Long Trailer Poems
Long Trailer Poems. Below are the most popular long Trailer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trailer poems by poem length and keyword.
Far off the beaten track and trail
on quest for music’s Holy Grail
led pilgrims on biblical scale
more than can be counted.
With midsummer sun on our cheek
in tents to shelter we did seek
and pitched them at its highest peak
on a hilltop mounted
As we climbed the lean of the hill
my beer I would try not to spill
and sat with the great unwashed till
olé and adios.
It was I, El Skeet, amigo,
in my poncho and sombrero
half-cut like a loco gringo
who waved “vaya con dios!”
We lit yet another hash bong
all up in smoke like Cheech & Chong
and passed it to each one along
under the cop radars.
Late as corroded brain cells flag
with every mind trip headfu*k drag
I tucked in to my sleepin' bag
on the hill ‘neath the stars
As music and mayhem did rage
back in next summer’s youthful age
we camped closer to the big stage
all primed for the big show.
I’d sit and watch the crowds go by
in the hot sun and dust and dry
under a big Waikato sky
from our camp on tent row
We ripped into our grog trailer
and drank like a drunken sailor
but by nightfall lookin' paler
yet in the crowd I went.
Waitin' for Cold Chisel that night
with a superdoob glowin' bright
I was fu*kin’ high as a kite
and lurched back to my tent
The next day I woke in a daze
and walked off my drunken malaise
when I heard singin' songs of praise
in some weird sh*t I saw.
Tambourine hippies, punks and geeks
and chantin' Hari Krishna freaks
burnt incense in clay painted cheeks
so I got high some more
Yet in a hot wet and wild hour
stoned in the unisex shower
I gazed many a sweet flower
in their naked splendour.
We bathed too in waters that flowed
down where the lazy river bowed
lest my head spontaneous explode
on my three day bender
That night by the stars we were led
as above a smoky sky bled
when out The Enz rocked “I See Red”
and fired a burnin' flare.
In the spirit of Sweetwaters
we lived among at close quarters
sons of Bacchus and his daughters
and I, El Skeet, was there!
Written: November 2009
He drove up to the Triple "T" Ranch in his brand new Cadillac!
In his air-conditioned trailer wuz his Arabian steed an' the finest tack!
He'd dreamed uv bein' a real workin' cowboy since he wuz a tad,
So he fitted hisself out with the latest fashions there wuz to be had!
On his Tony Lama alligator boots he wore a pair uv silver-plated spurs.
Over his Calvin Klein jeans he wore deerskin chaps to stave off the burrs.
He wore a hundred dollar Stetson hat an' fancy vest uv top-grade suede,
An' slung low on his hip wuz a 44 in a leather holster uv the finest grade!
His git-tar wuz slung on his back - across his shoulder wuz a coiled rope.
The grizzled cowpokes chawin' their terbaccy saw in this feller little hope!
They wuz loungin' 'round the corral railin' not believin' whut they saw!
He strolled their way remindin' them uv rhinestone cowboys on Hee-Haw!
First thing he said wuz, "When do we dine and I prefer silk sheets on my bed!"
An ol' cowpoke in scruffy boots an' jeans asked, "Whut wuz 'at you said?"
(The thoughts crossin' them cowpuncher's minds had best be left unsaid!)
"Son, you'll sleep in the top bunk tonight an' beans an' bacon you'll be fed!"
The ranch foreman trotted over to see whut the hullabaloo wuz all about.
"You fellers let me handle this! Ya'all git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized the lad up sayin', "Son, I ain't impressed with all them fancy lables!
Begin yer career with this here manure fork!" an' he sent him to the stables!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My name is Christopher Hobart,
and it would be a real safe bet
to say most of what I’ve done in life,
I have come to truly regret.
There’s lots of thing that I could blame,
I was raised in a trailer park,
my dad died of an overdose,
and mother had an evil heart.
I’m sure that all contributed,
but now that I’ve reached mid-twenties,
I have realized that in the end
my faults begin and end with me.
I regret that first cigarette,
hell, I was only twelve-years old,
I hate that I stole from people
to pay that addiction’s high toll.
I regret the first time I drank,
that it became my bosom friends,
I regret the slurs I shouted
when the court system forced its end.
