"washburn" poems - Hello Poetry

He cups the bowl With a pocket bible, Pulls in a few more short gasps, Trying to fill every last inch Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest. He rises up, as his lungs expand, And puts down the pipe, Caressing the tiny bible in his hands, Absentmindedly. He smiles... A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips. He slides the pipe across the table, I turn it down... I am only twelve. "Suit yourself" He says... His voice like vaseline on silk... A hair mussing, makeup smearing, ***** tearing voice. I think, *'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'* "Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about." He says. "That's what what's all about?" I stammer. He smiles, And I shiver involuntarily, As if waves of cool radiate from that smile. This guy was a small town demigod, Mind you. The coolest car, The blackest leather jacket. He was the front man For a local rock band, And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks, With little hearts, and declarations of their love. "Life, man, life. If you like killing, or kissing, Smoking or ******** Do it. If you do you will stay loose. You stay loose , you be cool. You be cool, the world is gravy, You dig? Life is a custom Mustang Made just for you. You got to ride that some of a ***** Until you run out of gas. So always take the roads that lead to things you love, And forget what the road signs say... Make your own detours." Four months later, He was killed in a car wreck. He was drinking wild turkey, While getting road head. They found a half ounce of grass In his hip pocket. The girl walked away with nothing worse Than a broken arm. They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face... His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go. The next day I spent the money I was saving For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar. After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with. I hopped behind the wheel that day, And since then, I have lived my life, my way. I've had enough downs, To prove my decision making skills are flawed, But I followed my joy, and the things I love, And I have no regrets... Hell, I'm still alive, And I ain't ran out of gas yet.

0

Aug 18, 2012

Aug 18, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC

will-mercier

Ride

He cups the bowl With a pocket bible, Pulls in a few more short gasps, Trying to fill every last inch Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest. He rises up, as his lungs expand, And puts down the pipe, Caressing the tiny bible in his hands, Absentmindedly. He smiles... A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips. He slides the pipe across the table, I turn it down... I am only twelve. "Suit yourself" He says... His voice like vaseline on silk... A hair mussing, makeup smearing, ***** tearing voice. I think, *'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'* "Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about." He says. "That's what what's all about?" I stammer. He smiles, And I shiver involuntarily, As if waves of cool radiate from that smile. This guy was a small town demigod, Mind you. The coolest car, The blackest leather jacket. He was the front man For a local rock band, And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks, With little hearts, and declarations of their love. "Life, man, life. If you like killing, or kissing, Smoking or ******** Do it. If you do you will stay loose. You stay loose , you be cool. You be cool, the world is gravy, You dig? Life is a custom Mustang Made just for you. You got to ride that some of a ***** Until you run out of gas. So always take the roads that lead to things you love, And forget what the road signs say... Make your own detours." Four months later, He was killed in a car wreck. He was drinking wild turkey, While getting road head. They found a half ounce of grass In his hip pocket. The girl walked away with nothing worse Than a broken arm. They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face... His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go. The next day I spent the money I was saving For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar. After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with. I hopped behind the wheel that day, And since then, I have lived my life, my way. I've had enough downs, To prove my decision making skills are flawed, But I followed my joy, and the things I love, And I have no regrets... Hell, I'm still alive, And I ain't ran out of gas yet.

73

161 to 180 of 3251 Poets «78910»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by Margaret Kaufman Photo, Brownie Troop, St. Louis, 1949 Deborah Warren Marginalia Regan Huff Occurrence on Washburn Avenue Anne Marie Macari From the Plane Gerald Fleming There are no poems by this poet on our website. Sebastian Matthews Barbershop Quartet, East Village Grille Charles Harper Webb The Animals are Leaving Zozan Hawez Self-Portrait Jose Angel Araguz Gloves Russell Libby (1956–2012) Applied Geometry Robert Haight How Is It That the Snow Early October Snow Dan Lechay Ghost Villanelle James P. Lenfestey Daughter Robert Hedin (b. 1949) The Old Liberators My Mother's Hats John Maloney After Work Kaelum Poulson The Crow Stuart Kestenbaum Prayer for the Dead Emmett Tenorio Melendez My name came from . . . Gary Dop Father, Child, Water On Swearing Berwyn Moore Driving to Camp Lend-A-Hand «78910»

