Long Poncho Poems
Long Poncho Poems. Below are the most popular long Poncho by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poncho poems by poem length and keyword.
Far off the beaten track and trail
on quest for music’s Holy Grail
led pilgrims on biblical scale
more than can be counted.
With midsummer sun on our cheek
in tents to shelter we did seek
and pitched them at its highest peak
on a hilltop mounted
As we climbed the lean of the hill
my beer I would try not to spill
and sat with the great unwashed till
olé and adios.
It was I, El Skeet, amigo,
in my poncho and sombrero
half-cut like a loco gringo
who waved “vaya con dios!”
We lit yet another hash bong
all up in smoke like Cheech & Chong
and passed it to each one along
under the cop radars.
Till late as wasted brain cells flag
with every mind trip headfu-ck drag
I tucked in to my sleeping bag
on the hill ‘neath the stars
As music and mayhem did rage
back in next summer’s youthful age
we camped closer to the big stage
by a shallow hollow.
I’d sit and watch the crowds go by
in the hot sun and dust and dry
under a big Waikato sky
from our camp on tent row
And as I ripped in with the guys
to our grog trailer of supplies
we made a hanging chain of ties
with every pull tab rent.
Waiting for Cold Chisel that night
with a superdoob glowing bright
I was fuc-kin’ high as a kite
and lurched back to my tent
The next day I woke in a daze
and walked off my drunken malaise
when I heard singing songs of praise
in some weird sh-it I saw.
Tambourine hippies, punks and geeks
and chanting Hari Krishna freaks
burnt incense in clay painted cheeks
so I got high some more
Yet in a hot wet and wild hour
stoned in the unisex shower
I gazed many a sweet flower
in their naked splendour.
We bathed too in waters that flowed
down where the lazy river bowed
lest my head spontaneous explode
on my three day bender
That night by the stars we were led
as above a smoky sky bled
when out The Enz rocked “I See Red”
and fired a burning flare.
In the spirit of Sweetwaters
we lived among at close quarters
sons of Bacchus and his daughters
and I so revelled there
Written: November 2009
Sweetwaters was an annual three
day music festival back in 1980s.
L’amour est la poésie des sens -Honoré de Balzac
Translation: Love is the poetry of the senses.
At dawn, I look through the window
at the cerulean sky…enjoy a few moments of perfect
Tranquility.
Today sky melancholic, mirroring my
heart, my mind, my memories -
my present, my past - all I can see
in the azure clouds softly floating by!
I lost you many years ago!
Why, and how!
A girl in early teens…windswept leaves murmur tales of longing,
my heart used to tremble, waiting for you,
beat like the tender whisper of a meandering stream
splashing at the pebbles!
You were my soulmate…
We were very young…somehow we recognized
an unspoken bond, we were for each other.
You told me much later …you loved to watch me,
in your words,
“a dainty lass in a golden yellow poncho,
fluttering around in our garden like a butterfly”!
You didn't forget the colour, did you?
I collected flowers for my mother to decorate her vase,
So strange, you got up at dawn to be with me…
Nowadays those emotions feel like unreal fairy tales,
Do modern teenagers care about flowers and books…
Technology has replaced the breathtaking romance we experienced!
But the question is - how did I lose you?
Growing up - my family moved to the city -
University was the goal for children!
You were brilliant…you got a scholarship
to go to the most prestigious university..
And your parents were ecstatic to send you…
Communication was not that great in our time,
Handwritten letters took days to reach by snail-speed mail,
University was rigorous, medicine was even tougher….
you dedicated your life to serving the needy,
I lost you … as if in the maze of a spider-web,
in the process of building our future!
My Love, would you believe, till today
I wake up at vermillion dawn, and
those memories come flooding back
like rolling emerald waves at the beach!
resonate like melodies serenading from a temple-bell...
Our love was true and pure,
our love was the best thing ever could happen,
to my life,
and probably to your life!
