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Mark Wanless Apr 20
beautiful woman
revolver pick up truck beer
on ice a real sight
Adri Sep 2020
One of my earliest memories,
was that of watching western movies.
I craved that consistency
The intangible prospect of
the same storyline,
the same happy endings,
that existed universally within them:
Cowboy gets the girl,
they ride away.

I knew they were just that:  
Fictional.
I never believed
in the idea that one could have
a fairytale ending,
like that.
I never believed  
in having hope,
like that.  
Until I met him.  
  
I called him cowboy.
I was his, as he was mine.
Every week I knew he would be waiting.
Rushing around,
he was full of the life and energy
that I needed the most
in those darkest of times.  

We spent every day that we could
Together, inseparable.
Laughter,
muffled in each other’s arms.
Sitting together for hours
our only worry,
would be the passing of the distant trains.

Falling into such a routine
became my hope,
My own happy ending.
As the world changes seasons
all things beautiful,
inevitably change.

I could smell his breath from across the truck,
thick and stagnant.
The girl had been my friend.
I had trusted her,
trusted them both more than life itself.
“How could you do this to me?”

The courage to say it effortlessly fills me,
I feel it leave my mouth
like petals in the wind.
Stuttering over his words
rendered meaningless,
his adrenaline drunken eyes
search my soul to form an answer,
to such a simple question.

“Get out,” he says.
My mouth quivers
trying to process his enraged words
He repeats himself,  
“You heard me. Get out of the truck.”
With the opening of this final cage door
and the fresh smell of diesel
left standing in the air
serenaded by the squeal of his tires,
I was left standing alone.

I was free at last.
With the dark silhouette of his truck against the sunset,
growing smaller and more distant,
he was gone.
The cowboy rides away,
this time leaving the girl.
This is really, really difficult for me to talk about-much less publish it to the general public. If you're reading this, I forgive you. I hope you're doing okay, and I just want you to know that I'll never stop loving.
Pockets Aug 2020
Everyday is a highway
Every hour a missed exit
Life is just a truck stop
Till you make up your mind on the destination
Pockets Aug 2020
It was march
At the farmers market
Still kinda cold outside
There were people selling their odds and ends
And vendors selling fruit inside
At the back of the lot
Set an old taco truck
That sold tacos for a dollar a pop
I had 3 and a glass bottle coke
And wondered if I should buy
strawberries or not
a man
has shoot
and sell
his desire
where tires
embark to
Ilium but
a nobleman
farm his
wit with
hell and
back truck
in a
parade of
fire yet
amble in
Market Square
Randy Johnson May 2020
While I was driving a Monster Truck, I ran over Mister Ed.
I accidentally ran over that talking horse and now he's dead.
Mister Ed said "F* you" to me with his final breath.
Millions of people are upset because of his death.

That horse let out a smelly **** before he died.
When his owner saw what happened, he cried.
Wilbur Post called Peta and that got me in a lot of trouble.
I was sued and the only lawyer I could afford was Barney Rubble.

I lost the lawsuit because Barney is stupid because he's from the Stone Age.
When I couldn't pay Wilbur ten million bucks, the cops locked me in a cage.
Please listen to my advice or you may go to jail and your spouse will get a divorce.
If you ever drive a Monster Truck, you'd better not run over somebody's talking horse.
At first I thought I was born to succeed,
Which was good and great because I lack luster for greed
To give and to cherish was largely my creed,
Life blooms everywhere so why covet its seed?
For shame and for glory, my truth was a story.

  A story, not a fable, one with use in its cradle
No. Not my truth, my feeble fiction. That to give and to gain was no contradiction.

With strong head and strong body I’ve wasted my days,
To think beau intention wouldn’t lead me astray.

You see I’ve done all I could in the space of this mind,
To unravel the hope to create world’s in kind.

Eureka! I had it, for one second’s perception,
A prospect in favour of catastrophic direction.

Though its gone I still taste it, like the vacuum in glass,
My pious mis-deception that my chance has not passed.
Some day it'll be the day
Randy Johnson Aug 2019
We have very little money so we're living in our truck.
We are in need of shelter but sadly, we are out of luck.
My wife's dad offered to give us shelter but we had to obey his rules.
I turned him down, some people call me a rebel, others call me a fool.
I would **** to have a bed that is nice and soft.
Winter is coming up so we'll freeze our ***** off.
When a man cussed my wife and I out, he had the mouth of a sailor.
He beat me up because we secretly moved into his travel trailer.
He said we could've lived in his travel trailer if we had asked first.
As he beat me senseless, I thought I would be hauled in a hearse.
We are both broke, people certainly can't say that we have big bucks.
Because I'm a rebel who won't live by rules, we'll continue to live in our truck.
THIS POEM IS PARTIALLY BASED ON A TRUE STORY.
Chris Apr 2019
The three wheeled truck sees the fours and asks itself "Why can't I be like that?"
The three wheeled truck has two four wheeled parents, but still only has three wheels.
The three wheeled truck is a bit slower than four and is unable to haul as much.
The three wheeled truck is left to rust.
Enjoy.
Kora Sani Jan 2019
every time
i see a blue
pick-up truck
i flinch
even though
i know
you don't drive
one anymore
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