Long Tyre Poems
Long Tyre Poems. Below are the most popular long Tyre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tyre poems by poem length and keyword.
You're walking out the front entrance
Leaving work behind you
Forgetting the hustle of the day
Looking forward to a quite drink
Chilling out
In your
Soft
Comfy
Favourite
Chair
Staring into an open fire
Being carried away with the beat of the music
When all of a sudden
You're startled
By the thundering crackling
Sound from the exhaust
Of a oversized shinny motor bike
A leather cladded rider dismounts
Blocking your path
As you stand stunned & glued to the spot
The rider comes up to your face
Through a tinted visor on a black helmet
You hear a soft gentle familiar voice saying
Put this on and let's go
All your fears flash in front of you
But your censors say your safe
You allow this gentle giant
To carefully place the open face helmet over your head
Slowly secure it under your chin
Hands you some wrap around sun glasses
Without a word
The rider shows you how to
Comfortably mount a bike
Indicates you to wait until he is on
Gives you the nod
As you mount the bike
Cuddle into the rider
looking over his right shoulder
Smelling & feeling the leather on your bare skin
As you clasp your hands together
Around the stomach of the rider
The bike starts
Startled by the noise you jump
And thrusted back as we take off
Slowly through the main street
Slow down even more for the school zone
Swerving
Swaying
Dodging
In and out
Of the afternoon traffic
Leaving the bottle neck behind
With the confusion and worry
Hitting the open road
Winding the throttle wide open
The purring of the pipes
Echoing off on coming cars
The thumping of the motor
Rising up through the seat
The wind caressing your face
As we brake hard and throw
The bike down into a left hand lean
Around the corner in one motion
Pick the bike up and throw down
Into a right hand corner
Dancing
Up
Down
And around
Up the hill onto the flat
Surrounded trees
The afternoon sun strobing through the trees
Behind the trees
In the paddocks
Prancing
Dancing
Meres and foals
Back into town
Where I stop at your place
I dismount
Extend my hand to help you off
Lovingly remove your helmet
Tie it on the sissy bar
Jump on the bike
With a crack from the pipes
The engine roars
Burning the tar with my back tyre
Leaving you standing in the cutter
Dumbfounded
Bewildered
Tingling
Laughing and smiling
/'d???g?l/ /'d??s.t?s/
That was what my dictionary
woke up to show me this morning,
Who made you one of this angels?
One is called /'d???g?l/ jungle and the other is called /'d??s.t?s/ justice like a league of legend ants feasting on a lonely trapped Carcass and Vargas.
Who made you a judge over criminals?
Light opens...
Our stories are gory to the ear,
If I decide to write them now
I fear my sight will become blurry
with tinted tears of mourning.
Mount your camera on a tripod,
Double your steps and hands
We have a story to make to the world.
Yells of vengeance has torn my belly!
Light fades...
Yesterday,
The first sight I beheld in the morning
Was a boy trying to free himself from
Gullible mobs in the street of Lagos.
Tears flooded his eyes as he pleaded,
His name became a political lyrics,
Lyrically, he was branded with metals;
Metals that took away his miserable life.
Light fades...
His body became a shadow finding home, running, walking and jumping.
He burnt into ashes as they lynched him
The petrol broke apart and tyre belched
Another soul roamed among the living
Inviting the eclipse sun in the noon.
His beauty washed away by the restless grief that held his bones together to bind
Light fades...
Capture the ghost of that girl running!
She was knocked down this morning
by a drunk driver finding ways to die
Capture her spirit and let's edit them all
The mobs Wont see how she died but they will linger to kill without thinking,
Who made them a judge by the way?
Remember, don't leave the ghost tears.
Light fades...
Now, follow that soul seated there?
She was one of the victims of Evan.
Have you seen her tears turned red?
Cut away of her legs must be filmed,
Clean up her face with your focus!
We're like the castaway treated like a plague, the house whose door has been stolen and we never knew until now!
Light fades...
What is your time?
we have Chelsea march by ten &
this deads may find home in the
air for the living to see how Arsenal
will be defeated in stampford to night
Tilt the camera up & see God' eyes
He watches from above about this
And he spoke not of it, then, who
made us a judge over all this crimes?