But…..
.CORLEO the robot inspired our venture
the robot with navigation control
seeking cactus fruit and rare stones
the brittlebush and desert lilies patterns
embordered in to silks and cottons
from the looms of yarners the warmth of a poncho
a tent and rv for staying
CORLEO for exploration
"the area known as desert Tulips."
The vibrant blooms of the Adenium Obesum
they sought to find the treasures in
a complicated environment.
peyote, a cactus with a button-like crowns
she spoke again in a much noticeable tone
her voice a soothing distinctive tone
a songlike chant a melonic flow
Banda the brasses and woodwinds
could her melonic tone as she spoke
nearly singing, she soothed me into her words
we came upon an outcrop of assorted rocks
one to include agate, amethyst, beryl, fluorite,
garnet, opal, barite, calcite, chalcedony,
jasper, quartz, lapis lazuli, and malachite.
walking barefoot on the concrete slab of the trailer
makes her feet as black as tar
Yeshu"a bin Yusef she spoke
of her troubles and in trouble
I will speak this name she said
then I shall seek remedy
and seek solution to our needs
all while not telling what
the crown of the desert
really meant
I felt used and foolish.
My company to her nothing special
as her next friend shall be the same.
Nothing specail, just a mere person
A polarizing perception of a weak man.
The Myth of belonging
just woman exploiting men.
A Brothel in 1800's is belived to be a myth
until a truck of gold is found
and a book with the names of many
people discovered
"Mujer tribal puta" was the cover-up
and now we know why.
they hasd discovered how to use
wires to communicate
and wished to keep
it a secret.
the Joshua Trees rattle from
Quakes.
III. Shorty Rico continues.
D. She withholds the fact that Shorty Rico's ex- Female friend was
pregant and had moved away. She became pregant and disided to . marry him. Telling everyone she'd been in love before and this guy
was marrage materail.
E. They marry. After the ceromony the grooms father tells his new in-laws
That the other pregnacy was a joke and the lady who started the
rumor atmitted it to him. He coingradualted the newly weds>
IV. The Marrage. He found himself in love and wanted to spoil his wife.
A.People who knew her often befreinded him only
to tell him things about her.Somne really loved her
the others didn't.
B. She and He began playing instruments. and were then apart of
an orchastra.
C. She cheated with a guy in a box truck, and became pregant.Even w which Shorty Rico stayed and called the child his.
D. On stage before a national audience during a Concert in
a very popular city. Shorty Rico and the Baby Daddy fought
tooth and nail gaining national attention.
E. National exposure got them contracts in new areas.
The wife of Shorty Rico wore a poncho with nothing under it
modeling in a very well known magizine.
F. Shorty Rico signed a contract with a Territorail Wrestling Outfit
in the Pacific Northwest.
G.They remarried and continued there relationship to include
the new Baby Daddy.
In a dusty fleabit mining town
The kind you’d see on screen
The stranger rode down Main Street
Looking evil, looking mean
He packed a pair of six guns
And a sawn off in his vest
Those folks was mighty nervous
But that’s something you’d a guessed
The drug store shut the shutters
And the hotel did the same
The sky grew dark and cloudy, and
It looked like it might rain
The stranger in his poncho
He stayed sitting on his horse
He’d rode near fifty miles
He was saddle sore, of course
It took some time, but he got down
Then standing in the street
He opened up a well worn pouch
And rolled a cigareet
He struck a match across his chin
And in it’s dying flame
Some folks recognised him
Though, they didn’t know his name
Moving slowly down the boardwalk
Headin’ straight towards the bar
The light’ning flashed and all could see
The stranger wore a star
He pushed in through the bar room door
And silence filled the air
Those men was mean and moody
He could feel their hateful stare
Sidling slowly to a barstool, well
The mood, it sorta eased
For at last they had a starman
And they seemed like they was pleased
The starman drank his coffee
Ate some victuals and some bread
It had been a long hard day,and
He was ready for his bed
But then he saw the gunman
From the corner of his eye
He knew the man was faster
And he knew that he could die
Dressed in black all over
Staring deep into the room
The gunman, like a shadow
Almost hidden in the gloom
Though running short of time
The lawman hatched a cunning plan
He only had one chance to get
The better of this man
Moving quickly from his barstool
Heading straight toward the door
The sheriff hit the gunman
And, the gunman hit the floor
I, eye, with my little spy, the colors of the abacus.
