Long Up the road Poems

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Premium Member Snakes

Snakes And Mr. Baines
By Curtis Johnson

The phrase, “A snake in the grass”, has often been expressed toward certain individuals. Such a powerful and direct metaphor of treachery, is it not?

Among the first stories ever heard by me involved a snake that was up to no good.
Perhaps from that point, my opinion of snakes was sealed, and I have avoided them if I could. Growing up in the country, I saw them occasionally, but was not unduly afraid of them. Because of heavy chemical use on the farm, being bitten by snakes was probably slime.

I had lots of friends, lots of freedom, and a good dog name Jack.
We hunted for blackberries along the banks of the railroad tracks.                     We roamed the country sides, and played fearlessly in the grassy weeds.               We had things to do and places to go, and never any time to worry about snakes. 

There’s a wild kingdom out there, and may all of God’s creatures survive and forever be. But the hissing, crawling, rattling, and the twirling are out of my comfort zone. Nevertheless, there’s a place for snakes, as long as that place is away from me.

I once saw a snake curled up in a bush.                                                     Nearly touching him, I was startled.
My boss and I were gardening.                                                                  With little concern, he said to me,                                                            “He’s just a chicken snake”.

Whether chicken or king, rattles or moccasins;
Whether harmless or causing deadly pain,                                                        I prefer to keep my distance all the same

My father had a friend who lived just up the road from us in a big house.
He looked mean and sometimes acted the part, but I liked him and thought he was brave. He was one snake slinging man, and I was his biggest fan.

Back then, if my father’s friend  Mr. Baines saw a snake, he’d grab it by the tail,     sling it around, and pop its head off. But the world has changed; wild life is well protected, and many things  have  been banned. How sad, is it not, that there is not a ban on “snakes in the grass”?  Perhaps the day will come when they can be caught and have, not their heads, but their poisonous venom popped out of them. Meanwhile, we best keep avoiding all snakes; and I do miss Mr. Baines.
Cj08052015
Form: Prose


Resurrection

(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.

(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble 
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base 
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.

When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool, 
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top. 

(Chorus x2)

(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls 
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories 
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger 
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.

(Chorus x2)

(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words 
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.

(Chorus x2)
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member I Thought You Knew

Where is your love is gone, my Dear? Where is your beloved 
My beloved is gone done into his garden to the bed of spices to feed in the 
garden and pick lilies of a different me and us the secret of our life he knows he found the loss and gains he respects in exploration and of course enjoying what clean air mist the sweet aroma skies taking notice of what is his high above the tattered bleeding soul hurt depress tears misunderstood blood pain blood bath unorthodox you see everlasting and eternal earthly propositions and other love gains we made that request down by the highest tower peak just look up and I will lift my eyes too unto the hill for where my help comes from helpmate status rose to my soulmate a kiss of two souls completely engrossed tantalizing in and out waves blowing truth in the wind and of waves soaring searching in and where this Alpha and Omega the beginning the end wind is amorous our of my existence it came from the Lord of lords I am my beloved and my beloved is mine he continues  to feed among the lilies
 Around the cornerstones and he tells me to turn away my eyes from him for 
The beautiful wonderful feeling is blowing in the wind  The fragrant rosed across the valley stream sweet mist was across the field! I- All the way to the firmament! the fire burned out doubt and destroyed fear my beloved came home And the corner we turned. But!
 Sprinkled raindrops appear upsprings emotions And with a little smile up the road, we roam all up and down the space mountain stone walls
open gates over the place we call home. Shifts high we could not believe the next-level gratitude  gripped our hearts  with tears of joy flew and kissed the nectar that connects  soul to soul
The brain vein kissed my breast the connect the thread of the veil
 blood flowed but the vein pulsated love is just what God is Love expressed a journey of no regrets The sky was blue around the milestone
 Crosswalk staircase stairs way up in Glory. We do rejuvenate many hands lifted up to glory up lifted hands reached up in adoration when dreams showed signed adoration too As I gazed out my window across the rustic lawn looking up at the sky thinking what a dream I had what is the interpretation of this to me in my everyday life? I wonder about this my dream one
                               The sky was blue no gray clouds.!.
Form: Narrative

Family Ties

Family Ties



Brothers should I leave you
And travel life for years without you
And should I never return to our home
Remember it was I who journeyed alone

