Long Towners Poems
Long Towners Poems. Below are the most popular long Towners by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Towners poems by poem length and keyword.
Today’s the crazy travel day
That everyone’s been dreading;
Crowds colliding all around,
No matter where you’re heading.
Airports, depots, subway cars
Are filled with out-of-towners.
Baggage bumping into legs
Turns smilers into frowners.
Every sidewalk’s packed and mobbed
With folks home for Thanksgiving.
It’s just like a zombie flick,
Although this herd is living.
Hopefully, they’ll make it home
Or to their destination;
Such a massive effort for
This Pilgrim celebration.
As for those who make the meal,
When patience does unravel,
Count your blessings – after all,
You didn’t have to travel!
A teenaged tourist asked his dad
Why all the cars were “beeping.”
It happened right near Central Park,
With traffic slowly creeping.
His dad believed the honking was
So cars ahead would go.
The son replied that “beeping”
Wouldn’t help or make it so.
I wanted to explain to them
What honking’s all about –
Frustration builds inside and soon
It needs an exit out.
A city driver at a crawl
Will often start to lose it;
His horn is there for times like these
And he’ll be glad to use it.
So this “beeping,” as the tourists say,
Helps keep the driver sane.
I guess to out-of-towners,
It’s a hard thing to explain.
It seems most rural drivers
Don’t have need to use their horn.
Perhaps the way we drive reflects
The place where we were born.
Larger stop signs are required by the law
Traveling at the speed of light is not legal
Going slow in Leonia is down right evil
All things are prohibited in Bergen County
They don't like strangers either
Like out of towners in their cars
Streets are meant for their own people
Too many vehicles passing through
More than one at a time becomes confusing
Cars cause pollution in their community
Too much congestion is bad for business
Strangers get $200.00 fines to visit
More space is needed in outer space
The deeper the better in our estimation
Don't drive cars through town at any hour
Or you'll get fines and your little dog too
People own restaurants and shops in Leonia
They sell rice and chicken and hand out tickets
To foreigners from other planets like Atlantic City
Like outer spacers like out of towners man
Where there are no boundaries
No speed limits to speak of right this minute
Speed rapidly descends, fades into particle decay
As they run away with reason in the light of day
From New Jersey, a foreign land on any given day
Reputations, law and order are at stake
Or is it logic in the Garden State that escapes
Atlantic City is the playground of the world
And in Leonia they have squirrels to be obeyed
Time and space are play things to Leonians
Code enforcement comes first before snow is allowed to fall
It is the law and smoking is illegal without a permit
Filters too if you can catch or find them on the cigarette
Larger citations must be created in the cosmic void
Served inside the law outside with traffic noise
To stop the speed of light and slow down cars
At rush hour in Leonia
Where it is always night at traffic lights
And just minutes away from Mars
Authors Note: Here is the link that inspired the poem
Leonia New Jersey
http://hamodia.com/2018/01/22/leonia-new-jersey-beset-traffic-via-navigation-apps-closes-off-streets/
You need some gas? We'll, step right up
And pump it 'til you've had your fill
Unless you're in New Jersey, where
You best make sure you know the drill.
For it's the last remaining state
Where pumping gas is not allowed
Except for paid attendants and
Of this New Jerseyans are proud.
So even if you're in a rush,
You must sit in your car and wait
Until a service station guy
Can bother to accommodate.
And if you try to speed him up,
You'd better learn to zip your lip,
For then he'll wash your windshield,
Slowly, hoping to procure a tip.
When questioned why this law exists,
Which out-of-towners do detest,
A local politician said,
And I can just assume in jest:
Perhaps our Jersey diet
Full of greasy food's to blame;
Therefore, if we pump the gas ourselves,
We'll burst right into flame!
In the garden, by the fountain,
I was sitting in a chair.
As the visitors approached,
I saw them hesitate and stare.
For the pool of water glittered
With a sea of silver change.
Not one warning sign was posted,
Which to me was kind of strange.
I imagine out-of-towners
Or some locals on a tour
Make a wish and toss their coins,
Which settle on the fountain floor.
Do these people think their wishes
Have a chance of coming true?
Or is tossing coins in fountains
Just a thing that people do?
If you add up all the money
That museum fountain gleans,
It could really be a fortune;
And I’m curious – who cleans?
But much more, I wonder if the wishers
May be disenchanted
When they realize that their wishes
Somehow never do get granted.
Still, most people think it’s fun
To make a wish and throw a coin;
And if I am honest, I’ll admit
At times I’m apt to join.