The woolen pattern and bobbling often for a poncho, a season
They were giggling throughout my first semester
Got a little bit dim in the next season
And downward spiral she knows, for a round trip to fresno, frisco and the nearby reason.
What is storytelling to you? From the coping strategy discussion room, the counselor asked me.
I tried to answer vehemently even though the dream or I, or the dreamer in strumming
Were uncomfortable in diction, and appendix and often miriam, so
-Beyond one way CBT and dual controller DBT, this is a brainstorming beyond, and even so-
-How so? Did you see me fishy? In irrationality?
-No. In a rented apartment tenant situation, who else is there, other than your childhood plumber?
But you learned so many terms to fill in between often lost in the deepest try to find the proper diphthong!
And when the water supply was shut off, you knew what you did there!
And yet, he is not your motherly queue, still, he cleaned it for you!
One part of you is still succinct, telling he gets paid for the job and often so!
But somewhere you knew he knew his stuff, and it is about you too!
So, hold courage to the reason, not to the treason, often it is purgatory and involuntary and so
And take courage that you are too! For every kind of other end grizzly bear reason
The charmin’ bear and the bare necessity and the simple bare necessity
The toastmaster and the three quarter sleeves and the stuck up situation
One of them must be a see through
As there after whittling down with process of elimination, (POE)
This is the queue and the rest to be phonetic too!
Jun 11,2024
I swim in the murky waters, diving deep, nails claw mud. Lowly, I may be bowing, but I am not drowning. No, I am not beat, the struggle is not defeat. My toes dig into the earth, to feel the tangible for what it?s worth. Eyes search to find light, struggling not losing the fight. Head lifted, I seek the sky. Let this stifled soul fly. The gray clouds follow me, blinding me, I cannot see. Living with the acrid smell of my own stale air. Life may be a gift, but it?s not always fair. Looking to God, I break through the bolted door, caught between Heaven and Hell, feet planted firmly on the floor. When did I forget to live, to feel the sun upon my face? When did I decide to hide from the human race? Strokes of times clenched in fear. I wonder if the end is near. Renew my faith, Lord. I know I am not beat! The struggle is never defeat. I swim upon the murky waters, I fight the bondage of chains, I struggle with a net that was set by the unknown. I beseech heavenly Father on divine throne, Will my words of despair reach his invisible ear? Till I am set free this pain I must bare, The Holy Scripture says have no fear, but that becomes difficult when the many monstrosities appear. It also said to gear thy self with prayer which can move mountains and withdrawal the darkest cloud, but still the gray clouds follow me a darkness swallows me, it seems to devour me. The Lord is my shield and buckler so nothing can overpower me. I will not run cowardly. If the gray clouds still follow me, I'll deploy my umbrella rain boots and a poncho it can continue to rain as long as the Lord keeps me dry...
Collaboration by:Elliott Bowe ThE DrUnKeN PoEt & Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
I was watching the TV the other day
When a certain Rerun began to play.
It brought me back to one of my brain's stifled bans
Because it was about Lucas McCain...the Rifleman.
All of a sudden I was drenched by a flood
of Western Shows that have been long since dead.
I'll just begin with a few you may remember
Like Marshall Dillon - later Gun Smoke as it came on one September.
But I remember The Cisco Kid
and how Poncho always did what he did
we can't forget the masked stranger
who of course turned out to be The Lone Ranger
Then there was Wyatt Earp, Cimmaron Strip, and Rawhide too,
The Guns of Will Sonnet and a Wagon Train rumbling through.
