Long Transmission Poems
Long Transmission Poems. Below are the most popular long Transmission by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transmission poems by poem length and keyword.
'Tis a challenge fer the uninitiated to drive a Model 'T' Ford!
There sure ain't no starter, automatic transmission or GPS aboard!
To start it, you must select the magneto settin' and adjust the choke,
Then, at yer peril, spin the crank and pray that yer arm don't git broke!
There's a baffln' array of switches, levers and pedals to operate,
That take a heap of coordination to get the 'T' ready to navigate.
There's three pedals located on the floor - clutch, reverse and brake.
If you know yer left foot from yer right, drivin' the old girl is a piece of cake!
To go forward, advance the throttle lever located jes' below the steerin' wheel.
Press the clutch pedal with yer left foot - with experience you'll git the feel.
To back up, stop the car, disengage the clutch and press the pedal fer reverse.
Be sure there's nothin' behind you - you might hit yer mother-in-law or worse!
In an emergency, stomp all three foot pedals to avoid hittin' a telephone pole!
That'll bring you to a joltin' stop and provide you with a modicum of control.
Use the oogah-oogah horn to shoo chickens, cows and goats outta yer way.
If you slaughter a farmer's critters, you'll sure enough have 'ell to pay!
Now you know more'n you ever wanted to know about drivin' a Model 'T',
And you've gained this invaluable enlightenment and it was all fer free!
If you are foolish enough to drive a 'T' I'd advise you to drive with care,
And if I may paraphrase the Good Book - "Gird your loins with faith and prayer!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Spiritual light of the Source
Piercing through casings of form coarse
Shines forth!
The pillar of living white light
Energising energy zones scintillating bright
Requiring no path, self existent, enables highest sight!
There are as many doors
As there are pores
Each lifetron within dancing in ecstasy galore!
As one with Oneness Absolute in co-creation
Of choiceless choice Divine Love our transmission
Limitless, boundless & pathless healing vibration!
Knowing by so becoming Divine Love energy Itself
Knowing that any lesser vibration is lessening ourself
We are as we are outpouring The elixirous effervescence!
05-November-2020
Flashback to 29–May-2019
Eternal rocks guard the hill,
Guard it from the machine,
Guard it from the tractors tread,
Protecting the beautiful green,
Like the day we needed to spray the hill,
To clear the blackberry bramble,
When we drove the tractor, packed with poison,
Through the rockiest ramble,
You see, we forgot the brakes didn’t work,
And the transmission wasn’t quite right,
We forgot the laws of gravity would win,
Over the tractors might,
When the gears popped out, and the roll began,
Straight to the cliff ahead,
That’s when the boulder grabbed onto the tyre,
And held us there instead,
I think, that day, eternal rocks gave warning,
About who’s the actual boss,
And they are the rocks protecting life on the hill,
The rocks all covered in moss.
Something has entered the field
System registered high alert
All stations locked and loaded
To experience an unknown hurt
Trained to react to all invaders
Defensive and shielded at the gate
Heart is guarded by golden light
So that pain and suffering never endure hate
Change was supposed to come
An upgrade to transmission
How can restoration come to stay
If loosh is released in every emission
The key is in the pause of patience
Waiting and seeing the flow
The pattern will eventually surface
Revealing where all worms go
Replication to overwhelming the system
So that no interface can take place
Preventing rescue from outside sources
Is how the sticky snake likes to lace
We are saved from within, through patience
When we see, we stand with TRUTH against lies
The blood of LOVE has filled the fears
And our testimony radiates til our enemy dies
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-29-20266
They come as close as they can.
The tree line is a frontier edge
between them and the brick barricades.
I imagine them peering over their world
into mine, and though their hooting
may be only a prelude to nesting,
this night they speak
on the multilingual lips of transmission.
When such divergent beings
encounter one another, they meet at a distance,
skirmish and scout. They lookout
from a catbird seat.
All sounds speak of something.
Where light and dark converge
much can be overheard, much discerned.
Tonight the hoot owls speak though
that same interspace, their modulations
are haunting, the way the wind haunts
the very breath in our lungs.
Oh! as I begin this journal hardly ...I REMEMBER those Car-Keys
I remember in high-school the first time I placed car keys in the ignition
I remember that I had envision some grand flow
I remember that I didn't even know the first auto I was in was a Volkswagen
And I DON'T KNOW HOW! to drive no stick(shift)
I remember hinkN man-Oh-man where's the automatic(transmission)
I remember I hated cars back then, give me my Ten Speed Schwinn™
I remember the simulator trainers, give me them any day liken a video game then
Even need car keys to start them
I remember failing the physical driving test so I went on a road trip on my 10-speed bicycle
But my favorite memory's yet to come
verrrrooom!!