0

Mar 13, 2014

Mar 13, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC

IrairaCedillo

Many ones #100

161 to 180 of 3251 Poets «78910»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by Margaret Kaufman Photo, Brownie Troop, St. Louis, 1949 Deborah Warren Marginalia Regan Huff Occurrence on Washburn Avenue Anne Marie Macari From the Plane Gerald Fleming There are no poems by this poet on our website. Sebastian Matthews Barbershop Quartet, East Village Grille Charles Harper Webb The Animals are Leaving Zozan Hawez Self-Portrait Jose Angel Araguz Gloves Russell Libby (1956–2012) Applied Geometry Robert Haight How Is It That the Snow Early October Snow Dan Lechay Ghost Villanelle James P. Lenfestey Daughter Robert Hedin (b. 1949) The Old Liberators My Mother's Hats John Maloney After Work Kaelum Poulson The Crow Stuart Kestenbaum Prayer for the Dead Emmett Tenorio Melendez My name came from . . . Gary Dop Father, Child, Water On Swearing Berwyn Moore Driving to Camp Lend-A-Hand «78910»

46

You can call it love That I know for sure But, I think it is something else Something so much more It's a feeling like no other You know it when it hits It's when two things go together When it's perfect, when it fits You know the special feeling It makes you feel quite whole It's like you've been down to the crossroads You made a deal and sold your soul It may just come by once in life I got lucky, it came twice The first time, on a frozen pond When my blades cut up the ice It was peaceful, perfect, flowing The ice and I were one I'd be out there from sun up Until the day was done I remember people cheering Those cheers forever will I hold This was what I wanted The feeling was pure gold Time went by like normal I had the feeling, but not quite I found love, but, it was different Even though it felt so right Like I said, it's different Because it doesn't love you too It's not like loving someone I can't explain it quite, can you? Like I said, for some folks It may come by them twice I'm am blessed it happened This time off the ice You know when in a movie The sunbeam comes down from the sky And lights up something special You know the scene, don't lie The hockey was my vision But there was something missing still I loved the feel of freedom But, there was something missing still It Michigan it hit me It caught me by surprise I was looking at guitars one day It hit me hard between the eyes Worse than any check I'd felt Worse than popping out a knee An old Washburn guitar Was hanging, taunting me Of all the things upon the wall All the guitars holding court This Washburn said you want me More than playing at your sport I took it down and held it Like the first woman that I'd had It's curves gave me that feeling It made me feel quite glad This guitar's full of music Full of songs to still be sung Stories of others and my lifetime Maybe this poem will be one Most people get the feeling In their lifetime once or twice I got mine later with the Washburn I still get it on the ice.

0

May 30, 2020

May 30, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC

roger-turner

Twice in a lifetime

You can call it love That I know for sure But, I think it is something else Something so much more It's a feeling like no other You know it when it hits It's when two things go together When it's perfect, when it fits You know the special feeling It makes you feel quite whole It's like you've been down to the crossroads You made a deal and sold your soul It may just come by once in life I got lucky, it came twice The first time, on a frozen pond When my blades cut up the ice It was peaceful, perfect, flowing The ice and I were one I'd be out there from sun up Until the day was done I remember people cheering Those cheers forever will I hold This was what I wanted The feeling was pure gold Time went by like normal I had the feeling, but not quite I found love, but, it was different Even though it felt so right Like I said, it's different Because it doesn't love you too It's not like loving someone I can't explain it quite, can you? Like I said, for some folks It may come by them twice I'm am blessed it happened This time off the ice You know when in a movie The sunbeam comes down from the sky And lights up something special You know the scene, don't lie The hockey was my vision But there was something missing still I loved the feel of freedom But, there was something missing still It Michigan it hit me It caught me by surprise I was looking at guitars one day It hit me hard between the eyes Worse than any check I'd felt Worse than popping out a knee An old Washburn guitar Was hanging, taunting me Of all the things upon the wall All the guitars holding court This Washburn said you want me More than playing at your sport I took it down and held it Like the first woman that I'd had It's curves gave me that feeling It made me feel quite glad This guitar's full of music Full of songs to still be sung Stories of others and my lifetime Maybe this poem will be one Most people get the feeling In their lifetime once or twice I got mine later with the Washburn I still get it on the ice.

68

Before the actual birth, I tried to convince myself there could be no room for fear. That in fact, the only way I was going to get through this and come out smelling like a rose was to keep my wits about me, focus on my breathing and counting, and to push when I felt the need to push. When the labor pains worsened I forgot all prior convincing, edged out of that window to stand on the ledge of fear. Trying to push this baby through the birth canal was like trying to push a blimp through the Washburn Tunnel. All the preparatory lessons flew off that ledge like birds to the wind. As the sun rose over Houston, the rays of dawn crept through the hospital blinds, bringing with them the first cry of my newborn nine pound, fourteen ounce son, affirming that old adage that everything is bigger in Texas. And, as my eyes lit on the dozen yellow roses you had sent me, the thought that if I was going to come out of this smelling like a rose, the yellow rose of Texas was the one I’d want to be.