And should the time in passing
Bring me memories of regret
Should the entire world forget?
To search for you when you are missing

And so ask yourselves why
Why should my brother be leaving?
And why for so long has he wandered solitary
Never returning

Brothers on some momentary day spent wishing  
Without recognition
By my side you where resting
And did not speak my name

And in all the land and cities seen
None of your faces have been
While our blood and our brotherhood meandered through foreign streets
Less than a thought away

And should I never greet you again
Before this departure had made its pact
Would you stand by my door?
Lest you be turned away

The cold trap of our families living
And the continuous undiscovered lie
It was
That kept my feet from turning

For so long and farewell you have lost me
And for more than years have you waited
This silent reminder beckoned to me
To remind me of you

“ It was in April of 91 that I first returned, after traveling and working abroad. My
knock on our old blue front door was not greeted with smiles, but with vexed and
unwelcoming eyes. On my back a rucksack, on my feet old worn boots. This was the last time
I saw our Father and these were his only words.” 

“You can’t stay here.” He even repeated it to make sure I had heard.
“You can’t stay here.”

“ I did not know it then, as I know now; of the filth he has fated and intended to my
life. Yet ever his fear of discovery built his lies for me. My last words to him were
these…….. 

“Do you see these boots?” I asked, “they are more than five years old and the most
comfortable boots I have ever worn. That’s a pretty good life for a pair of boots don’t
you think?” 

And with those boots and my rucksack on my back I walked away. Not for a moment did he ask
me to stay or offer a moments ease, a cup of tea, or inquire as to where I was heading.
There was no farewell as up the road and into a different life I went walking.

Brothers should I leave you 
And travel life for years without you
And should I never return to our home
Remember it was I who journeyed alone

The Infamous Rascal

Under your twisted lips, runs a wooden tongue called time, you have drained the city of all that is divine,and your tongue is rolling over into your head as if you are getting ready to expose the dead. You went on a shooting spree, committing murder in the first degree, mashing up sauce and pans while you infiltrate the substance all over the land. 

You bear the mark of the Antichrist in your stomach and the beast curled up in your back side while the guitar is strumming silently in your head as if music is your only gift and sardines, are your only dish. 

Retrace your steps and look in the hole and you will see how far the tunnel has gone into the river bed and what about the clock above the wall? It’s time for you to get out of bed and take a long cold shower. 

Your wildest dream is buried in your heart and it has been with you from the very start, walk up the road and turn around  the bend and you will see the lion  occupied  its den, you can tame it from outside but don’t make the mistake and  go inside, your wildest dream is full of pride. 

The morning is looking for you and the afternoon has its wing all over you, the evening and nights are filled with delight but the dragons are active after midnight but the firefly will lead you into the light.  

I have seen you wailing on that road with Illusion covering your face and reality leading you to a woeful embrace. The train is speeding and you must recuse yourself from the track before you get hit in your back. 

Setting up late at nights to roll the infamous dice has set off a new course of action with marinated duck clucking in the oven and sauté beef frozen on ice watching the curry chicken dancing on top of the plate. 

They set up all night waiting for you to try on a brand-new pair of shoes; I don’t think it will fit because deception is stuff in its sole. It’s too small for your feet and I can feel the Cinderella heartbeat spreading the heat. 

This is more than fifteen-year-old inquiry of a man and a woman on a reckless and deceptive journey and the schemes that they use to obtain the price came at a horrendous sacrifice both man and woman fell into the ditch leaving a painful bridge behind and we finally got them off the pitch.
Form: Narrative


Notre Dame Bells

It tolls eighty eight, times to symbolize that someone has died .It wasn’t the ordinary man in the street or the man that frequently disrupt the people’s heart beat; it wasn’t the fellow down the road or the man tending to sheep up the road, it was the man that wore the papacy cap and walks around in a woman’s frock.

He ministers to billions around the globe and his boldness, mercy and kindness captures the soul of the world, his style was different and news of his passing was sudden. The people did not know who until the morning news broke, and four men dressed in black announced that the pope passed away at 7:35 am , Rome local time but  his spirit was divine.

My aunt was in the kitchen and she dropped the tea cup on the ground spilling hot tea all around when she heard the news. She dragged herself in the living room and squat into the sofa until the news broadcast was over.

