITITY CLACK
A BEER OR TWO HE WASHES DOWN
AND THEN THERE CAME THAT SIMPLE FROWN
AND AFTER SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES
THE FROWN TURNED INTO HAPPY SMILES
AND SONGS HE WROTE IN PASSING TIME
OF LOVE THAT HAD NO ENDING RHYME
HE ENDED UP IN KANSAS CITY
LIVING WITH A GIRL SO PRETTY
DANCING IN A SATIN GOWN
SHE LOVED IT WHEN HE CAME TO TOWN
HE NAMED HER IN A SPECIAL TUNE
HE WROTE FOR HER THAT NIGHT IN JUNE
HE TOLD HER THAT HE’D SOON BE BACK
AND THEN HE LEFT FOR THE ENDLESS TRACK
AND NOW YOU KNOW OF BOXCAR JACK
WHO LOVED THE SOUND OF THE CLITITY CLACK
WHO LOVED THE GIRLS AND LIKED TO CROON
ON A TRAIN SOMEWHERE BELOW THE MOON
Diane was like any other Long Island mother,
but on July twenty six she made an horrible mistake by smoking pot,
resulting in the death of five beautiful kids, as young as five,
and three passengers in a SUV driving northbound;
she drove intoxicated,erratically going the wrong way, plowed into this Chevy Trailblaser,
but her son Brian miraculously survived the crash...
frantically shaking her bleeding mom and desperately crying by her side!
Did she hear him? She was dying, and couldn't caress his adorable face!
Why did Diane get behind the wheel so high and under the influence?
Did she need a quick-fix to get away from her problems or illness?
I will not judge her, but the facts point the finger at her!
Mothers, drive sober on dangerous highways, be alert and avoid a crash!
You will regret it, if this results in the death of someone you love;
don't let the guilt forever linger on your conscience: do you see yourself
deeply moarning by a grave that shouldn't have been there;
and what will flowers do...console those who cannot hear, feel or love?
Out there, more mothers like Diane...hallucinated by visions,
drive recklessly because of ingested, harmful alcohol;
others mix liquor with marijuana or other illegal drugs,
and think that they have conquered the world with their high,
and they may not see another day when they lay there and die!
Listen you all, put down your rolled-up papers, and drinks,
save yourselves and your own children who deserve to live full lives;
don't cut them short...would you rather stare at their pictures on the wall?
Diane might have been nice and loving before taking the wrong path,
don't we all when our expectations don't exceed our wishes?
Whatever they may be, it would be wise to be satisfied with what you have accumulated;
don't ask for miracles with your undeserving prayers...they will not be admonished!
Start with humbleness and dedicate yourself to the noblest cause:
helping others, inspiring anyone who admires you...tackling their desire to live!
And what will be your reward? Only eldless joy...without the terrible spectacle of death!
The Taconic Parkway tragedy could have been avoided, if she had had more love to give!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The thing I do to be nearer to him,
Commuting even in weather so grim.
The things I do to have more acceptance,
Cleaning his home for a much better chance.
The bus I go northbound in drives down memory lane,
As I reminisce about what he and I once were, in silent pain.
The bus I go eastbound with shows me where he's recently been,
As I daydream of a future wish I deeply hold within.
The commute may not always feel worth it,
But I want to show him I love him every bit.
The way home always fills me with sorrow,
But I always know there is another tomorrow.
The things I do for him, despite coming and going,
It is because it is him whom I will never stop loving.
The things I go through for him doesn't make him obligated,
But the least I hope for is my love is one day reciprocated.