0

Nov 12, 2011

Nov 12, 2011 at 7:22 PM UTC

betty-bleen

PUSHING FOR TEXAS

Before the actual birth, I tried to convince myself there could be no room for fear. That in fact, the only way I was going to get through this and come out smelling like a rose was to keep my wits about me, focus on my breathing and counting, and to push when I felt the need to push. When the labor pains worsened I forgot all prior convincing, edged out of that window to stand on the ledge of fear. Trying to push this baby through the birth canal was like trying to push a blimp through the Washburn Tunnel. All the preparatory lessons flew off that ledge like birds to the wind. As the sun rose over Houston, the rays of dawn crept through the hospital blinds, bringing with them the first cry of my newborn nine pound, fourteen ounce son, affirming that old adage that everything is bigger in Texas. And, as my eyes lit on the dozen yellow roses you had sent me, the thought that if I was going to come out of this smelling like a rose, the yellow rose of Texas was the one I’d want to be.

21

In a glass room at the top of a mountain I learned how to speak. At 10,000 feet I learned the shape of words and how they can sound so much like wind persisting, wailing against the impossible odds of sturdy, dismissive construction. If this is not a home, then what is it? A shrine atop this mountain? An offering to the gods of sunrise, sunset, thunderstorm, and man-made radio equipment? Man-made fire? There are certainly plenty who climb to worship at its feet. Surely nothing, save from the mountain itself, could send this glass room tumbling down the path I just walked to reach it.

0

Aug 22, 2020

Aug 22, 2020 at 12:02 PM UTC

BreannsAlright

Washburn

In a glass room at the top of a mountain I learned how to speak. At 10,000 feet I learned the shape of words and how they can sound so much like wind persisting, wailing against the impossible odds of sturdy, dismissive construction. If this is not a home, then what is it? A shrine atop this mountain? An offering to the gods of sunrise, sunset, thunderstorm, and man-made radio equipment? Man-made fire? There are certainly plenty who climb to worship at its feet. Surely nothing, save from the mountain itself, could send this glass room tumbling down the path I just walked to reach it.

24

Did you tell her she wasn't worth it Laying on single mattress alone, searching purpose. She would go out through nights When the streetlights would only illuminate Sitting on an old bridge with me until very late. Before the night ended she stopped to say "If everything was a little less Could I be a little more?" Laughing while everyone slept, Talking about future plans, we knew were unsure And barely going home until the sun crept. Over those pines on Washburn street. Every weekend she would get lost at a bar Starring drinks made to forget, Featuring people made to remember, Knowing this world for her, wasn't forever. Sitting ideally at the next seat, I hoped it all changed For the better for you. Smiling into a glass like home wasn't hell, Watching people pass we would tell All the amazing places we had been Leaving out the hardships and pain. Until one day, I searched for you unfound, Asking, they said you finally packed up Leaving for a better town. Perfectly in silence, you went through the night Through illuminated streetlights.

0

Jan 21, 2020

Jan 21, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC

ryan-maroni

Illuminate

Did you tell her she wasn't worth it Laying on single mattress alone, searching purpose. She would go out through nights When the streetlights would only illuminate Sitting on an old bridge with me until very late. Before the night ended she stopped to say "If everything was a little less Could I be a little more?" Laughing while everyone slept, Talking about future plans, we knew were unsure And barely going home until the sun crept. Over those pines on Washburn street. Every weekend she would get lost at a bar Starring drinks made to forget, Featuring people made to remember, Knowing this world for her, wasn't forever. Sitting ideally at the next seat, I hoped it all changed For the better for you. Smiling into a glass like home wasn't hell, Watching people pass we would tell All the amazing places we had been Leaving out the hardships and pain. Until one day, I searched for you unfound, Asking, they said you finally packed up Leaving for a better town. Perfectly in silence, you went through the night Through illuminated streetlights.

27

This is the summer Of burning down houses, Repairing bridges, Of **** on the fly. This is the summer Of misconstrued lovers, Of thick consummation And marital wine.

0

Jul 7, 2016

Jul 7, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC

gnihtogtn

Washburn Pavilion

This is the summer Of burning down houses, Repairing bridges, Of **** on the fly. This is the summer Of misconstrued lovers, Of thick consummation And marital wine.

8