 It took some time for it to sink in as she contemplates the final event at the square before he passed away, he was waving, and saying prayers aloud for them, and at the wink of an eye his spirit elevated into the sky and his body lay motionless on the bed.

My heart goes out for you, I know what I was feeling was true
since valentine day he was taken away from  you and
I could feel his spirit drifting away in the dust.

Your mission was true and the whole world endures you
the garden that lies behind the gates is springing
new flowers that honors your faith; pick three flowers
and place them in the room to honor the people of the world
especially those that lived without water or food.

You have fought your way through but life was bigger than you
 you have fought for life for almost three months, and you have paid that endless sacrifice but you kept holding on to life, and when I saw the daisy in the garden began to bloom I know that things were coming to an end soon but I just could not tell when.

And when I heard the bells of Notre Dame began to tolling from a distance, I know that your spirit has finally gone home to heaven. 

But when the bells of Notre Dame began to ring my spirit began to sing and so the tolling of the bells, tells the story of a man’s painful journey to heaven.
Form: Narrative

Saturday Morning May 13th 2023

They hit the road before the break of dawn kicking down doors rattling gates and slamming car doors. “The computer people a goh kill the woman ova there so, we a goh murder her!” threat come echoing from behind the wall saturating fear through the modern roof. 

The commotion continues throughout the wee hours of the morning and the turbulence shows no sign of stopping, the shouts and the threat continues and when I could not bear to listen to it anymore; I took a walk out door to examine what was on the floor and the excitement speed off about seventy miles per hour up the road, and a woman’s voice shouted, “A mi alone in a the car now” It didn’t sound logical but I could analyze its meaning. 

I continued my work in the early morning and the traffic keeps coming and going and suddenly I heard a screaming, the cops come rushing down the hill and parked on the other side of the street and a woman emerge from the car and descended into the yard. 

 Domestic violence it seems has derails someone’s dream and the little man with the taxi came rushing in was part of the bubble; there was going to be real trouble. He parked in front of the cop's head on and puts on the white light signal and pretends as if he was the boss 

 He went underneath the big apple three on the other side of the street and the domestic upheaval intensified. I watched from the side and listened for a while then I zoom them out. It is the nonsense mixing with common sense that didn’t make sense. 

The brawl continues into broad-day light with the cops and the neighbors arguing about I don’t know what, the woman was issuing murder threat in front of the cops, and on the other side of the big church the lawn mower man was cutting grass and digging up earth drowning out the domestic confusion.  

And so the morning faded away with the cops, the computer people and the PM people running around the town without shoes and crown, with the minstrel and the drums sounding behind them. 

I could not hear them anymore even when I walked through the door; the morning suddenly became still and just the warm heat and slight breeze, I could feel blowing over my feet and the stage was set for a brand-new journey.
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Bins

Mr Bell, it’s Julie from the council, you appear to be inundating our help desk with phone calls, are you alright?
No, Julie, I am not alright. I have seven bins in my garden, and for some reason, you’ve delivered another three, what’s going on?
Can you describe the bins that have been delivered?
One is luminous and at night time, it lights up the whole street.
Right, that bin is your new Nuclear fallout receptacle.
Okay, Julie, I think you’ve delivered that to the wrong address, the power plant is five miles up the road, but I’m sure even they don’t use plastic bins.
No, this is your bin. Now I don’t want to alarm you, but when it gets emptied, the men will be wearing like silver spacesuits, so don’t get alarmed when they come into your garden. 
This might sound like a silly question, Julie, but where do I get this fallout stuff to put in the bin?
Oh, I see what you mean. Let me explain. This is actually a smart bin which collects particles through the air, you don’t touch it. What other bin do you have?
I’ve also been given a bright pink bin.
Ok, now this bin is for the LGBTQ community.
Fantastic, one I don’t need.
Oh, we don’t discriminate, Mr Bell, everyone gets one.
Right, Julie, what goes in it?
I would have thought that was obvious.
Well, Julie, if it's that obvious, enlighten me.
Could you not ask one of your Gay neighbours?
As far I know, I don’t have any gay neighbours, though in saying that, we do have mad Madge, who runs about naked at weird times of the night.
What’s the other bin you have.
This is a weird one, Julie, it’s black with four brass handles on it.
Right, this is actually your end of life bin. Now, it’s imperative you give us fourteen days' notice before you use it.
Okay, Julie, let's have a think about this one. People who die don’t tend to go in fourteen days, they tend to just drop dead.
Will you be dropping dead anytime soon, Mr Bell?
If you keep sending me stupid bins, Julie, I’ll be joining mad Madge.
Talking about, Madge, Mr Bell. We sent a young lad with a letter of intent for her, he hasn’t returned, should we be worried.
Got a feeling, Julie, your first end of life bin will be imminent.
© Paul Bell  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Midnight Encounter

This is a true story- no names have been changed to protect the idiot........

