Long Shotgun Poems
Long Shotgun Poems. Below are the most popular long Shotgun by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shotgun poems by poem length and keyword.
Moonshine, diesel fumes, and chicken wire.
Laundry hangin’ on the line.
Bible open to the Book of Job.
Backyard thick with prickly pine.
Jacket pocket full of Red Man dip.
Work boots laced with leather thongs.
Wedding portrait on the mantel piece.
Shotgun right where it belongs.
Kettle simmers on a cast iron stove.
Faucet’s drippin’ in the sink.
Matchbook underneath the table leg,
Teacup teeters on the brink.
Cobwebs draped across a window screen.
Horseshoe nailed above a door.
Things calmed down some since the weather broke.
Same sad silence as before.
Ma’s been servin’ up the buttermilk,
Boiled potatoes in a bowl.
Pa starts eatin’ while she’s sayin’ grace.
Lets her worry ‘bout his soul.
Man might say he be a slave to love.
Women make the same complaint.
Neither really know the meaning of
What it is and what it ain’t.
He works for the NFL and he is a famous coach.
He shoots my bottom for going on his land to poach.
I go on his land to shoot some raccoons and deer.
But getting a fanny full of buckshot drives me to tears.
I was about to kill a buck when I was approached by a skunk.
I had to take six baths to get rid of the odor because I really stunk.
When people go on his land to poach, he grabs his shotgun.
He shoots everybody's buttocks, he even shot his own son.
He's outside right now with his shotgun and he's waiting for me to approach.
If I want to be able to sit down, I'd better find a different place to poach.
waiting
with diaper on
for this woman to get up
off the kitchen floor and
stop bleeding while a man
hovers over her with grimace
and clinched fist
waiting
for our first-grade teacher
to stop crying
over the P.A. announcement
that the president
has just been assassinated
in Dallas
waiting
on the spirit of Christmas
to return days after the news
that mother's favorite song "You Send Me"
had just been shot and killed
a few blocks from our home
waiting
in the backseat of a Packard
for the policeman to stop screaming
at my father as urban soldiers
toss fire from their hands
in our neighborhood just outside of Watts
waiting
at LAX for Wilt the Stilt
to come back and finish
signing autographs after
some idiot just called him a freak
waiting
for the bowtie and scowl
to let go of my arm so I
can shake the hand of
the Greatest of All Time
as he starts his comeback
with an exhibition bout
in East Los Angeles
waiting
with eighteen-year-old trembling knees
for that sheriff deputy
to remove his pump action shotgun
from my temple
waiting
in the delivery room
for the wrong woman
to have my child
waiting
at a motel
for the right woman
to find the time
to slip away
waiting
on the side of
the ninety-one freeway
for a motorcade to pass
shortly after the funeral
of a former president
shamed by the Watergate scandal
waiting
and looking
while holding onto
the entry gate at 875 S. Bundy Dr.
for some sign of what really
happened that night
waiting
along with F.E.M.A. and the Red Cross
for the distraught woman
to come with us to safety
days after the Northridge earthquake
leveled her million-dollar home
waiting
at the hospital
for my first grandchild
to be born while her father
who's been convicted of battery
is nowhere to be found
waiting, waiting
seems like I'm always
waiting
Early in the morning as my feet hit the floor, I jump in my britches and I’m out the door.
Down and around the corner is a mighty fine place to eat. So I hurry down to the diner at the
end of the street. Falling out of my drawers and stepping out of my shoes, I finally make it
down to the diner to share the good news. By the looks of those folks, they weren’t very
impressed and wanted to know why it was that I couldn’t stay dressed. Quick on my feet, I
began to tell my story of this new diet and all of its glory. It’s a liquid diet, I explained, and
they quickly wanted to know what the diet was named. Thinking of the night before and all
that I could recall, I gave the diet the name “Alcall”. When I finished my breakfast, I was off
again. At this time, I head to the house to see the love of my life, my wife and my friend. I
make it to the house and step through the door and I quickly discover that the place I call
home was no more. Greeting me at the door was a woman with hair that was snow-white;
with a rolling pen in her left hand and a shotgun in her right. She loaded the gun and shot me
in the rear-end, I quickly come to the realization that this is not the love of my life, my wife
and definitely not my friend. I run down the street with my drawers to my knees and my
buns on fire; calling to the Lord in a pitch that is getting higher and higher. I didn‘t make it
too far down the street when low and behold it was the law that I did meet. They slapped on
the hand-cuffs and threw me in jail and it was only until later that my wife came with bail. As
she looked at the surprised look on my face, it was the grin on hers that she couldn’t erase.
She then laughed and looked at me knowing and asked how my diet was going. It was then
that I had to declare that my new diet obviously wasn’t getting me anywhere. Due to the
convincing series of events that occurred that day, I vowed to give up my diet of “Alcall” in
every way.
Form:
I know that beauty is superficial, what's important in a person is how they are internal.
But she makes me think of Kentucky Fried Chicken because she looks like the Colonel.
When people see her, they all think that she founded KFC.
I've tried and tried to get rid of her but she won't dump me.
i even let her catch me in bed with her cousin and her little sis.
