Long Stoplight Poems
Long Stoplight Poems. Below are the most popular long Stoplight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stoplight poems by poem length and keyword.
Monday morning comes alive with the piston train speeding by, thousands of people gather at the gate and crowd the platform before it was too late.
Monday morning full of passion with hangover lingering in the shower, a change of clothes and alcohol on breath the impatient driver is starving to death but a passenger was just in time to save his life with a mug of coffee, spicy donuts, and cinnamon bagel. He has an appetite as big as a lark and when his passenger emerges from the dark he flips the script.
Monday morning stumble through the street and the traffic and city sound disrupt my heart beat; business women and business men tunnel through the crowd and the vendors on the other side bellowing in the air selling merchandise in the early morning.
Everyone with conceited mind presses through the thick crowd and everyone talking very loud and even the quiet one expose his ambitions.
The crowd in the street began to swell and the small school bus and big trucks rubbing side by side speeding down the street trying to outdo one another and the children scream and shout and laugh out loud when the driver pull away from each other.
Cars and van honking their horn as the traffic converge at the stoplight and an impatient fellow came out of nowhere and speed through the crowd and collide in a big tree on the side of the road.
There you go again; the traffic lined up around the bend and
the cops were swift to pick up the dead and the traffic come to a standstill.
The ambulance began to shout with red lights blazing from the hill and busy nurses in the back resuscitating the deceased back to life but it was a feat on which destiny rely.
The traffic began to flow and a radiant light burst through the sky and lit up the entire street.
Across the distant the sound of the Piston train has completed the sixth round and destiny billows through the angry town.
It did not stop at the usual stops and the people were unhappy about that, but the train picks up the speed and continue to barreled down the street.
It got out of control and Monday morning began to roll and the piston train empty its contents in the bush and set ablaze.
And birds in the bushes gather around to give their condolences to the relics scattered on the ground and the Piston train broke in several pieces.
Love is an emotion that can’t be seen
It’s not of a stoplight so you can’t wait till the light turns green
There is good and bad love and even some in between
Love has no limit and can never be wiped clean
Strongest feeling that lies in our soul
Ye must know with each drive you must pay a toll
No matter how far you drive ye can still wind up in a hole
Ye heart you stole
So finding love is not an ultimate goal
Losing your love in the cold breeze it will blow
Even though it’s still with you as you try to let it go
Ye must just let love flow
After ye feel the power it has ye shall never be below
Have thy faith so thou feelings will only grow
Something we take for granted and says to soon
That’s why most of the time our love ends up in the sky like a lost balloon
We can hope and pray for love but let’s face it life is not that of a cartoon
Ye can sit and wish on a star or star at the moon
Or ye can take action for thyself and make your own personal tune
Living life with the one who means the most
Overcoming the obstacles we shall share and becoming one
Venturing out and exploring not thy heart by thy partner soul
Everyday respecting the other one and not just playing a role
That is the meaning of love which to most people is blind
Because small minded and selfish to them love has already been defined
Thinking the way you do will only leave you a step behind
So if ye not knoweth thy true meaning then leave it undefined
Because one day you will have a contract of love that must be signed
It’s not the same as an I like you
Because we all know half the people that say that aren’t true
It’s not the same as you mean the world to me
Because you still don’t have thy ultimate key
It’s not the same as I miss you
Cause thou can say that while you are sleeping with your other boo
So don’t take love light
If thy do ye wont be able to sleep at night
So until ye know what it truly means then stay on the ground and don’t take flight
Just wait for that light to shine on you ever so bright
When you’re standing across from the one you truly love in black or white
© Jeremy Fennell
An out of body experience?
I hadn’t thought it might be that.
I only knew that something happened
that was strange and a bit scary,
and it has happened twice.
Both of these times I was driving my car
in a very, very familiar territory.
The first time I was headed for my
favorite grocery store, as I had done
at least once a week for many years.
I never varied my route.
Perhaps I had let my mind wander a bit,
playing with words for a new poem or
trying to decide just which flowers
would look best in the design I
was entering for competition.
