Best Car Horn Poems
The Urban Jungle
Where trees once stood, oh so proud
Now a tower, hosts a crowd
In a place, where water flowed
Now a lawn freshly mowed
Once a cry from Tarzan heard
Now a car horn blasts a nerd!
Wildlife teemed in wood and bogs
Only now roam packs of dogs
A safe place for frog and toad
Now a highway overload
Bird song filled the air aloud
Now we have a toxic cloud
Wild cats hunted for prey in vain
Now we bathe in acid rain
NOW all wildlife in distress
In the name of OUR progress!
DISTURBED MOMENT
In this sudden moment
I’ve a simple wish to walk about spreading love
everywhere
Oh, the thought seems so...bright, so…sunny
Yet – and I cast this flash aside –
A thought in isolation is thought without
foundation
I’m taking the best minutes of a long day,
Have gathered round imagination a peaceful sort
of garden…or…or forest in my idyll
And I a sturdy tree standing high, quite singular,
With the emerald leaf-people spread all about
me,
They and my eyes dancing to a single, sweet
violin
My white cat sitting at the kitchen window,
oblivious, adds shapeless, benign geometry
to the mix
And the footloose vision might progress,
But the intense quiet rushes, breezily, inside
my head –
(those invisible specs of original creation,
whirling impishly, become noisy)
Now a car horn
And my ecstatic inner vision gone to reality
Why can’t the jealous world leave us lovers
alone?
Dave Austin
I have seen them stand outside my door,
pleading mother to help stage their show,
on our verandah with stony floor,
tattered clothes, hungry child, wife on tow!
dusty robes speak of miles he walked,
two woven baskets on wooden yoke,
usual wares with which he embarked,
a venomous trade to feed his folks!
with widened eyes I saw him sit down,
his sweat pouring down in summer heat,
mopping face and brow with long sleeved gown,
asks favour of water, food to eat!
rested and nourished his show is on,
a crowd of urchins get a free peep,
melody like from an old car horn,
he blows sharp and sweet but yet so deep.
speckled cobra nearly five feet long,
rocks in anger with an open hood,
heat of summer is no time for song,
disturbed from slumber, how very rude!
As child was overawed by his skills,
such deadly snakes controlled by his Been*,
there is tragedy behind each thrill,
truth of life, often hidden unseen!
snake charmer’s life is twin tragedy,
education denied from a child,
for snake it is to be in custody,
to lose their freedom to rule the wild!
let’s solve this tale with education,
help their children go to a good school,
use their skills to help conservation,
so the snakes roam free, the wild to rule!
*Been a musical flute made from a coconut shell used by snake charmers to distract the snake
Premier contest winner (3)
Written 4/01/2021
9 syllables each line except one that has 10 syllables
‘The Snake Charmers’ poetry contest
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored
I always had Angie Under My Thumb,
one day I heard her honking her car horn.
What had she just done with her anger,
my candy apple red vette she did Paint It Black.
She was yelling back at me,
You Can't Always Get What You Want.
Now I will Tumblin Dice for release,
my new car is a big mess.
Her blue Mustang car playing The Rolling Stones,
a car of Wild Horses sped off in a flash.
No more Honky Tonk Women for me,
guess I will go back to my old friend Ruby Tuesday.
A busy wife and mom, she always seemed late
But she didn’t know why, at times she would wait
When a sense of urgency was of great import
Especially to those waiting, most in need of her support
For those of us wondering, “How could she always take so long?”
Since it wasn’t obvious why, oft was heard a car horn
But many times I noticed, even as a small lad
There was intent in her lateness, usually to aid something or someone who had
A need greater than ours, or those we were meeting
Like our dogs needed water, or the horses needed feeding
Or, stopping to talk to an elderly neighbor
Who had just learned of an illness that caused them great labor
There was the time when she stopped the car to explain something of import
We got to ask many questions, she never cut us short
I also remember a stressful day, one where we were late for carpool
And an irate father took it out on her, very un cool
Later that night I could hear her crying as we went to sleep
And I prayed for an angel to visit and tell her not to weep
And to show her how her small decisions to be late
Greatly affect people and other’s lives, which then go on to create
Such a wonderful world for us all to enjoy
If we just keep in mind, that if all of us too employed
A sometimes-slight hesitation, a thought of others before plunging ahead
We’d all get to experience a life with more threads
That fulfills that promise to our creator who asked
Only that we fill our lives with greater weight
And maybe, just maybe, it’s because we’re a few minutes late
Night Route To Take
Another tale to stretch your imagination to its very limits of fantasy..
