Long Rider Poems
Long Rider Poems. Below are the most popular long Rider by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rider poems by poem length and keyword.
Here's a tale from the West.
as regards an unnamed man, who is the best.
He commutes by motorcycle day and night.
assisting the communities in need of light.
His origin is such an ardent stance.
that it causes groups to dance.
Lots of clashes with gangs and outlaws.
Never a single shot without flaws.
The locals hope he'll decide to stay.
But he quickly and silently walks away.
This man has been a transient for years.
Continually cycling as the sun appears.
It has been a while since we met him.
Somehow, I believe he is still on the whim.
Nothing has been stated regarding sightings.
There are, nevertheless, several writings.
It must be challenging to ride alone.
He must be strong right down to the bone.
This myth continues to be a folktale.
We lost track of the champion trail.
People set out to look for the man.
Finding and dragging him was our plan.
Worse still, they failed to uncover him.
They withdrew as the skies became dim.
I estimate that he is at large still.
There was always a ride across the hills.
He doesn't strike me as a guy at all.
however, a ghost answers the call.
A riding ghost, what a story!
I'm just unsure if it's for glory.
I am sure he will reveal his face one day.
Because every day I utterly pray.
This ridiculous person is the best.
who joined in town battles in the West?
Written: January 24, 2023
Marvel Superhero Or
Supervillian Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
They formed a posse and it was loaded
Three experienced at tracking
And their guide
He was a one-legged kangaroo
No one dared to waltz with him
Even Matilda kept clear
The heat was unbearable
Australia
And no one liked bank robbers
Crossing upstream the three rode through rapids
One horse was bitten by a bee
It startled him and reared
Throwing the third rider into the rapids
One scream and carried downstream
The other two rode the banks and the rapid
And their one legged kangaroo hopped
One hop forward but always angles
They came to a suddenly quiet pool
They saw a hat that was clear
The horse whinnied and a single tear
The kangaroo was exhausted and thought of a new line of work
His master lay face down and floated
The three horses gazed at the floater
And the two men followed their lead
And what about the bank robbers
They had a pint
A Lil' Bit of Aus... Free Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
He trotted up to Hamlin’s Bar,
stopping in for a quick drink.
He sat a tall, blue roan Mustang,
with a hide like darkest ink.
He paced into the noisy saloon,
amidst gamblers, drunks, and whores,
walked up to the simple bar,
and ordered whiskey, nothing more.
The burning shot was warming
after a cold night on the tail.
Barkeep tried to sell him another,
but he tried to no avail.
Rider found himself musing about
stopping in a town like this,
leaving behind the endless hunt,
getting out of the prairie winds.
He thought about a warm bed,
about cafes with bacon and coffee,
but as he did the old rage surged
and the thoughts all came to nothing.
In his mind came strangled cries,
the choking smoke and flames,
the dark cackle of evil men,
echoed through his brain…
With that he got on up to leave,
but a figure blocked his way.
A youngish man, vaguely familiar,
though why, he could not say.
The man growled and he said:
“I’ve seen you once before.
I watched you kill my brother Nick,
back east in Pellan’s Forge.”
The rider cocked his head and said:
“You must be young Jack Burnside.
I suppose you want revenge,
so let’s go take this outside.”
Jack nodded and they walked,
the young man’s eyes enraged.
To the street, the men went,
the town watching as they paced.
They stood off, then Jack’s hand
flew down for his gun,
but the Rider was a bolt of light,
and the draw quickly won...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
I woke up one gray and melancholy morning
munching oatmeal and buttered toast, alone
same as yesterday, last week and maybe tomorrow
when I saw a whirling wonder flying down the road.
It whirled outside my windowpane
it whirled from head to toe
it whirled with neon pinks and greens
it whirled and twirled and flowed!
I saw a bicycle with watermelon wonder wheels
as it rode in tumbling tandem down the road
and on it sat a generous, plump lady ballerina
wearing bright red lipstick, holding a bright red rose.
She waved at me and smiled, as I gawked at her, alone
her hair flew wildly behind her, as she pedaled down the road
the clouds suddenly parted, and as the morning sun shone
joy filled my eyes, to see that watermelon wheel rider
whirling down the road.
The mobile mind indomitable
the rider of life waves
with curled crests of fractured moonbeam
and dark agony troughs of drowned stars
spread breaking on the shore of the past.
The crushed sands carve seaward footprints
the weathering antique contours of decay
time arrow points to topography beyond the shore
away from the eroded wasteland abandoned
where landfill devours the unusurped hopes.
The weed-webbed terrain deep within
piles the wreckage of life unlived
the flushing garden turns metallic maze
the pathway paved outside its fence
waits to be walked
to the mesmeric meadow of tomorrow.