I rounded the corner for the last half-mile
and suddenly everything looked strange,
as if I had never been there before.
The road stretched ahead with nothing
looking familiar and the day
had turned very bright.
Everything became common place again, as
the stop light marking my left turn
into Safeway’s parking lot, turned green
without my having to stop.
My grocery shopping experience
was uneventful and I had almost
forgotten the weirdness of that
day, when it happened again.
This time I was even closer to my home.
I had lunched with friends in the little town
four miles down the road. I had raised my family
in that town and then had married again
and moved to a farm where we had built
a new home, forty years before.
Fifteen or a few more years ago, they had
made a change in the road that went into town.
Formerly it had circled around a high ridge,
but too many accidents on that turn
had caused the county to move a portion of it
They had put in a wide curve
in order to avoid the hill.
Coming home from my lunch I
suddenly disconnected from my
surroundings. I was coming around
the curve and absolutely
everything was new and exotic to me.
How could this be? I had just traveled
this road in the other direction
two hours ago
I came back to my self at the stoplight.
There on the opposite side of the road
was the house I had lived in while we
were building our home just a mile up the
road.
I put no name on my experiences…
but I cannot help but ponder their meaning.
Like Moses fleeing Egypt
and finding refuge in Midian
I was a stranger in a strange land.
Having fled Chicago in ‘84
I journeyed east to the
unpromised land of Detroit.
8 Mile Road.
“I'm a man
I'm a make a new plan”
Eminem makes and takes the rap
while party stores and strip joints
pockmark the urban warscape.
“Super Lotto” “Beer and Wine”
“Liquor“ “Money Orders”
“We accept Food stamps”
“Girls, Girls, Girls”
9 Mile Road.
Driving north through Ferndale where
the Exiles of Gentrification live,
I was reminded of the sixties
and drag racing
stoplight to stoplight.
3-2-1-green
zero to sixty in three gallons
muscleheads in their muscle cars
dual quads, hemi-heads
bored and stroked, raked and shackled
four on the floor, two in the backseat
Jim Beam in the glove box
and fuzzy dice on the mirror.
Up ahead the Reuther crossed
where once a 10 Mile Road proudly served.
Named for a firebrand labor guy,
the freeway heads east out of Roseville,
veers south through Warren
then north and south again.
Torn up and re-built before it opened,
the 20 year in the making
gerry-meandering freeway
flows west around the Zoo
with a zig through Huntington Woods
and a zag through Lathrup Village.
11 Mile Road and electric
eclectic, engaging Royal Oak;
home of the Star Dream sculpture
Farmer’s Market and all things hip—
Just ask ‘em.
11 and a half Mile Road.
Art deco portico with garish neon,
never washed windows and
a pair of 69.9 a gallon pumps,
“No Gas” “No Gas”
Vinsetta Garage,
a Woodward fixture since prohibition,
is voted Motown’s best car repair
year after year after year.
12 Mile Road.
The National Shrine of the Little Flower,
de-flowered in the 1930’s
by radio Priest Charles Coughlin
whose coast to coast broadcasts
railed against bankers and Jews
and that communist FDR.
Like a journalist trying to find the
Who? What? Where? and why?
Like a little boy peering through a keyhole
I found myself in a Motor City funk
looking more than tasting.
I know a man who went to the zoo but they wouldn’t let him out,
So hairy was his body that his heritage was called into doubt.
He asked to have a lawyer but none of them would take his case,
None of them thought that he had a prayer after looking him in the face.
“I am not an animal,” he pleaded to them, “I’m just a hairy guy,”
“If you’d only check my DNA you’d know that it’s no lie.”
So a judge ordered that the test be run to see if he was a man,
To confirm once and for all that he belonged to the human clan.
When the results of the test came back and the answer could be seen,
The man was surprised to learn that he carried the grizzly gene.
“Hmm,” he said as he pondered upon his own reflection in the mirror,
This sheds new light on my life and I can see things so much clearer.”
It helps me to understand why it is that when I visit at the park.
I feel the need to scratch my back by rubbing it against tree bark.
