Long Ride out Poems
Long Ride out Poems. Below are the most popular long Ride out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ride out poems by poem length and keyword.
A bright day and clear blue sky
An open road and cool breeze,
I am driven into a quandary
besets by a deep personal malaise...
My virtues overshadowed by some vice.
To ride out this rising storm,
the reins I use or the spurs?
So that I weave not the web of my woe
it behooves me how not to die with guilt,
for a guiltless mind yields not to sorrow.
Is it my willful folly
or my wretched destiny?
that redemption comes through crucifixion
and that salvation only by penance!
I'm perplexed with a doubtful dilemma.
I must banish baneful whims
lest all hopes turn to ashes.
The sun is lolling near the horizon
and the crimson sky turning drowsy gray,
I must sate my innate quest for beauty...
But lost I am in this maze,
How do I find my way out?
~09/30/18
~"Seven-Ten Form" contest
sponsor: Emile Pinet
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg Last March,
It's on His Website. We Spent Two
Days Together In Richmond Va. In A Blizzard In 1982
V.
Besides a rushing stream he saw a stone hut,
framed by aspens clinging to a rough slope,
the chimney was stained from long years of use,
But who lived out here? He just didn’t’ know.
Until his eyes happened upon two graves,
one had weathered, the other was fresh cut.
Who could they know who was buried out here?
Curious, he dismounted and walked up.
The older gave said: ‘Here lies Joseph Fields,
1851 to 1912,
Father, and Husband to his dear Rennie.’
The priest stumbled back. “Wha-what does this mean?”
The oldest daughter, who was named Isabel,
said,”She knew the townsfolk would not understand.
That’s why she used to ride back in her youth,
she combed the mountains, seeking out this man.
“She knew our grandpa had done the man wrong,
that a normal life he never would live.
She brought him money so he’d stop thieving,
and it return, his whole heart he did give.
“When our grandpa died they both realized
that without hm none could prove pa was framed,
they both dreamed of reopening his case,
but knew that doing so would be in vain.
“He visited us at night, when he was able,
and we rode out here to his backwoods hut.
We’re not bastards, Father Cobb married them,
you can at least tell the people that much.
“Six years ago, when our father passed on,
she came out here to give her man a grave.
She made it clear to us, when her time came,
we were to ride out here and do the same.
“We could not speak of this when she still lived,
to do so would have been their undoing,
a millionaire heiress weds an outlaw…
You understand this this would have brought ruin.
“But now their troubles are finally done,
and they can be here, at each other’s sides.
I hope you can spare a few prayers for them,
forced to be apart for so much of their lives.”
The priest was amazed, but slowly nodded,
said, “We thought worse of her than she deserved.
I ask forgiveness, I thought so myself.”
Then he knelt low and whispered holy words.
Later than night, when their mom was at rest,
they all rode away as the sun went low,
past a grave that read: ‘Here lies Rennie Fields,
Forever besides her beloved Joe.’
I always hear the sound of guitars strumming
harmonica music and cowboys humming
when I feel a warm night breeze upon my face
Whenever I look at a summer night sky
or hear the sound of a coyote's lonesome cry
it always takes me back to that peaceful place
Where men who did not care where they spit or cussed
with wrinkled leather faces covered in dust
would gather around the glowing campfire light
Singing those songs about how life used to be
when cowboys on the range were peaceful and free
until the day’s work tucked us in for the night
We’d rise up each day even before it was dawn
throw on a hat, a shirt, and shove our boots on
ride out to the herd to meet the rising day
It may not have been a fancy life that’s true
seems we always had a million chores to do
but this old cowboy still dreams of living that way
Floating
by Michael R. Burch
Memories flood the sand’s unfolding scroll;
they pour in with the long, cursive tides of night.
Memories of revenant blue eyes and wild lips
moist and frantic against my own.
Memories of ghostly white limbs …
of soft sighs
heard once again in the surf’s strangled moans.
We meet in the scarred, fissured caves of old dreams,
green waves of algae billowing about you,
becoming your hair.
Suspended there,
where pale sunset discolors the sea,
I see all that you are
and all that you have become to me.
Your love is a sea,
and I am its trawler;
harbored in dreams,
I ride out night’s storms.
Unanchored, I drift through the hours before morning,
dreaming the solace of your warm breasts,
pondering your riddles, savoring the feel
of the explosions of your hot, saline breath.
And I rise sometimes
from the tropical darkness
to gaze once again out over the sea ...
You watch in the moonlight
that brushes the water;
bright waves throw back your reflection at me.
