Long Wagon Poems
Long Wagon Poems. Below are the most popular long Wagon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wagon poems by poem length and keyword.
The horse whinnied,
are you alone?
He ran off into the light,
afraid of the night.
Boy what are you doing here?
You're far off trail arent you?
All the posse is up there,
I know all these mountains.
He was the lead horse in a wagon train,
It was a lot of mountain.
He could not climb,
his major wanted him to master it.
A peak of the angered god,
the winds howl with a human voice.
commanding him with persuasion,
but it's a tricky climb lord.
Stradeling a virgin peak,
He shouted at the sky.
Let's go boy,
yes we'll make it.
Come on boy,
there's a cave up there.
Get the lantern,
light my way.
This cave has no bottom,
now what?
We can continue on,
or we can fall.
I don't like the odds,
I can't do either.
You can sit here frightened,
or take a leap of faith.
Alright enough, enough,
I will continue climbing.
Take up my slack,
pull boy, pull!
Together we can get it done,
just keep going,
Don't look down,
let's go, giddy up.
I see stars,
I see the moon.
I hear wind,
we'll be home soon.
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me
So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive
As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My Ho, Ho, Ho, is already long gone
Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around
Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time
As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose
Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes kill my kids parakeet out right
With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet
I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before
Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
We come to life with no great aim,
But step by step, our souls flame.
We crawl before we learn to walk.
We babble before we learn to talk.
We walk and make our first step,
With a lot of pain and a little help.
We make it then and start to run,
With too much love and too much fun.
But we are still with no great aims,
For life is still a bunch of games.
Then we grow up and pain begins,
And start to know of our sins.
We think we choose what we shall be,
But soon we change and start to see,
That we are made what we should be.
When we see that and stick to it,
We might succeed and make a hit.
Then we begin to set some goals,
Which will enrich our empty souls.
Yes hope springs eternal in the heart,
And brings us close to a head-start.
If goals are great, noble and high,
They will see light and soar so high.
So hitch your wagon to a star,
For greatness is just a step afar.
When a stranger calls
a star is born
within these walls
the shining
city lights
die hard
the searchers
don't look now
behind enemy lines
I walk the line
out of the past
roots
where the red fern grows
in cold blood
of mice and men
while you were sleeping
jaws
follow me quietly
home alone
where the sidewalk ends
forks over knives
shattered
where the heart is
frozen
dark eyes
guess who's coming to dinner
the day after tomorrow
the silence of the lambs
never cry wolf
in the heat of the night
my fair lady
dances with wolves
singin' in the rain
the illusionist
expelled
grease
cast away
what lies beneath
the notebook
can't buy me love
without leaving a forwarding address
back to the future
titanic
cries and whispers
tell them willie boy is here
from now to eternity
wild hearts can't be broken
before night falls
sense and sensibility
climb an angry mountain
to kill a mockingbird
we were soldiers
following
a beautiful mind
without a paddle
for love
the birds
take the lead
a river runs through it
one flew over the cuckoo's nest
when the cat's away
the mailman always rings twice
with a clean face
the empire strikes back
with a kodak
footsteps in the fog
paint your wagon
fifty shades of grey
for a little more money
great expectations
reign over me
boys don't cry
with your permission
save the last dance
for your eyes only
three men and a baby
cry for the strangers
gone with the wind
to have and have not
places in the heart
return to me
where or when
pride and prejudice
ran
to catch a thief
like water for chocolate
stolen kisses
smile
on the beach
it's a wonderful life.
I feel like you are at the finish line
of my fifty mile race,
but no matter how fast I run
I cant keep up the pace.
The road seems to get longer
with every step I take,
my engine is running but my foot's on the brake.
You begin fading in the distance
I can hardly see your face
I'm afraid to stop moving,
scared to never feel your embrace.
I'm running out of breath
my legs are getting weak,
when I open my mouth,
no words can I speak.
I'm terrified you'll disappear
and the road will as well,
leaving me with no path to choose
all I am left with is this hell.
Why wont u run towards me
is this another test?
My legs are shaking
my body needs rest.
I must go on,
I must keep moving
I can't let you get away
my love is what I am proving.
If I can just get close enough
maybe I can get you to stay;
even if not forever, at least for another day?
I feel like I'm taking a test with no pencil
eating soup with no spoon
pushing a wagon with no wheels
viewing a night sky with no moon.
You could meet me half way
or acknowledge me with a wave
let me know I'm not wasting my time
give me that last push so i can be brave.
I'm at my breaking point
I can no longer run;
you didn't move a muscle,
but this race you've won.
I knew the moment the whistle blew
it wouldn't be easy getting to you
I knew it would be hard and I would get sore
but I was willing to bear the pain
for the man I adore.