And why when I get the urge to eat seafood it always seems to be,
No restaurant ever can serve raw Salmon that’s fresh enough for me.
It explains why when a driver cut me off as he dialed to make a call,
At the next stoplight I pulled him out and devoured him phone and all.
I guess now that I think of it I’ve suspected it for quite some time,
But what can you do if you’re a Grizzly bear? It certainly isn’t a crime.
The court decided that he had a point and that his upbringing was the cause,
So they couldn’t bring themselves to remove him from his teeth and claws.
Even though his violent ways were something that couldn’t be neglected,
There wasn’t much that they could do because his species was protected.
So they tagged his ear and fastened a GPS that utilizes satellite high tech,
And now his wife and kids can track him by the collar around his neck.
You might think that for them this situation might be something terrible,
But they are all adjusting quite well and their lives have become bearable.
My conscious mind was
Shocked when
I realized I was slamming on my brakes.
There are
Three lanes of solid orange lights,
As far as I can see down the interstate.
A wreck most probably.
We began inching our way uphill, pretending to be socialized.
No one can see anything.
Maybe a trucker, but none of us in cars.
The cars at the top of the next hill are not fighting for lanes yet,
So I wonder how far we are going to inch our way toward our destination.
I call four people.
One is my husband.
Find out what’s happening, I tell him.
My GPS went on the blink this week; it won’t be any help.
Three of the people are co-workers.
I ask them for a favor.
All say yes.
One I have gotten out of bed.
Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch.
One car pulls out of the right hand lane, and drives like a maniac down the emergency lane.
A Mustang.
Go figure.
We inch our way to the top of the hill
I can now see a non-moving ribbon of orange lights.
My husband calls me.
Nothing on the news yet.
No empathy or patience now, I look for my chance.
Aha! A slow car.
I swerve into the right-hand lane, the one I never use.
We inch forward a few more inches.
Suddenly my car pulls a sharp right.
She and I race down the emergency lane,
Like there are hungry cheetahs after us.
I see flashing red and blue lights to my left
As we exit.
High above on the Interstate bridge
We are at a stoplight, facing an Interstate entrance ramp.
The cars going up this ramp are uninhibited; free to fly,
I watch five cars go up the ramp, ahead of me.
I swear at the light for not changing fast enough.
I marvel at the lack of cars as I re-enter the Interstate.
I am so early, I stop and buy gas.
Amazingly, I am the first car at work,
Beating everyone I called.
I love being an impatient risk taker.
The twittering of the birds singsonged by
As the mum night kissed the new spousal dawn
The daybreak entity by the beadsmen allegiance
Pour forth by the holy water along the river adorn.
Thrown by the kid, the pebble found by the street
To the river, that splashed water
Few drops dripped numbly by the curls so formed
The kid whispered to his ingenuity and smiled by his quiesce voice.
The aroma morning breeze by the garden of blossoms
Felt by the awaken passers, suspired softly by the fresh air
The late city woke up by the quotidian alarm
Tuning the frequency modulation to a baritone cohere.
Rushed along by the streets, horns hooted at the crossing
By the foot, the beggar sang for his solicitation
There by the stoplight the cop whistled to control the traffic
The politician in the ambassador with the siren went by.
Two teenagers spotted to fight on a fallacious note
And the one who passed over, enjoyed with a sarcastic tone
There a group of bunked educatees forgather with a guitar
And played a melodic line that absorbed the whole inclusion.
Lost in the city, the traveler acquainted with strangers
But when asked for his destination, he propelled to be familiar
There by the midst he heard his yell unheard by all
He rhymed his own verse through his journey sung by his own voice.
The twittering of the birds singsonged by
As the midday coerce felt sorry by the sunset jollity
The twilight entity by the soul mate hug and kiss
Enclosed by the memories with the birds nested by the eventide.