Nb- * - a car bonnet is a hood in the United states.
      ** - censored.

On my way back from the pub
(since real ale is my passion)
slowly wending my way home
in a wibbly-wobbly fashion
in the road sat something small-
I almost passed it by,
camouflaged in darkness
by a cloudy moonless sky.
I could tell it was a Hedgehog
simply by it's silhouette,
and if it didn't move real soon
would get squashed flat, I'll bet.
Just then a hundred yards away
a pair of lights appeared
heading our way at a pace
exactly as I'd feared.
Instinct kicked in, and out I leapt
to the middle of the road
waving my arms frantically as
I switched to 'Hero' mode.
He hit the brakes just feet away
and wound his window down
"get out the way, you Prat!" he yelled
but I just pointed down, and said
"Hedgehog!!" (which he couldn't see,
his bonnet* was in the way),
"Just hang on while I shift it, mate"
was all that I could say.
So, bending down to rescue it
still sat between my feet
my heart sank as I focussed in
then finally missed a beat.
The Hedgehog I had risked my life
to save it by removing
was, in fact, from off a washing machine
a piece of rubber tubing.
Not wishing too look foolish
I just hid it with my sleeves
and slowly walked off to the kerb,
the car began to leave.
Angrily into the air I kicked the pipe before me,
a big mistake- in his rear view mirror
the car driver he saw me,
and hit the brakes, then jumped out yelling
( I remember, although quite plastered)
"That's cruelty to an animal! Come here, you heartless person**  !
In hot pursuit back up the road 
he came- the chase was on,
I wasn't going to hang about, in seconds I was gone,
vaulting over garden walls and dodging through the gates
then out of breath I hid myself, till he had gone, I'd wait.
Mud splattered with my trousers torn I reached home, panic over,
the ordeal I'd just been through was a great way to get sober.
So next time wildlife is in peril, maybe I won't hurry,
I'll carry on and stagger home-
let Mother Nature worry.
© Viv Wigley  Create an image from this poem.

My Wig (

We leave on vacation to see the Grand Canyon 
I ask my son when is the last time ha changed his socks, his feet smell like 
salmon 
My wife laughs and says that isn't his feet, it's his breath 
I tell her no more equate toothpaste, we're switching to Crest 
My wife says in a panicky voice, I forgot my social life line 
I tell her to calm down, everything will be fine 
She says, turn around and head toward home with the speed of a Russian Mig 
We can't take this trip, I can't be without my wig 
One hour and two tickets later we finally arrive back home 
Now she has her wig in hand and her voice has a nice, calm tone 
She says what are we waiting for, let's be on our way 
It's only 9:30am, it's already been a long, long day 
Now we are back to the area where we had to turn around 
I remember that singles club called Lost and Found 
As evening settles in, we stop by an eatery called The Autumn Twig 
She says please bear with me as I put on my wig 
My son and I sit in the car quietly, as we are close to death from a lack of food 
My wife tells us let's enjoy our vacation, you two need to adjust your attitudes 
We sit in the car and watch as people come out of this greasy spoon diner 
I keep reading their slogan, If you're lookin' for rib stickin' food ain't none finer 
I keep having these visions of me at the table, eating so much, my wife and son 
call me a pig 
Finally she is done fixing her wig 
I watch in horror as the Diner's lights go off 
My dream is gone, no pig, no trough 
She says in disgust, that's just great, where can we get a bite to eat now 
I tell her about a barbecue joint five up the road called Four Sides of a Cow 
She says okay, but I could not belive what she just did 
She smiles and says I told you everything will be okay, as she removes her wig 
We arrive outside the place rated as some of the best barbecue around 
She throws her wig on the dash and laughs like a circus clown 
She says my hunger has taken over, I believe she's flipped her lid 
She says let's go on inside, these people don't know me, they have never seen 
me without my wig
Form: ABC

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