Long Station wagon Poems
Long Station wagon Poems. Below are the most popular long Station wagon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Station wagon poems by poem length and keyword.
Savanna Tannier just bought a new station wagon. Talking about painting it and rimming it up. Putting dital thangs in the "Ding Dang"! I heard that it was Spintez turn to do the painting, that junx gonna be soothing. Swaag got Rhizz and class: gonna do the thang!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ya'll see Tempez's food tray? They went fishing this morning and turn that catch into crouttess already. Scalloped potatoes and crouttes. We take two gallons of water and sugar with us everwhere we go: we make Powder drinks! Coleslaw was great!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How are ya'll whenb I aint here: I heard that she wanted to know what was said about her in liue of her absences so she asked. frontoll what them peoples say bout me? Told me some stuff sound like StarkTrick Dah Muffie. I don't know why they think peoples like them cause I don't. I heard that yeah girl!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ya'll heard them rockin on WLUW tonight they played "Big Meanies Groove" and mixed it wiff "Gaulle Gum" Thangs was hot til they played " Dingle Single Gal" No body wanna hear know Ghetto Grooves on no Friday!
Call ya'll back later!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That is one pretty shirt! Where you get it? I want one for The "Maltease Concert" Music night. Iam gonna go get one this evening to wear down: Huffles Bar and Grill" Burger night with Dick on the turntable girl! All the "I mostri dell'epoca Dai 21 anni in su!". Get my morning coffee ready! I heard that said the other! I heard that!
Simon – the protagonist.
18 – year old kid who just graduated from high school.
Lives in middle class suburbia, no designated town, and an every-town sort of feel.
Lives with his mother, his older brother. (Father has recently passed away...a year ago)
Have a small number of friends, most of them through service groups.
Very active in community service, volunteers for church organizations.
Enthusiastically participates in highway clean-ups.
Loves helping old ladies to their cars with groceries.
Brings in stray pets from the street, he’s currently the unofficial caretaker of 7 dogs and 5
cats.
A steady “B” student in school, would be an A student if he didn’t spend so much time with
community service.
Doesn’t date at all, has almost no free time, although he does sometimes feel like he’s
missing out.
Drives a brown station wagon.
Has never put any type of hair product in his hair before, wears a T-shirt and blue jeans 80%
of the time, 20% he is in church wearing something nicer.
Earns most of his money during school at a part-time job at an old folk’s home, taking walks
with them, listening to their stories.
The kids at school have nicknamed him “Simon Theresa.”
He sometimes gets frustrated at other people, that they’re not doing enough for the
community.
In church when he was 13 he stood up and demanded more people donate money into the
basket being passed around.
He is sometimes too passionate about what he does.
He is not very athletic, or interested in playing sports, yet he is ridiculously good at table
games (ping-pong, air hockey, pool, etc.)
He has a hard time socializing with people his age, and fears he is too different from
everyone else.
He has always been the antithesis of his brother and father, who are very much the All-
American male: athletic, sports fans, cigar toting, car lovers, beer buddies, etc.
The only alcohol Simon consumes is the teaspoon mass.
Despite how opposite they are, he gets along fine with his brother, as their personalities
seem to compliment each other.
His father on other hand, he feels like he failed somehow, ever since his death, he never felt
he got his acceptance from him.
And I can't help him.
PLAYIN' CATCH
Mom and Dad would have the car packed the night before we left,
the station wagon filled with all the essentials we'd need for our
extended camping trips. Dad always made sure I had my ball glove
ready for rest stop breaks. This was my favorite anticipated time of
the trip!... when we would stop, Dad would tell me to grab my glove,
but I was already out the door, lookin' for a clear stretch of grass to
throw with him. Dad had the same glove all through the years, an
old, beat up version that didn't have much padding. I used whatever
glove I was currently using for the team I was playing on, either
a present from him, or a gift, sometimes from a coach. Dad wanted
me to start throwin' easy, as his eyesight wasn't all that sharp, and
he needed to limber-up first, and focus on the 'heat!' I was tossin'.