I regret all the pot I smoke,
and selling it to that young kid;
smashing up that vacation home…
so many dumb things I did.
I regret smashing up three cars,
it’s a miracle nobody died,
honestly, the whole of my youth,
there’s nothing I can point to with pride.
I regret knocking up my girl
when both of us were but seventeen,
then doing the same to her best friend,
I still can remember the screams…
And though I regret those actions,
acting like such a worthless dolt,
I have to make just one thing clear:
I will never regret the result.
My girlfriend bore me a little girl,
and barely one month after her,
the ex-friend also gave to me
another cute, little daughter.
Neither was looking for children,
and signed their rights away freely,
the task of raising two young girls
fell now entirely on me.
For those first three months of so,
I’ll admit I was quite scared,
I don’t know what I would’ve done,
if my parents had not been there.
But those two girls gave me something
that I think before I did lack,
because every time I looked at them
something so wonderful looked back..
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
I tell my grandchildren that I live in a van down by the river.
They laugh, delighted.
I call myself trailer trash.
They dance to this, happy that I am here now, amusing them.
I throw out equally outrageous statements as we paint rocks and junk.
Why do you do say these things?
My daughter asks in a prissy, haughty, borderline stuck-up way.
Her husband winks at me.
Encouraged, I tell their children that I am a bag lady, and
I cannot wait to live under a bridge.
My son-in-law and I both laugh at my daughter’s look of horror.
I cannot wait until they go to dinner, so I can really get creative.
Some months ago my cousin offered me a pipe
that my paternal grandfather used, when he desired a smoke
It stirred up a memory that had potential to be serious
but after sixty years I relate to it as a joke
My maternal grandfather , very slow and steady
that's how he chose to drive
But paternal grandpa!! he was seventy eight, I was seventeen,
one solitary trip with him, I wondered if we would survive
We hit the open road, accelerator hit the floor
one hundred and twenty five kilometres per hour, the only speed he knew
Left hand on the steering wheel, right hand on ,and clenched between his teeth,
his beloved smoking pipe, that was how we almost flew
Straight open road, semi trailer ahead
Grandfather decided it was safe!!!! to overtake
There's another semi trailer approaching,!!! It's on the other side!!! We're caught between the two!!! still with hand upon his pipe, other on the steering wheel, side to side we wobbled, I began to shake
Back on the left side of the road (we're Aussie ) we have overtaken the semi trailer!!!!
Grandfather still has pipe clenched between his jaw
He looks at me quite calm[y states "I thought that other semi was going the other way ",
accelerator still flattened to floor
My very nervous thoughts, about this episode, I pray there won't be more
To my cousin I replied, the offer of that old smoking pipe, it is declined,
perhaps it is a bong
I appreciate your offer but I don't need a material possession, in my memory it's deeply etched
nothing personal, please don;t get me wrong
Footnote: Semi are also known as Prime movers . Guess we were nearly prime moved into heaven
Lost and Found
My name is Daniel. For 70 years--from age 14 to age 84--
I was incomplete, bereft of mother, father, my identical
twin brother Joshua, and all my boyhood friends who were
with me that day in 1944.
Some of the stronger men had strained and struggled
to force apart the bars on the window of the railway cattle
trailer packed to capacity with Jews bound for Auschwitz.
The results of their labor was an aperture large enough
for the egress of very slender people--like Joshua and me.
"Go, my precious ones!" cried my mother.
"Go, and LIVE!" said my father. "GO NOW!"
I grabbed Joshua's hand and pulled urgently. He wrenched loose:
"I--I just can't! I love you. Good-bye."
It was in this manner I escaped terror and death, but--Oh, there
was so much I could never escape. Each day since then, I have
seen their faces--those anguished,tear-stained faces, especially
Joshua's. Soon they were all dead; they had to be, didn't they?
I grew up, married, worked hard at a fulfilling career, raised three
fine children with my wife, and played joyously with children and
grandchildren--but still was incomplete.
On mild spring day, the greatest void in my life was filled when a
stranger approached me at the park and said, "Daniel (he knew my
name), a very important person is waiting for you a few yards ahead
on the next bench." Then he just walked away.