The invented alchemy of memory
glitters gold in the rusted crust of ruins
marigold blooms in the scrap heap
in the Midas touched junkyard.
October 7, 2019
Ghost Rider is the king of vengeance,
stacking up bodies of street level thugs
in the local mausoleum.
He makes right to what is wrong
ridding the world of slime and filth.
But what of the crooked CEO,
the one that's also in the mafia and Illuminati.
Will the Ghost Rider slice out her guts
or have her look into the damning penance stare?
His hell-cycle can just as easily travel to the corporate space,
finding the guilty shilvering with no where to hide.
Let his chains whip out the eyeballs of the greedy and the bad
and break all the bones to which to be had
Is Ghost Rider evil, or is he doing us right?
Let's pray that CEO will lose her fight.
There was Red Dawn and
Crocodile Dundee.
Full House and
The Lottery.
Road Runner and
G.I. Joe.
The Lost Boys and
Cameo.
The TMNT and
Silver Hawk.
Duck Tales and
Fraggle Rock.
Family Ties and
Growing Pains.
Pretty in Pink and
Purple Rain.
Risky business and
Young guns.
Breakfast club and
Empire of the sun.
Three's a crowd and
Stand by me.
Honky Tonking and
Human League.
He-man and
Ghost Busters.
Heathcliff and
Mario's brothers.
There was Full House
And Hairspray.
Scarface and
Expose.
Dirty Dancing and
Turner and Hooch.
Bosom Buddies and
Beetlejuice.
Madonna and
Knight Rider.
Prince and
Macgyver.
Night court and
Silver Spoons.
Flash dance
And Dune.
Fast times at
Ridgemont high.
The A-Team
And 9 to 5.
Turbo1904 ?
There was a bale of hay! given
Realizing deals were made in Heaven
Ensuring the Love was spread over Even
Everlasting Life became four Seasons
A ;Pale Donkey smiled with eYes of reason…
Sun poured out in all directions as a
;Precious sWord became intentions
Ensuring Love in all dimensions and
Nearing the Light, this Writer mentions…
Color tHere in what’s re.Written…
A Loving ;DOn. called a Write. SenseiTion
Never fear, tHere come Elation…
...
When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say,
“Come!” I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and
Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to
kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.
sWords, … Mistaken….. — Revelation 6:7-8 NIV
Form:
In the hush of dusk when streetlights flicker alive,
obsidian sheet metal catching dying light,
A black Chevy Impala – Detroit steel poetry in motion.
They don’t make ‘em like this anymore,
All angles and attitude, chrome catching moonlight like silver promises.
This ain’t just transportation – this is transformation.
V8 heartbeat rumbling beneath the hood,
Speaking in tongues of combustion and freedom,
A gospel of horsepower and torque.
My grandfather’s hands knew this car,
Calloused fingers tracing her curves,
“This,” he’d say, “is American muscle memory.”
When she rolls down the boulevard,
Time slows, respect follows,
Heads turn like sunflowers tracking light.
Blacktop beneath her wheels becomes a canvas,
Each mile a brushstroke of possibility,
Each journey a verse in an unfinished American ballad.
That black Chevy Impala,
Carrying dreams like passengers,
Night rider, soul provider,
Concrete waves surfer,
Four wheels and a tank of gas – that’s all freedom ever needed.????????????????
Where sets the sun again
far from the din of Port of Spain
shadows fall on the plain.
And on that plain over I strode
when the wind its trees winnowed
up the old Eastern Main Road
Now in woodland D’abadie
in this land’s sport of kings I see
a ravage of a foregone glory.
Hitherto as a child and as a man
its rich memories my lifetime span
to long before its end began.
Where yon the stable gate
a man and his thoughts ruminate
upon his own mortal estate.
Verily I had hoped in years past
those trees on which my eyes cast
might live on and me outlast.
Oft I remember picking fruit
and standing on a big gnarly root
as an iguana up would shoot.
When back on sunrise trail I’d see
horse ‘n rider under a samaan tree
in saddlecloth and saddlery.
I miss on a hot wind’s blow
the rising pan and beating calypso
echo over Rancho Caballero.
When the sun blazed a big red sky
and roosts in the night to you and I
sung a tropic island lullaby.
In late porch light shimmer
the big sky grew dim and dimmer
and belfry trees did glimmer.
But now the trees make no sound
for none on this land can be found
but the felled on the ground.
Where stood a mare or cow
in the shade of a silk cotton bough
dozers now dig and plough.
It’s hard to watch and truly sad
to watch disappear things we had
once upon a time in Trinidad.
There is a price and a cost
alas of all the trees cut and tossed
and to this land forever lost.
But still yet remains in D’abadie
planted seeds of life and ancestry
in the roots of a family tree!
Written: January 2018