I thought I could make it but
my body is trumping my mind
just incase you saw me coming
I'll leave a trail of my blood for you
so I am easy to find.
Wandering the maze of sanity
has now become a harsh challenge
to the psyche as insanity fuels
itself with echoing bigotry
soaring like starving hawks
while vultures are daily treated
to sights of warm human appetizers
laying out on blood-stained turf tables.
If only lives could be as treasured
and as recyclable as are old cold weapons
of war that continues to be allowed
to seek the devouring warmness of life.
The yellow roses in a lone star field of dreams
droop in waters of tears and dried blood;
long-horned cows and egrets go about symbiotically,
as wagon train-like funeral processions pass by:
Meanwhile, congress-persons attend NRA banquets.
Go! New York Herald Tribune! Yell it, Jean!
I think that Marcel Proust once owned that condo.
Belmondo never acts – he’s just Belmondo.
You’re no Liz Taylor – no Egyptian queen –
So, New York Herald Tribune! Your big scene!
Were you too young to play the chick in “Hondo”?
This is the age of “Cuando, Cuando, Cuando” –
No singer, you? Lee Marvin’s never been!
You didn’t do the cop shows (I know why),
or enter those kung-fu things, like The Dragon:
auditioning is hard. The FBI
observed you as you tried to paint your wagon.
Was Iwo Jima where you chose to die,
or just a place for guys to pin a flag on?
Madder then the mad hatter
wearing a black bandanna,
the word spinning
head scrambling
lyrical attacker,
taking your words
and pinning them to the wall with a dagger,
head so spun
you stumble and stagger,
two feet set
but struggling to climb the ladder,
take a draw from the pipe
then call the smoking caterpillar,
because it’s better to chase the rabbit
then the dragon,
Your crumbling slow demise
as the wheels fall of the wagon,
body so young
but the skin is full of aging,
Pickpocketing your beauty
like the artful dodger and Fagin.
Now You may think I’m mad,
and the waters I tread are a murky,
but there’s a man over there called Benji
and he’s a talking to a turkey !!!!
Mystery Pies
Every day the thin old lady comes crying from the bakery
“Hot pies!” ‘Hot fresh pies!”
With a young wide smile on the cobble stone streets
Her wagon filled with savory treats of saffron pumpkin pies
Assorted aromas rise to the horizon as she hobbles down the road
There is always a surprise, a mystery or two
Children throw their pennies and beg for clues
The old woman bakes a different kind of pie each day
To add to her selections on the cart
Today is Sunday so she baked a special prayer like pie
It has a sinful cinnamon chocolate crust with cherries inside
This reminds the town folk to be pure, to think about virginity.
Don’t ask me why
I’m not from this vicinity
Created on 10/08/14 for Plentitude Of Pies – Poetry Contest
Remember me, the cool glass milk bottle. I used to sit on your front porch early in the morning. You could hear me arriving before the sun was up. I am a Bateson Model Dairy milk bottle, beautifully made of thick clear glass. A lot of milk bottles have been replaced with plastic but I am an expensive looking quality original. I am one of the most popular milk bottles in the area.
I came from a small processing dairy in Wingham, Ontario where the Bateson family owned and operated their business for many, many years. Working seven days a week during the very early hours bottling milk delivered from local farmers producing hundreds of bottles for their loyal customers.
Remember the wonderful clinking sound of the milk bottles arriving? Leaving out the empties represents many people’s first concept of recycling. I can remember that relatively traumatic moment when I was replaced with the carton. There was just something really wrong about pouring milk out of a carton because it didn’t have that refreshing coolness of a glass bottle. A cold bottle of milk has a certain integrity to it and the glass retains that. What a shame.
The milkman would deliver me to the door and collect the empties which held a few coins or milk tickets to pay for the fresh bottle of milk. Many conversations occurred on the stoop of each home as the family pet circled for a sniff. My travels around town went from the horse drawn milk wagon to a square van. Sometimes when the van stopped the old dog, Dina would wake up to chase a cat up a tree.
Over the years my shape has changed and my new caps gave me some upbeat fashion. But the quality of my contents stayed true. Sadly, if you show a child a glass milk bottle today he won’t know what it is. I come in many shapes and sizes, the quart, the pint, the half pint, the creamer and many more. The name printed on my side changed little over the years to keep the nostalgia of the small time dairy business.
Now I am considered an antique waiting on dusty shelves in antique shops for a new home. When you see me you may be thrilled to find a bit of history to place on the mantle of your home. You might recall childhood memories of the comforting sound of the milk man arriving at the door with fresh milk so very early in the morning.