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Imagine Earth itself to be just another Troy, from which, after having raged
In countless battles from Tyre to Megiddo has not been conquered, only aged
And now, having defeated the Spartan race, destroying Priam’s home
Odysseus is captain of a spacecraft with the direction of Ithaca not known
On land to land, world to world, asteroid to comet, sun to galaxy he will wander lost
With endless delay, look askance-or with wanderlust-be unable to define a host
Of angels, like the first home, who—with celestial sound—closed God on a throne
Only future starmen will proceed without God's advantage, in empty space all alone
The victory of God against Satan, here, unproclaimed with all men lost, in between
The endless battles of lucifer and the deity; heaven's splinter to the devil's spleen
The past ages of travail, a mere testing ground of efficacy, the master's saving grace
With the bulk of humanity, like chaff of wheat, having been sifted, as if only a race
Mankind, having run as a race, a race, quite long, the original cause forgotten
How corruption had entered, how the fall began, when Eve traipsed the garden
Yet the race of man; his nature, his spoke, his mind, like a wheel intermingled
Along with the path of the gods--their flight, their call--the Seth of Eve first jingled
How could he not but cry out, from crib, in inter-mixed and complex strain
Since so saith Adam's wife, doting upon her first real child aptly named
Appointed to replace her prior kind, one stricken and one banished
Shepherd Abel first, died, from blight of Cain, latter, whose soul famished
If not his body, since fed with fruit and till of the land, in parched curse
His work distilled into nonsense, and measure as much less in worth
Then the gentle, strange and loving work of the Shepherd's hand
From Shepherd to shepherd, the Maker gave not to Abel land
Since he roamed from brook to brook, or down into gentle meadow
With his staff in hand, and flock afoot, only the caves like ghettos
Learning manly ways and singing with chest open and bare
Under open sky, canopy misting light, and all of life seeming fair
The Lord, himself, culling Abel's rapport and favour, giving him trust
Rather than partition acres, cubits or parcels of land, if only just just
I’m getting older - this fact I cannot deny
Not quite ready for the scrap heap or to give up life and die
My body isn’t quite the same; my boobies have gone south
But I keep on smiling with gleaming dentures in my mouth
Got a spare tyre round my middle now, I really need berating
Get a bit more exercise - soon the tyre will be deflating
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
I need to remember things I have forgotten since yesterday
I rely on Tena ladies now in case I dribble pee
Sneezing, coughing and laughing can cause a little wee
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
I need to remember things I have forgotten since yesterday
I have three pairs of glasses now as my eyesight is getting poor
I forget where I have put them – then I find them on the floor
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
I need to remember things I have forgotten since yesterday
My hearing is it is going too, I don’t hear what you say
I need to buy a hearing aid but I’m putting off that day
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
I need to remember things I have forgotten since yesterday
My once brown hair is going grey and now I’ve hit the dye
I colour it quite regularly you can guess the reason why
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
I need to remember things I have forgotten since yesterday
My joints creak and ache and they really need a rub
I must buy some more Radox and put it in my bath tub
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
My short-term memory is going I forget what I do or say
I need to remember things I have forgotten since yesterday
21st March 2014
Submitted to 101 in a row contest #5 sponsored by PD Linda:-)
Written from observation and experience … but I’m not admitting to anything!!!
NB: UK Spelling of TYRE has been used
Brutus Iulius Trois page 08
Suddenly stillness all sounds silenced the last pirate slain.
From the bowels of the Tireme came cheers that grew louder
From men newly freed from their enslavement to the Thracian oars
Phyrgians, Scythians, Mysians and Lycians
all hittite clansmen, kinsmen and allies of the Trojan tribes
also were heard loud laudations from the surviving Phoenicians
with softer lamentations for those they had lost.
The Phoenician Teresh, the purple merchant of Tyre
swore blood brotherhood to Brutus
binding the Trojans to the Sea people in perpetuity
giving his twelfth son Tursha to squire the Trojan
Tursha terrified in the sea battle had hidden in the hold
praying to Mercury the patron of merchants
Brutus renamed the boy Turonus and proclaimed him a Trojan
Brutus sent this new nephew to tend to Imogen
In the sad sea green eyes of this foster child
Imogen saw echos of her own recent woes
comforting him she found comfort herself.
When the Trojan siege had ended by trickery
When the city was sacked and the Palladium taken
The Greeks left a land salted with blood and bone
The Greeks left a desolated city with defiled temples
The Greeks left cursed with their own profane deeds.
The Greeks left the Trojan traitor Antenor king with nothing to rule
To abate the Greek curses caused by Locrian Ajax's vile deeds
The Pythia at Delphi declared a thousand years of atonement
with two Locrian priestesses sent as sacrifices to Troy
sent to serve Minerva's temple in Troy, bearing the Ajaxian curse.
As the oracle demanded Diomedes returned the Palladium to Aeneas
Then did all Greek suffering cease, Ulysees returned home.
Hesione's son Teucer founded a new Salamis in Cyprus.
When Antenor rebuilt Troy's walls, Neptune shook them down
sending waves that washed away fields, salting the gardens again.
Apollo plagued Antenor with mice which ate the harvest to the seed.
Scamander's golden spring lambs, sickened and died
Afraid of what Minerva would do if they killed the Locrian Scapegoats
Antenor and his sons soon abandoned Troy to the Phyrgians
They sailed off seeking shelter far from this thrice cursed homeland
My mate Jim and I were tired of working for a boss.