Felt by the kid, the numbness of the darkness
To the sound of beetles, that phantomed his thoughts
Few spoke with the silence as they heard the cozy tone
The kid then slumbered by the alloy felt rhythmically to his own.
he parlayed a condom full of nouns
in bold thrusts of the quill
for the para structuralist cadres
many of them freeway orphans
who won't even read a stoplight
on the other hand
there's a lot of other hand
upon hearing the chimes of midnight
I opened the door
another surprise party
that I knew about all along
arranged by my body building therapist
who was a notorious sadist
requiring humiliation ab astra
went in after my scenario gland
in an act of divine pity
sewed me back up real fast
couldn't handle the pixel rate
the audience shrieked and laughed
it was the great awakening
after the Treaty of Lucky Seven
in which all nations pledged
to honor their accidents and idiocies
as though they were instruments of divination
uh oh here comes my chiropractor
a known mob boss
never found the need to knock
cracked his knuckles at the door
and politely asked may I enter
he spoke 7 languages
and several materialist dialects
and could talk without
moving his lips
many were blamed for
things they never said
a hundred times a day
nothing is uncontained
archaeologists in the city dumps
using a subway map with all the stops
snorted and toiled through Winter
at their historico-revisionist comedy
piecing convex to concave
any idea past its prime is stupid
this is the unfortunate fate of all humanity
nobody really likes change
unless it’s more money
oh I know I’ll never work in this town again
but with a bankroll
the size of a chewed pencil
you get the picture
now buckle up kids
mommy's going to drive a little faster
there's a cop on my ass
and I think I can lose him
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
How can a stranger standing at the corner,
leave me breathless, in a trance... I ask you?…
What are the chances, in such a moment,
one brief encounter could change a life?
You were the sunlight, after the rain fell
leaving me defenseless. Makes no sense at all. ..
So, how to explain it? A spell, that is nameless
Nothing will ever be the same
~
How can it be? Can this be really happening?
Or is it just a dream?……
A chance encounter, that fate designed for me?....
But now, I'm floating on a cloud
~
Unlikely strangers, after the thunder,
waiting for traffic, to let us move on
Then came the static, something like magic
flashed to light the afternoon
___
There was a rainbow, on the horizon
rising against the blue, a sign to tell me
Spellbound, I'm flying, ... I'm realizing
suddenly my world is something new!
I've found tomorrow, standing at the corner,
under a stoplight, and after rain fell
There at the crosswalk, lost in crossfire…
Dare I hope you felt it too?
~
Now everyday, we cross paths at the corner, and
I've seen you come, and go …….
I'm left to wonder, do you know?
And could you feel the same way that I do?
What are the chances, someday on that corner
you'll take my hand, and know that it's forever?
With recognition, divine intervention
We'll never walk alone again….... again…………again….
………………………………………………………………..
Lyrics for music written by Kevin Kern "Chance Encounter"
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Y1hDSBlvkU)
Inspired by the contest: "Fun With Lyrics"
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
2/5/18
ALWAYS. ********
Understand. I MUST go
On these clearing acts of
Instinct and inspiration, these flashings
As they come. For a blizzard has
Been moving in and the snow is
Piling up by the foot...So the doors
Must be kept cleared. The temperatures are
Not rising. The storm pounds in
From the west, but I part the curtains awaiting
The sun to gleam up from the east. These
Enemies — oppression and fear — have come
Disguised as beautifully rising white drifts,
Satisfied that I will drowse by the window
As snow turns the entire landscape into silence.
Understand! Encroaching dark shadows are easier
To overcome, for they reach forward bringing
A dis-ease that I must fight and know
They will tremble upon my call to Jesus.
But, this massive blizzard is a masked, deceitful
Effort of death to try my will to live
And act upon what remains to me:
Instinct and inspiration, as born within me.
In the ‘70’s, in Chicago I survived a massive dropping
Of snow over days of falling. Snow was
Shoveled and packed into chest-high,
Undulating routes to trudge as a necessary
Innovation for sidewalks. Once, I stood at
A stoplight on a mound higher than my height.
That was practice in preface for now. See!
All things have their meanings. All things.
I am confirmed. I will shovel
Out from this blizzard with prayer and poetry
And love...I must. I must.
Thanks be to God!
***************************************
(C) sally young Eslinger8/24/2020