Long Vehicle Poems
Long Vehicle Poems. Below are the most popular long Vehicle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vehicle poems by poem length and keyword.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Setting the alarm,
Making the bed,
Feeding the cat,
Or doing the dishes.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Choosing the wrong thing to eat
Closing the door of the fridge,
Cleaning out the garage,
Or putting away the hose.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Writing up an invoice,
Looking for a job,
Putting on the kettle,
Or learning a lesson.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Facing the music,
Forgetting someone's name,
Arriving when the party is over,
Or losing an important paper.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Misquoting a quote,
Forgetting to put out the rubbish,
Putting away the shopping,
Setting the table.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Breaking an umbrella,
Scratching a new vehicle,
Losing a watch,
Or being asked what words begin with X.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Answering a question with no instead of yes,
Pretending to know the signs of the zodiac,
Finding a way to get from a to Z,
Or finding a reason to stay in bed.
I was recklessly driven to such a BARREN place so much like myself, and this empty quest was just a fool-hearted venture. Always living on the edge, I was adventurous and wild with a high tolerance for risk. Everyone who heard of my plans, both friends and foe, cautioned me "No"! My best friend Stan, my girlfriend Ann, and my worst enemy, Van said "No"!!! But my mind was 'made up', my brains were 'shut down', and I was a clown. I had wandered here and wander there and just about everywhere. So I whispered to myself, "With the proper care and the proper gear, why not me"? I always knew that there was no place like home, but I had a THIRST to run and roam. I figured that if things got out of hand, I could always retrace my tracts and retreat. I had read about a German family who got lost and died in a desert. After thirteen years their vehicle and their bones were finally found. Their fate and misfortune brought tears to my eyes, and a vision of heavy heat waves and wind gusts of death flashed across my brains, but I quickly dismissed it saying, "Not I", and departed. I reached the desert and felt at home with a different kind of beauty in brush and sand. But before long, I saw mirages and realized I had made the last wrong turn of my life. My only OASIS was an unearthly one as I was ushered into heaven.
09242018PoSoupContest, I Wander The Desert Alone, Edward Ibeh *Fiction
Argh...What Accursed Fate Did Lurk...
Regarding thee 2009 Hyundai Sonata
(50+ shades of gray), a cred
debt tub bull vehicle, that at
this moment finds sinking
feeling akin to led
zeppelin, yes (for almost ten years,
this car manufactured with damn) sped
to countless destinations,
no whomever drove head
ding here, there, or anywhere,
yea without missing a beat said
vehicle dependable, rightly never left
being reliable, thus no question even Fred
Flintstone could corroborate, how red
dilly reliant aforementioned car
stood us in good stead,
aye attribute to quality wed
did craftsmanship in tandem being exam
manned by skilled automotive technicians,
nonetheless majority of cumulative costs
exceed all other expenditures
and asper right finds
me in a severe emotional,
financial, and spiritual jam,
when meager money resources
socked with exorbitant costs
analogous to experiencing bam!
Over today, a six hundred
plus dollars repair, hits mine head
hard (albeit figuratively), I surmise
a worse fate than being dead
agh...please help me survive
this shell shock humongous,
(yet critical) brake system replacement,
cuz trickling optimism fled
leaving me agast
how ongoing expenses,
will be met for me tum tug get fed
now yours truly feels
utterly rife with dread
as his emergency savings
account reserve tapped,
since checking account
hemorrhaged i.e. bled,
whereat monthly social security
deposit cannot be used to feather bed
my inner peace, particularly when
alarming sense of monetary
distress dost dead
din ability to breathe easy,
when faith to remain
financially solvent fled...
Hence psyche feels like
being pitched to and fro
with no recourse to buttress
legal tender woe
full despair spurs philanthropic
largesse (I hate to beg), though
an upended employment track record
(most recent job held...oye vey
maybe two decades ago)
severe bouts of anxiety/
panic undermined emo
shin null (psychological) confidence
nsync with sweaty palms, this this bro
kin metaphor, which in part
contributes to lifetime mein kampf
of a bajillion times ho...ho...
humbug mood possessed mind
fiendish poker face spirit in hell
worse off than a hobo living on skidrow!
The End
A state in which there are limitations
Unborn
Living in your Mother's womb
Born
Living
Surviving
Growth
Experience
Love and fear
Using a body as a vehicle
To navigate a dualistic world
With boundaries
Based on incriminates of time
Past
Present
Future
Beginnings and endings
Only one state of consciousness
As we move on to other states of consciousness
The Soul
With
Unlimited boundaries
No duality
Timeless experiences
Always
Exits
Without beginnings and endings
Wrapped inside a moment
Of now
Everlasting and eternal
A graceful dance inside divinity
Explosions of magnificence
Glorious souls
Forever
Saturated with love
Is love
All is love..