We decided to buy a truck and give the 9 to 5 a toss.
We set up a little business, taking produce to the stalls.
It was just an idea we had about the time fortune calls.
We had a load of melons headed up to Jurien Bay,
They had to be at the markets bright an early next day.
Making good time, we would get there before dawn.
It had rained a tidy sky full, the road was rough and worn.
Suddenly the truck went slip slidin, we thought a flat tyre.
As we spied the scene she was sinking in a huge quagmire.
Now the burden of our troubles seemed too much to carry.
Near us was a house, we found out, belonged to Big Harry.
He was a retired farrier and a horseman dont you know it .
His reputation we heard was that of just an old poet.
Jim and I we pushed like Samson and Hercules,
All the good that did was just bury us to our knees.
Suddenly, we see a sight better than cavalry forces,
It was Big Harry leading two huge fine draught horses.
Over his arm he had slung harness and yoke and chains
Harnessing them, and there’s only the chain that remains.
“ Will ya axel take the stain? “ he asked in a shaky old voice.
“Yeah it should” I replied, so excited I was ready to rejoice.
We helped the poor feeble old man fix the chains to the truck.
Now stand back you two, there will be all sorts of flying muck.
Then he started giving orders to his two big handsome steeds.
His voice grew strong and powerful , orders were not pleads.
Words resplendent flowed, the beasts pushed to the core.
He cursed and swore an bullied them into giving a little more.
Those two beautiful horses pulled with all their might,
He shouted as the horses strained, ”it’s in a glue pot all right”
The golden horse called Ranger made a slip and nearly fell.
Big Harry let loose with language that’d make em blush in hell.
With one almighty heave the truck surged forward , higher.
It rolled up and out , free from the hold of that quagmire.
In a feeble old voice, “there ya go lads, thank Ranger n Thunder”
Folks will say he’s just an old poet, but to us he’s a bloomin wonder.
Word Quintet in C Major
By Stark Hunter
Open the door my friend,
Climb on in,
Join me here in this relentless caravan,
This unstoppable, this incontrovertible,
this inexorable movement,
To the depths of the dry gulf.
Join me here my friend,
In this annihilating armada,
This incontrovertible migration,
This inexorable swarm
To the watery crossroads of the dry places,
To the liquid asphalt of insipid time!
I stare at you from across the room here.
I stare and gawk and hawk at you,
And I feel the pelting rain of desire.
You look good over there, sitting
With beautiful gleaming crossed legs.
“Sorry, beg your pardon,
I say, but have we not met before?
Did we not share beers on the Terrace of Tyre
At sunset?
Did we not tell each other stories,
Old stories of love and betrayal and heartbreak?
At sunset?
Did we not look away from each other,
When stories of new love suddenly emerged,
As with a new sunrise?”
My friend, there is no
Escape from this throbbing hole, no
Escape from this cold numbing wind,
This whirlingly insane wind
Of cold blasts of killing ice.
And I ride here
Ride like a sweating Sultan,
Astride the mighty beast of Tyre!
Perched high in rich raiment,
I wave to the multitudes
I send a salute to the throng!
I ride shotgun here
Ride nice and easy
Like a tanning garçon on his off day,
Like a sitting trog waiting wistfully,
Waiting waiting for gams not intended for him.
My friend, the world turns and turns,
It turns today and tomorrow,
It will turn as the river turns in spring,
It will turn as a woman’s heart turns,
When eyes that once stared ahead, now look away.
It will turn my friends because it has to!
Riding, Riding, Riding….
Downhill now! The insane wind
Assaults me. Harasses me. Accosts me.
It presses its loose lips upon my face,
It seeks the mad blood of passion!
“Let us calm ourselves
Reassure ourselves
That all is right and as planned.
Let us all look at one another!
Let us all nod in agreement!
The days ahead will manifest themselves,
Transfigure themselves,
As blooms upon the water lilies.
I’ve got a flat tyre.
Congratulations, hope you’ll both be very happy.
Can you fix it?
Are you going to a fancy dress party?
I’m getting married, Sherlock.
Wow, kept that quiet, who’s the poor sod.
Nigel, and I’m in a bit of a rush, so if you don’t mind.
Leave it to me, that’s what us ex’s are for. You wearing a Basque under that dress.
Is that any of your business.
Just making the usual ex’s conversation, don’t lose the garter.
Yes, it is traditional, now can you get a move on.
Can’t get the wheel off, but not to worry I’ll drive you there, wherever there is.
It’s the registry office.
Okay jump in, where’s the honeymoon.
Skegness.
You’re joking, it’s freezing in Skeggy at this time of year.
His mum died there, so it’s a sort of goodbye.