Sitting on that bench was the near-mirror-image of myself. He stood
and smiled broadly. He had my eyes, my build, my crooked smile,
my snow-white shock of hair. Then he said it--he said "Daniel"--
like no one else who has ever existed could say my name! It was
then I noticed we were dressed alike--same style, same colors!
He told me of our parents' deaths from starvation, of his escape from
Auschwitz, of the life he had lived, of his seventy-year search for me.
My heart broke, and I begged his forgiveness for presuming that he
was dead--that they had all died at Auschwitz. Then he spoke the words
that dried my tears: "I've nothing for which to forgive you! You must now
forgive yourSELF and be whole."
We are inseparable.
Hundreds of people escaped in route to Nazi concentration camps and from those camps.
written for Silent One's Long Lost Family Contest on July 22, 2016
I have so much
In my head,
A lot of time
To progress
And they have so much
To negate
I am a truck
There are always trailers
I'm trying to pull,
They are pulling too
But as decided by nature
A trailer loses the tag of war
When I am speaking,
Trying to give my point of view
They interject
I'm trying to rest
They wake me up
Just like the wind
They feel me
But can't hold me
They have me in their sight
But will never get to where I am
Cast upon them,
Shall be a curse
That they will race forever
And never approach the finishing line
Chasing the Sky
Striving to Fly
A new gal in town
Fun to be around
Donning white gown
Sweet like a swan
But now she's gone
Yeah, she is now gone
When they heard her talk, she talked like a smile
When they saw her walk, she walked in style
But the walk is gone and the talk is gone
And the smile is gone and the style is gone
She drove a truck
That was tinted brown
She had a trailer
Parked on her lawn
But the truck is gone
And the trailer is gone
When they heard her talk, she talked like a smile
When they saw her walk, she walked in style
But the walk is gone and the talk is gone
And the smile is gone and the style is gone
She was in a choir
The town admired
Rhythm she inspired
Setting voice on fire
She was so pretty
Crafty and guile
When they heard her talk, she talked like a smile
When they saw her walk, she walked in style
But the walk is gone and the talk is gone
And the smile is gone and the style is gone
Children laughed
When she winked a lot
Men did hound
Hearing her sound
But the sound is gone
And the hound is gone
When they heard her talk, she talked like a smile
When they saw her walk, she walked in style
But the walk is gone and the talk is gone
And the smile is gone and the style is gone
Rumor has it
She has been found
She has a truck
That is tinted brown
She has a trailer
Parked on her lawn
Two towns down
When they hear her talk, she talks like a smile
When they see her walk, she walks in style
Her walk is style and her talk is smile
Her walk is style and her talk is smile
September 23, 2018
Happily cheering and laughing ,swinging,
as the dad is carefully pushing it.
He is on cloud nine ,looking at her joyous face.
The bright skies have fallen ,clouds turned dark,
and the storm has washed away the roads,
taking away the only rainbow in his life.
Taking her ashes to high and low places
for justice but in vain,they cant fight
against a pothole,which is gallows to
the people taking these paths.
Pain,aganst,agony ,beautiful memories,
deep void of his heart,have all
turned him into filling the holes
and safe proofing the paths,so
no one ever loses their love like him.
This torch has been burning since two decades
and will do,as long as ill people exist.
It was supposed to be a torch but
we made him burn an eternal flame.
Will this flame ever see a shine,
well.....you tell me.......
PS:This poem is written after knowing about a father who lost his daughter to potholes filled roads
in an accident(kaam chaalu hai..movie trailer).
Written on:12-4-2024
I have received a lot of unexpected sad news from friends lately
- But this shocked me -
I came home from town and my neighbor with her younger daughter approached me
She asked, did you hear? I said what?
She told me her husband died in a tractor trailer accident!
As I was responding, her daughter suddenly started hugging me and would not let go!
I kept hugging her tightly and kept talking as my mind tried to absorb the shocking news
A heavy sadness consumed me
I told them I know what loss is like and gave all the positive advice and support I could
For some reason the world seemed small
Just the 3 of us standing there as pain lingered in the air
- God Bless Them -
Heidi Sands
3/7/26
(C)opyright