This is a poem I wrote as a teenager. It has been published by Penny Dreadful, Romantics Quarterly, Boston Poetry Magazine and Poetry Life & Times. The poem's mermaid has aspects of a ghost, phantom and mirage. The mermaid was inspired by ancient myths of Circe, Calypso, Medusa, Atargatis, Ea, Derketo, Thessalonike, Li Ban, Melusine and of the Sirens, Lorelei, Dryads, Nymphs, Sprites, Sylphs, Naiads, Nereides, Nix, Rusalkas, Ceasg and Selkies.
What would I do if I didn't know love? What would I do?
What would I do if I didn't know love,
talking about that sister to brother love,
brother to brother love,
dad to children love
but more over mother to children love.
Talking about that real love that Mary J. Soul love. Loving someone that don't love you back
110% or don't show it, Loves a funny thing coz sometimes all you need to do is show it
But more time still you have to work at it,
step back and get a better understanding of it,
treat it like a child and nurture it.
Give it time and grow with it,
What would I do if I didn't know love?
Talking that homie love, ride out with you, Like On This Ting! Get out my bed at like 3am to
move this ting, talking about that,
if you need a shoulder to cry on love,
I'm here when your ready to talk about it love,
we can just go out to take your mine of it love.
What would I do if I didn't know love?
I guess it would be all about myself living with no heart, if you can call that truly living and
my time would be all about making the Queens Head plus the US and Jamaican dollars also
Nuff euros and a little bit of yen.
So you can say I still know love but I only loved a few things myself and Money. They are
two very important things to love but you should love life also and with the 3 main loves
loved truly living on earth would be the blessing which as a human we are blessed with.
The blessing of Love feelings, emotions, passion down to fear which are not Separated by
Sex Males And Females.
Love is Love.
Feelings are Feelings,
Emotions are Emotions
Passion is Passion and Fear will be Fear so we all know how to love something,
so don't be afraid to show love or to show your passion for something or someone.
So what I should of said when you first started to read this is. What would I do if I didn't
know about true love and how it walks with us as like it was are shadow.
“I just would not be Me because Love makes Me. Me".
Would You be You?.
Tallan J Bent 08/09/08 16:40Hrs
There are days I when loathe the touch of another,
Where fingertips burn like cigarettes upon my skin,
And a hand on my shoulder carries the weight of the world.
Moments where comfort could cure, but I must ride out the pain.
There are moments where I am a normal human being,
Where I can shake a hand without the inner recoil of disgust
When a kiss upon my cheek is just a kiss upon my cheek
And my mother can hold me in her arms long enough to feel it.
There are times when everything has a meaning,
When two eyes lock and suddenly it’s a love people write poems about,
And I long to melt into each crevice of your skin, down to the bone,
So that when you finally leave, you’ll take me with you.
~Do Not Trust a Word, He Says~
He speaks of sunken treasures the way no other man
The map of his essence is drawn in the stars
His smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon is pulled by the prestige of his masculine art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case
His love lavishes making every moment memorable
This gentleman cultivates you from every direction
Your blood rises to his flirtatious ego
His eyes, manipulate you, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost in his touch
He endures, he breathes in ways you can't resist
Uttered words easily wrap around your heart
In a game of trust, his lips persuade another kiss
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ---- stepping all over yourself
You are naught more than a fool in love,
Trusting and believing every golden word spoken from his lip
~I LOVE YOU~
( A Poet Destroyer Collection)
I was somewhere deep in Kansas
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand was long gone
And out of gas, my hopes were dashed…
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “Nothing—out of gas
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash?
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route 50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
We named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I sent this to Gregg in May, 2017. It's on his website.
We spent two days together in Richmond Virginia in
a blizzard in 1982.
Here is a romantic love poem based on the specific situation provided, blending the dark narrative of the lyrics with the requested sweetly nostalgic tone of a first crush.
To My First Crush
I remember you in the school cafeteria,
Where the neon lights hummed like a distant prayer.
We traded glances over plastic trays,
In those innocent, Manhattan-style days.
You were the candy that I couldn't afford,
A secret treasure that my heart adored.
I sold my soul just to hold your hand,
A foolish bargain I didn't understand.
Now I wait by the phone booth in my mind,
Hoping for a love I left behind.
You took every dollar of my youthful trust,
And left me buried in the cafeteria dust.
Jesus is in heaven, but you were my saint,
Before the world made me learn restraint.
My poppa’s in the graveyard, my momma’s far away,
Praying for the words I never dared to say.
I missed the ride at the fair that day with you,
Now I can't get it back—no, I can't get it through.
So I’ll ride out on the beltway of my dreams,
Where nothing is as bad as it seems.
I won't let them take this memory back,
No, they won't get it—no, they won't get it back.
It was a candygram from a life unknown,
The sweetest sin I’ve ever known.