I'll tell you the reason why my neighbor's head has a big dent.
I mowed his yard and cleaned his gutters and he paid me 25 cents.
When he handed me that quarter, I began to yell.
Before I slugged the jerk, I told him to go to hell.
He threw a punch at me but I ducked.
This man is a cheapskate, he really sucks.
I tied one end of a rope to my car's rear bumper and the other end to his leg.
As I drove my car about seventy miles, he asked me to stop and he begged.
After dragging him with my vehicle, his butt had a big rash.
That's what he got because he's too cheap to pay any cash.
When I told him that he'd get even worse, he stopped threatening to sue.
If you decide to hire me and pay me 25 cents, I'll do the same things to you.
Suffering And Pain
Walking to the store is an ordinary boring undertaking
It requires a list, some time and spending money
And very little else
They say it is easier than war
It takes no skill, no one gets killed for sure
But when some idiot runs you over with their SUV
On the sidewalk in the light of day
While drinking coffee, texting, reading comics
And driving at great speed
Then something must be said
Their pleasure is your pain and suffering
No one gets out of life alive. That’s understood
And undertakers must survive
There is no escape from here or from their kind
Perhaps if you used your vehicle for shopping
Things would turn out better
But I’m sure there is a meteor out there
With your name and license plate remembered
ART FULL
a
value judgment
made
the
nature
of
perception;
to create
a sense
of
beauty
a vehicle
of
expression
&exploration
becoming
an appreciation
expressing
emotions
in the
mind
with
the essence
of fate
as
its nemesis
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Painting and repainting the future of our land with crooked hands
Laughing at things as the world pass us by.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Writing us messages that have no bloodline.
Although black oil runs in our veins like water of vegetation
There is a sunstroke in our land.
We dream of cassava songs in the market
We dream of an open vehicle that could bear the tiredness of our souls but we are at the verge of things.
Our chairmen our flag bearers of fences
Translators of black dreams with European mirror.
The white house is open for destitutes, kindred of destitutes that are china in African sun.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again and there is a sunstroke in our land
The scorching heat is against banana groves.
Look and see children on a hungry march in the metallic road.
As I sit still in the still vehicle looking at the water hole with sure expectation, once through binoculars and again with normal gaze, there was sudden movement as a herd of deer approached the water hole. So far masked in dry reeds, a spotted tawny live-spring sprung to action. Even before I could shift my gaze from normal to binocular and back to normal again, a young deer hung in the cheetah’s panting mouth. As she carried away her food to her waiting family, the herd bent down as one, to graze proper. Wild Day’s business, but the tourist noise didn’t die down. Ashamed at barging in, I felt more sad than being excited. Something dawned on me at that moment, I decided not to be a tourist again.
a death to feed some
hunting to live to raise own
before brash lenses
Grief stricken, his eyes full of sighs,
The picture shows when the boy cries,
The sweet boy shows no touch of joy.
This is the story behind the destruction of this boy.
It is told his loved ones died in the fire.
Little boy from Oviedo is yet full of desire.
He is the street urchin so poor he only gets morsels he found.
He is known by Don Bonello, he does not utter one sound.
Pictures Luigi Toledo did of him.
In the series of seven children with lighting dim.
Over sixty pictures of children he produced.
Everyone to the public they were introduced.
Little boy crying is the most liked of them.
Hundreds of prints sold of this little gem.
Then suddenly Luigi’s studio, burned down.
Word soon flew, it got round town.
Every house which took the boy Don in, there were fires, not to be denied.
The Firefighter witnessed fourteen fires in houses, where the boy did reside.
The boy suspected of doing this crime.
He lived on the streets where the homeless spend time.
Fires did begin if his picture hung there. They chose him to spurn.
Homes destroyed but his picture did not burn.
Looking into it showed, every fire depicted, him not the culprit, definitely.
Broken electric plugs, insecure wiring, poorly tended cooking deemed to be.
The pictures were printed on fireproof protective fibers.
Firefighter lied, Sun news invented the story to get more subscribers
Much time went by, true sources implied.
The teen wrecked the vehicle he drove, burned, in the night he died.
So is the story of Don Bonello, there could be no joy.
This is the curse of the crying boy.