I remember he would always encourage and compliment me on my
improvement since the last time we threw!. Our trip out west, "Custer's
Last Stand"...Yellowstone National Park".... our trips to "Itasca State Park"
and "Tettegouche State Park" always settin' aside time to "play-catch".
In time, Dad couldn't follow the thrown ball very good, and I remember
when he told me he couldn't "play-catch" any more; by then I was
playin' varsity ball in high school, and Dad would come watch me play.
I always still brought his old glove and favorite 'rubber-coated' baseball
along on outings, so he wouldn't think I didn't remember he was
still my hero, whether he could throw or not. I treasure those moments
now, and always try to 'play-catch' with the little cousins of mine,
encourage and compliment them on their improvement,
.......since the last time we 'played-catch'
l
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me
So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive
As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My Ho, Ho, Ho, is already long gone
Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around
Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time
As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose
Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes kill my kids parakeet out right
With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet
I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before
Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
'66 Buick Station Wagon back gate door open
boys toss school stuff lay down in back fixes booked pillows
older bro latch down the back gate shut
girls all in a row in the back seat shuts back doors
engine starts and stops, and again, third times not a charm--mumbles mom
Dad "It's not about who's right, but it's about who's left."
Dada's gone under the hood, he can't hear mom
Mom's shuffling papers, mumbling
Dads back, good engine started, idling time
Mom "The kids new school papers says 'Emergency Contact',
should I put my mom's name?"
Dad, "Put the doctor's name, what can your mom do?"
Me, "Oh-oh, mom called out my name"
Oh geesh, she included my middle name, "What I do?" "Blah, blah blah ..."
Sigh, idling stopped, cars in motion
Dad, "Now to make more $."
Mom, "I thought we didn't have any $ problems?"
Dad, "We don't have $ problems, we've enough $ to last for a lifetime.
That should be about 4 o'clock this afternoon."
Dad's quiet--not mom.
Sometimes I think where we end up in life…how high we go…how far…
can be symbolized not only by the family tree…but by the family car.
For me it started with my parents driving our family station wagon…it’s interior painted black….Where my initial dreams were fashioned…while riding in the back.
My first dreams consisted of a more egocentric point of view…
dreams made just for me…I hoped one day would come true.
Then one day my dreams became less conceptual….less fantasy…more real…
The day I went from riding in the back and got behind the wheel.
By now I was married driving a mini-van…with an interior painted black…
Wondering what my children were dreaming about while riding in the back.
I remember the moment they were born…how I closed my and wished they’d have a happy and healthy life…free from danger…free from heartache…free from sadness…free from strife.
And how I began to drive more carefully keeping my wife and children in my rearview…
my dreams now much more focused on helping their dreams to come true.
And from a place in the back of my heart and mind…a place no one else could see…
I dreamed of the life my children would be living and the people they would be.
Having much more driving experience…I knew what was best for them…at least that’s what I believed…until they got behind the wheel and my vision was replaced by the vision they conceived.
And I gladly shed my dreams for theirs…they transformed quite easily…because, looking back, that is exactly what my parents did for me.
I realized, as my parents realized, the dangers and sadness of life I can’t keep them from averting…and the best I can do when they’re sad is to stand beside them while they’re hurting.
As they continue driving…on their journey…as their own dreams they pursue…
I am happy to sit back, smile…realizing my original dream has come true.
That even though I can’t protect them form heartache, sadness and strife…
our children have been able to live a healthy and happy life.
For they know on whatever path their dreams may take them….
whenever the road ahead is painted black…
If they look in their rear view mirror
they’ll see me riding in the back.
*Image of Palm Tree Lights Trunk Wrap by Christmas Lights, Etc.
ILMO Our Eldest Brother Kimo (James)
Our sixties Christmas--as my memory serves, where
our eldest brother freshly cut one Norfolk Pine from
our country grove. He then rope-tied it atop our "65
Dodge station wagon. Brother plays the ukelele as
dad drives us home with "Banana" barking out back
at tailgaters.
Our home in town has a driveway that curves uphill
from the avenue. Entangled large 60's Christmas lights
wrap around the trees. Then they are roped to each of
the other trees up the drive. My eldest brother then
nailed holiday-adorned Menehunes to the trees. He had
made them in his high school woodshop class, --as
Christmas elves.
