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.
It is the rainy season.
a cataract of warm liquid nails
hammers upon the road surface.
The thin tin jitney is sliding through
the traffic jams
gliding precariously near
yellow poncho clad mopeds
being rode by two, three or more.
The little three wheeled taxi
is packed solid.
She is sitting on my lap
as the vehicle jigs and jerks.
I am heading for Suvarnabhumi airport,
going home
although 'home' is an empty place of exile,
a land that I can love no more.
Duty calls, even for lovers to part;
she to her village and a dying father,
I to the embrace of loneliness,
a solitude that still yet brings me
to long restless nights
in a cold bed I made for myself.
.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.
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
Cantata
He stood there on a plateau that only had a tree,
And since he had appeared from nowhere, there
Was there no past to bother with?
He sat under the tree mainly because it was
getting hot, the tree had big, thick leaves and
Beside the tree, there was a barrel of cold water.
During the day, the plateau became shimmering
He saw ponies trotting past like a knitted poncho.
Since he had no past, a fragment of a future
Instinct told him they were going to the Green Vale
That had grass, shade, and a lagoon that reflected
The sky, or was it the other way around?
He sat there and tried to visualize the future where he didn´t
Exist, but he failed, which made him human.
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.
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 delighted
And claps her hands and twirls
And
Her little, silvery laugh
Echoes down the street
And enchants the tree spirits
That lean down and listen
To catch her humor
(It was thrown like a handful of flowers --
She loved the lilacs.
I always cut 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.
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…..
In the shadows an enemy lurks, it’s where they hide.
While inside my foxholes, a Marine grunt, I abide.
A poncho line wrapped around my body that shivers;
Steeled nerves, impenetrable will, I refuse to quiver.
I wait soaking wet in my restrained prime.
Its death that haunts me while I suffer this time.
My mind is troubled, yet there I’ll remain
There’s no pretending, its death, not a game.
Trained to fight and not to run for the Vietnam War,
Where time has forgotten, and joy comes no more.
Waiting for the enemy, faces without names;
Their bodies mount-up now God’s to claim.
Marines died in the jungles of South Vietnam
While outside of country, the world moved on.
They dared not dream, for it might be forever.
O’ Home, Sweet Home, twas' their bold endeavor.
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.
Walls loomed around me
Down empty streets
Streetlights flickering
A plastic bag dancing
Somewhere a dog barking
A distant roll of thunder
I clutch my poncho tighter
The rain tap dancing
Acrosss my bright yellow poncho
It's so very quaint
And somehow nostalgic
Scurrying down empty roads
To the patter of raindrops
But the sky is emotional
Crying on a ghost world below
I know not what causes it pain
Of if there's even any blame at all
Perhaps the tears just fall
Because it sees me all alone
In my bright yellow poncho
Always in a hurry
But never going anywhere
And every time I get a sense of direction
I'm once again reminded
Of the walls looming around me