Will anyone ever forget Paladin in Have Gun - Will Travel
or Trackdown or Wanted Dead or Alive with Josh Randall?
Can we ever forget The Big Valley,
or the Ponderosa's size when Bonanza came on the tele.
There were Tales of Texas Rangers and even an F Troop,
Let's not forget Rin Tin Tin and how down on the bad guys he'd swoop.
I still can see Lash Larue and Hopalong Cassidy with his black hat
There were Three Mesquiters to watch when I sometimes sat.
Do you remember Yancy Derringer and his friend Pahoo
or Johnny Yuma, The Rebel who never yelled "Yahoo"!
Maverick, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne were favorites of mine
There are too many more here for me to rhyme.
Many a big star began on that little screen
If it hadn't been for the Westerns...What would they have been?
It can be fun thinking about some of those shows
Because they are a part of TV nostalgia as everyone knows.
They have come and gone like the heroes they'd portray
I remember the Westerns...and their horse's neigh.
"Kismet is inevitable...in vain we attempt to shape our future" (By Poet)
Kismet brought two intense souls together,
two young buds, early in life,
Kismet separated the two kindred ecstatic spirits
sending to distant corners of the world,
for a huge void in time!
a breathtaking garden of Dahlias and Chrysanthemums,
a dreamy swing, a myriad of books to share and read,
tied them in a cherished bond,
engrossed with each other in breathless euphoria of youth,
they had the slightest clue,
What life was all about!
a yellow poncho, a few handmade dolls,
a dry parched garland - that’s all she left behind,
when one morning the magical garden was bare,
the blessed swing empty, he didn’t know
where the chirping birds disappeared!
the murmuring wind whooshed around,
but didn’t answer!
a glorious story of love and loss -
Kismet brought them back together,
her softest fragrance can never be lost,
love found its way back anew,
bloomed spreading its divine aroma,
who can hide the ravishing splendour,
of a never-lost passion,
emotions overflowing with adoration!
light shines bright from the untold promise,
trust, dreams of a life-long song,
echoing destiny without barriers,
eventual melting of two souls in one!
March 10, 2023
Theme: Kismet (Old Turkish word meaning "Fate, Destiny")
Inspired by Writing Challenge - "K" words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
FIRST PLACE
Brian Strand Premier No. 1198 Poetry Contest
PETRICHOR*
With a gentle gliding,
The wings of her purple poncho flapping,
My delicate little lady rides
Her once-in-a-while fine mood.
My purple poncho flaps, too,
Like a huge and unrestrained
Butterfly-of-a-covering,
And she is delighted
Because we MATCH.
We always walk together
Everywhere we go
(Which is all the places,
Magical or Mundane,
That we must visit
In order to match steps
With the witless illness
That bothers her
Every day.)
And she is de
Her little, silvery laughAnd clap her hands and twirl
Echoes down the street
And enchants the tree spirits shehe really
That lean down and listeniss
To catch her humor
(It was thrown like a handful of flowers --
She loved the lilacs. I alwayp wet seed-cliicked them
For her. Before the rain, the lilac-scent saturates
The welcoming breeze, and during and after,
There is always the Petrichor,
The smell of the rain and after the rain...)
This is the good smell of hope renewed,
Of a day without racing thoughts
Or suicidal depression,
Of a day when she can laugh
And clap her hands
And twirl in the rain
Like the Ice Skater she really is...
How I love her!
I love her so much that I do not mind
When the rain brings down
The seed-clusters like wet lint
Onto my upstretched face.
There is no other time than this;
No time of sorrow, no time of worry,
But only this time
When I
Can still stop, enchanted,
Watching her dance
And the Real Stars are the leaves on the sidewalk
And the Petrichor
Soothes and invigorates her
And she is like a happy child, again,
Unbroken,
And filled with dreams.