Higher up the drive was a largely lei-decked Santa
wearing just his swimming shorts surfing on his board,
while dolphins pulled an outfitted Christmas canoe
laden with gifts. It was a car stopper and the talk
of the town.
The livingroom Norfolk Pine had an army of Hawaiian
Christmas bells. Again, my eldest brother carved-out
coconut shells that were then cut in half and each was
threaded with a fishing line where a seashell dangled
at its end.
The tree was adorned with an assortment of seashells
having varied shapes, sizes, and colors. Freshwater
pearls were glued to draping light-green seaweeds.
They shine like silvery Christmas strands. They are
pale in contrast to the dark-green-colored Norfolk Pine.
Our Christmas in Hawaii lasted until 1969 after Vietnam.
That is when we started celebrating our family Christmas
on the mainland, --save one. ~~Aloha Brother
*An irreplaceable Christmas period to be remembered always...
2022 December 15
*1st Place*
Christmas Spirit
~~Regina McIntosh: Judging 2022 December 19
Where’s my sister gone?
The holiday season all wrapped up
A tarnished blanket of snow remains
Flipping the page into the New Year
Filling our thoughts with hope and cheer
A ringing phone, a joyful hello paused
Crying and sobbing, collapsing to her knees
Your sister, Connie’s been in a wreck
Somehow our big old blue station wagon found the way
leaving a blurry trail of street lights
Our hearts pounding, eyes filled with tears, pacing and praying
Waiting and waiting the doctor finally came in
Leading my parents away to see their little girl
Her boyfriend walked in, not even a scratch. How can that be?
She’s fighting for her life and he doesn’t even look like he’s been in the car
She flew through the windshield. He was pinned in his seat.
That New Years Eve forever changed our paths
My sisters gone, their daughter too, a jumbled family not sure what to do
Her body remains intact and functioning too
But her mind, she’ll never be the same; you know who.
I’ll never get my sister back.
A broken family, a missing link
Has made us appreciate each other every day.
THE FLYING NUN
Disposed to high speed,
the rushing air through her covering —
to the police, known as “The Flying Nun”
My great, great Aunt was a lot of fun.
First saw me, as I stood tall as her knee.
Years passed, sped by at long last —
a station wagon, loaded up with Mother Superior
and her companion, and all manner of things —
beautiful dolls, coasters, toaster cover and nicknacks.
I grew tall as a weed, scattered dandelion seeds.
Took three with me to visit my charitable Aunt.
The convent nuns treated the kids to ice cream,
flying as we were leaving, a couple giddy penguins
gave gobs of candy to my kids, and huge pencils
with red lettering “I Love Philadelphia”
By airmail, letters would flutter to me back home,
with loving bookmarks, and inspirational verse,
always asking for more stamps,
so the mail could lift off and land.
My dear Aunt became a nun at fourteen,
once said, if it hadn’t been for the convent,
she’d have been a movie star.
She took up the habit
as expected, by her family core.
A while passed,
missed —
Dear One — Rest In Peace!
2/4/2018
*Passed away several years ago.
Once upon a time in a very dark and dreary, creepy, place where the wind was howling through the black trees,
And the branches looked like swords and machetes, I was sitting with my 5 year-old-daughter Susie, if you please.
We were seated in a mini-station-wagon, at a dark and dreary train station waiting for Daddy to arrive on the commuter train, scheduled for 5:03.
If you know me, you know I can be a little impulsive, so on this night, I decided to do something creepy, but what would it be?
Immediately knowing, I turned to my 5-year-old daughter and yelled "BOO!" right in her face, silly 32 year old me.
Susie did not scream. She did not jump. She merely punched me as hard as I have ever been punched in my nose, a bleed.
I was laugh-crying now. Crying because my nose felt like it had been hit by a semi, laughing at my own stupidity.
Susie felt very sorry for me and kept apologizing over and over. I told her not to worry, I deserved it, me being me.
I had a black and blue nose for awhile, but even after
that faded away, I knew that Susie was assertive to a T.
I was so proud of the fact that I had raised a daughter who did not take any idiocy from anyone, including me.