10/18/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Written for North Omaha Writers group (NOW) class assignment
Hello, good morning, iechydd da
No please don’t go
There’s the answer to a question
That I really need to know
He said he was an alien
A fact I could have guessed
As he was hovering in the sky
And very strangely dressed.
He said he was a hologram from
A ship parked in near space
And he was here because
Of a news gathering race.
They had communications problems
Caused by a star going Nova
And transmission has been lost
Before an episode was over
The only reason that
He’d come this far
He really needed to know
Who’d shot J.R.
I told him the answer
And he hooted with delight
And then very quickly
Disappeared from my sight.
I hung around a while
Just to make sure he’d gone
Then I resumed my walk
And just carried on.
That’s the trouble with aliens
They’re just so very aloof
They just come and they go
Without leaving any proof.
He said he was from Birmingham
I said that’s not really very far
He said that’s certainly true
Just the next but one star.
I gently beckon inspiration
for dalliance with mother tongue
English Language, each
singular lettered manifestation
familiar to yours truly symbolized
by panoply, sans twenty six letters,
whereby this patient scrivener
luxuriates, when writer's block
yields sudden gush,
nee burst of creativity
dissolving impenetrable wall
mental log jammed impasse,
discourages literary ambitions
dashed exerted forcefulness
'pon cerebral terra incognita
counterproductive grip locks
figurative drawbridge begetting
utmost frustration allowing egress
and ingress constituting obstructed surge
temporarily disabling free and clear
transmission between damned fount
barricading abundant bajillion ideas
silent at loggerheads clangor and din
analogous between unswerving enemies
prepared to fight till the death,
exhausting mental energy expended
attempting armistice with futile results,
hence quixotic oft repeated
time tested metaphor
i.e. deliberate pressure foisted
upon seat of aging cerebral matter
inadvertently coloring fist sized organ
at least fifty shades of gray,
versus unexpurgated brainstorming
linkedin with unfettered restraint
breeds favorable prodigious ideas
jotted/ typed stream of consciousness fashion
modus operandi favorable to engender
receptive access, asper her excellent see
i.e. entrance untrammeled leeway
with minimal clash of opposing
titanic invisible entities
thus, aye abandon battering ram
to experience positive outcome
giving good n plenti profuse flood
unstoppable geyser spewing
plethora of appealing material
to arrange into cogent synchronicity!
Just as we breathe
With effortless ease
Automatically
Unthinkingly
Let our reflex instinct
Be empowered & distinct
Radiating love divine
Seeking to align
All who we touch by sight
With thought in fond delight
Both alive & dead
In books or on internet read
All with no exclusion
No discrimination
Equal joyful elation
In our constant meditation
Pure intent with but one aim
Awakening love in all the same
As vibrational alignment
With Ohm in bliss enlivenment
Thus moment to moment
Love outpouring omnipotent
As a mist of golden light
Heals & delights
Enigmatically
Osmotically
All touched by mind & sentience
In pure childlike innocence
Just as no name we assign
To the sublime divine
Person by person layer by layer
We envelope in our prayer
Resolutely
Magically
Until the meditation
Becomes our flowing orientation
Moment to moment day & night
Outcomes any our transmission bright
As the singular absolute vibration
Ohm with which we are in resonation
Self illuminating divine entwined radiance
Each in aloneness reclaiming luminescence
I can’t see a damn thing; it’s that time of night
The road is too dim, but the sunset’s too bright.
I’m driving by sounds, yes, I’m driving by feel.
In a couple of minutes, guess I’ll grab the wheel.
The miles sure get harder when you’re falling asleep,
When you’re scratching your head to stir up those sheep.
It’s hard to make progress across this great land
Unless you got caffeine; big gulp in your hand
The thump of reflectors keeps me on the road,
But my tires are thin, and they just might explode.
Those little cut ridges: they’re really a gift;
They let a guy know when he’s starting to drift.
‘Cuz when you veer on them, the tires will sing.
If you’re deaf as a post, though, they don’t do a thing.
Oh, I’m reading poetry, driving my truck.
If I had a Tesla, I’d have better luck.
But I’ve got an old truck, it can’t drive itself.
But think what I saved; I’m the picture of wealth.
Yes, I love my pickup, it’s got hand crank windows.
No USBs here, but I’ve got radio.
No, in fact, it’s not fancy, not fancy at all.
It’s true that it’s old, but it’s for the long haul.
An 8 foot long bed, and those nice vinyl seats.
Did I mention those windows that make it complete?
The remote locking door locks (boy, I really splurged!)
Honk the horn at a distance when I get the urge.
Got this big diesel engine, goes crawling along,
And a fancy transmission that I got for a song.
It’s even got FM for hearing the notes,
And something called AM for talk radio goats.
With Rush from the archives, I’m driving, in charge.
If I had a guitar, I’d be living life large.