So he’s a mummy’s boy then.
He’s not a mummy’s boy, it’s just a nice thing to do.
Do you want me to walk you down the aisle?
Why the hell would I want you to walk me down the aisle, plus, there isn’t an aisle.
Just the thing ex’s do for the one they love.
Don’t you start, just get me there?
Okay, but don’t cry when I start crying.
Piss off.
Four hours later, the phone rings.
Could you come and get me?
What do you mean come and get you, you’re married?
He’s brought his mum into the bedroom.
Well you did say he’s a mummy’s boy, so he carries her ashes about, think it as something old.
She isn’t in ash form.
Jesus, tell me he didn’t get her stuffed.
She isn’t dead.
This is brilliant, only you could get married into the Münster family, send me the photos, so I can show them to the guys down the pub.
You just get down here and pick me up, this is an emergency.
Oh! I don’t know, I’m sort of liking this marriage of yours, it’s slightly weird, but in a good way.
Do you want to see what I’m wearing under this dress?
That is blackmail, will mummy in law approve of this kind of talk.
Last time, do you want to see what I’m wearing.
Bombing up the motorway as we speak.
Heaven offers tickets to any citizen
Adhering to good behaviour, as Richard
Sin washed virtuous shines richeous
Permitted exclusive afterlife purchase
Richard prided himself on his neat appearance
Inside out Bible marked imbibed coherence
Nourised by 7am museli, leaving home soon after
Publisher for Eternal week days, on Sunday a pastor
Sermon prepared carefully, time consumed him
Pinnacle of Lord days pointed to duty resuming
Shared redemption message with congregation
Ensured wavering faith was infiltrated by elation
Devoted volunteer, full schedule proportionate
Monthly soup kitchen duty served less fortunate
Ten pm delivery of left over to his Mother's house
Widow nearing ninety, not readily able to get out
Forsaken God fearer one fateful day struck down
by hooligan during dawn walk in neighbourhood renowned
for echoing homes, high hedge edges hide pedestrians
Tyre tattooed road kill, dislodged by reckless heathan
Bedside machines duly beeped his fragile existence
Sacrifice of admired man to stagnant predicament!
Moral loyalty, immaculately ironed, full dedication
Could it be God had ordered his early eradication?
Flatlined screen, pulse serene denotes one way entry
To harp plucking, angel hosted, cloud palace heavenly
Proclaimed as reward, rule abiders' final destination
For the followers of God's word, a deserved salvation
Picket fence of precious metal keeps the sinners out
White ground expanse supports people equally touted
As pray-ers, obeyers, having delayed gratification
Burying bad tendancies for kingdom of imagination
Cloud haven loungers hear filtered sound of festivity
Scantily clad wilful tribal fire-side dancers devilish
Grins closed only to kiss ridiculous Mother marijuana
Eternity unconfirmed, turmultous tenure harnessed
27th June
Satire Saturday
Tongue in cheek contraversy needs no translation
Manic imaginings account for all inclinations!
Spotlighted like a Kangaroo
Spotlighted like the Kangaroo’s
And the bloody Dingoes too,
White light spotlights overhead,
Reaching down for me I dread,
What will the bastards do,
Big white light, soundless it’s true,
Followed us over the Moonie dew,
I asked Mark and Wayne did you see,
The white light ever leave us be?
It never buggered off blue ?
Arrested by one-eyed Fred,
Face turned sideways, fish eye’d red,
Looking with one eye he said ,
Booked for speeding now was Mark,
By a drunken copper nark?
In his singlet and thongs,
A private car belongs,
A game of sport a lark?
Perhaps an alien too?
In looking back now I see,
The saucer hovering over me,
Narrow spotlights coming down,
Pinned was Wayne with the light around,
And me and Mark were too,
Like spotlighted Kangaroo,
More meat for the Roo box clown?
In a saucer not from town,
The memories sneaks back few,
Of the white light wandering due?
Through memories wiped but sound?
Cause mesmerizing frowns,
Saucers can’t be hurting you? :}-
Copper Fred chased our mate Crow,
Who thought it was a game,
Till his back tyre was shot out, gee’s hello,
The Wilson his other name,
Booked for speeding don’t ya know?
Don Johnson 7-02-14
See my
UFO White Light did pace the Ute
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqWup7R4N-4
Mackey (nee Dean) Brummell
My cousin Don's wife had an experience about that same time, with the
big white light following her and the kids home, not far away north on
the St George Mitchell road....
She had to get the kids to open gates and was nervous of this thing
that followed them.....
Her son Keith 10 years later was out roo shooting in the night with a local St George man
and they saw the light too,(much the same area)
the passenger refused to leave the car to open gates on the Station property
they were shooting on, the light changed direction
and eventually left them at high velocity...
--
Don Johnson