When she saw what was happening, she wasn't even pissed.
i broke her arm and she had to wear a cast
This relationship won't end even though I want to put it in the past.
When I said that I wanted to break it off, she threatened to throw acid in my face.
I want to hire a hitman to take her out because I hate her, our relationship is a disgrace.
She proposed to me and I said no but she wants us to get married and so does her Pa.
He's going to force me to marry her with his shotgun and then he'll be my father-in-law.
My life stinks, things are going from bad to worse.
I want somebody to shoot me to end this curse.
You won't see a smile on my face because I feel nothing but gloom.
I'm in a situation that I can't get out of, I'm a man who is doomed.
My uncle died yesterday
He was an octogenarian
His stroke made him slur
To me, he is ever youthful
Riding a nicotine stained Mustang
Breaking free from his bridle
Breaking free from his bride
Leaving his two sons and wife
Long time since he whittled for me
A while since he carved driftwood
Since, he enticed a second mare
A girl to ride shotgun when broken
I wrote to not cry his passing
Though I never really knew him
I cried for the end of a generation
Now old, I inherit his vacant seat
Someday my son will cry for me
My mother says all things die
Even soju spilled evaporates
When the bottle tips I’ll pass away
Feel myself burbling away
Few will mourn a falling leaf
Few see Mustangs falling off a cliff
Even fewer still will see their art
In his imperfections I see myself
Do his estranged sons grieve?
When he is buried in Forest Lawn
When laid to rest by his parents
I wonder why I cry for an old man
Was it for him or myself behind?
Perhaps it is to honor any life
Ahead will be my parent’s rest
Behind me my son’s mourning
Find peace in a falling leaf
Winter is coming for us
We have only four seasons
Ride that broken-down Mustang
Never let go of the reins
Watch him canter ahead
I'll be joining him bareback
Help me to not feel jealous
Today is a good day to die
Uncle
Gone
lit-up-light-of-
nothing peculiar
we-you-and this
sewing tight the nebulous.
Salted tongues of silence,
pillow-sex for the nearly departed.
Adjust body-images,
fill cupped hands with
day and nightly needs.
Arms shrouded in animal skins,
see the bones
of long gnawed desires?
Rhythms, be thee in-sync,
REM cycles of desire
be thee loosely hitched
to mutuality.
Grind not - just yet.
Making it, doing it
feeling your it-ness,
our conjoined selfsameness.
The mind has invisible mountains.
let us jump,
just I
and that familiarity
of a former you,
go leap,
both riding shotgun,
with flammable
double-barreled begetting’s.
We do,
we slip in and out of empty shells
smudged by the powder burns
of spent emotions.
We-are-this-long gone togetherness,
meeting again
in an overdue daydream
embedded within a night-ride,
exposed way behind the optics,
playing the black keys
on high tide crests,
tunnel visions narrowing
to ne-plus-ultra disclosures.
We the cross-hearts,
cross-stitching reality,
time out of time,
yet again.
He came at us in the middle of the night.
Carrying a shotgun, and it was not light.
He shot at my husband but was way off to the right.
I saw it was the turkey and knew we’d have a fight.
I hid under the bed and refused to pop out my head.
I knew that gobbler was waiting to make all of us dead.
Then I heard the little ones climbing out of their bed,
So I dashed down the hallway, and hid with them instead.
Bam! That gun off. The turkey was a killing machine.
He took out the boarders, Mr. and Mrs. McQueen.
I yelled “Turkey, we were going to have ham, not turkey lean.”
He came into the room; his eyes had a wild mean gleam.
He took that shotgun and put holes all over the wall.
Then he strutted out, looking at least ten foot tall.
Never get a turkey whose been on steroids again,
I told my husband, who had been hiding from him.
Birds are in conflict with man's technology
It's an epic collision for ornithology
To these noble creatures we owe an apology
We hear bird language, we hear their song
Marveling at the music, we mimic along
Birds on earth are four hundred billion strong
A Bluejay's body smashed into asphalt
Pigeons begging on streets, humbling assault
Starlings trapped in stadiums await release
Jet engines regularly suck in our Geese
Falcons make nests up on skyscrapers
Atop utility poles Ospreys become nest makers
A Goldfinch quite naturally flies
Crashes my window and sadly dies
Shotgun pellets fly wildly at Quail
Our bond with nature could likely fail
For sixty million years birds show integrity
Now we witness avian declining prosperity
Humans need to think and do what's right
Find the balance so birds stay in flight
Ah, my teenage years!
Unforgettable
The fun driving lessons
In the summertime,
many moons ago
with my dearly departed father
lingering,
precious,
magnolia-scented memories
Perennially haunting
and tantalizingly close
to recall
I fondly remember
my father's patience
through it all
Riding shotgun,
helping me
steer the wheel
with a steady left hand
"Easy now, son...easy on the gas pedal..."
"Return the steering wheel after every turn..."
Oh, I remember
those calm, silken words of his
all too well
Memories worth
more than gold;
too expensive
to be bought
Lines Of Ten That Remind You What It Was Like Back Then Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One (Winner: 2nd Place)
Date written and posted: 09/27/2018