Found within the magical doorway to the Twilight Zone of mysteries…
A single lady walking her dog in the late hours of the night…
Something the neighbours did observe happened each night…
But through the doorway of the Twilight Zone,on this night, imagination takes flight..
A sudden blare of a car horn, rubber tyres squealed as a car came and stopped within sight…
The startled lady peered as she might, but failed to make out the driver in the pale light..
She screamed a frustrated “Jerk!” as the mysterious car roared off into the dark night…
Eeriely a huge bus slowly rolled into sight, stopped and invitingly opened wide its doors…
As a premonition of horror hit her, she recoiled half in terror, pulling back her little dog…
Back in her room, strange things then happened, and there were glimpses of bloodied images..
Doggedly, she continued with the excitement of her approaching wedding to her gorgeous fiancé…
But the spectre of the huge silent bus with its opened doors preyed continuously in her mind..
Imagine her confusion when in one encounter, the driver ominously intoned, “It’s waiting for you!”..
The way the story rolled on, you can’t help but feel the built-up dread and apprehension she felt..
As this tale of subtle horror approaches its zenith, you will probably be increasingly horrified…
I cannot reveal the actual ending of this hair-raising episode of a terror of the nameless beyond…
For that would be the ultimate injustice to such a superbly spun story of the mysterious unknown…
Hence, for a hair raising time and to see for yourself the power of suggestion on horrors imagined…
Click on the link below and I dare you, do you not feel the cold fingers of fear grasping your very being?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v46NSoAGuLg&index=25&list=PLbxdxEWxTqX81L3NnAU3nEwvPhkT7FuRm
Spud's New Car, a tribute to my ever so lovely hamster Spud . . .
SPUD’S NEW CAR
My hammy has hit the wheel, but; doesn't seem to be getting very far
So I thought for Crimbo; I would buy him a new, battery-operated car
First, he gave it the eye-ball; and then he gave it a few indignant sniffs
Next thing he was running round in it; even asked me, if I wanted a lift
O’ for the life of Riley he was just having himself a right old flamin’ ball
Then he decides that he would give all of his other hammy mates a call
Wow smart motor Spud; what has happened did you lad win the pools
As all the other little hammy’s lined up; and, over his new car did drool
It's a Crimbo pressie off me Mammy says Spud; cheered me up no end
Now my bleeping of the car horn is silently driving her round the bend
The other little hammy’s then jumped in the car, each taking it in turns
Revving up the motor; making all the tyres squeal; and, in turn so burn
A Grand motor you have got there Spud; you must ever, so very proud
Aye, said Spud; as yet again, he bleeped his horn, as so very extra loud
Then it was gotta to go lads; for there is something special I have to do
Spud waved his good-byes; and, it was off in his brand new car, he flew
It was down to the local shops for some flowers and some sesame cake
Just like the ones, his Mommy; that just for him used to make and bake
Then Spud; raced back home again, for Mom he did not want to be late
Just to find his beloved Mommy; waiting just for him at the garden gate
It was a fabulous Crimbo really; and, Spud truly loved his brand new car
Mommy; got her thank-you flowers, and, Spud is now away, driving afar
"God Bless His Little Heart" Mom x x x
Indiana <--- Spuds proud Mom . . . : )
I had a cat that marked his territory right
into our TV – fried the whole thing
But I will not graffiti my alleyways with
crude phalli,
Spewing armchair warrior slogans across the concrete
My best friend growing up was a real whore,
in the kiss-and-tell sort of way
A real ladies’ man... He was a real bastard,
I’ll tell you that
But I will not line the walls of my den with
taxidermied lovers
Nor will I cage my dove for fear of a hawk.
Does the absence of glimmering swords
Take away from the radiance of her smile?
And what good are these powerful minarets,
Without the sweet, sweet song that echoes across them?
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket.
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket that will dart away
Never to be seen, if she ever touches the
sea again...
Which raises the question: why the bucket?
I have no interest in the bucket.
I have no interest in being the fisherman.
I bait no hooks and reel no lines.
I would much rather be a sea horse.
We can all learn a thing or two from the sea
horse.
So enough with this nonsense of honor and
chivalry
Enough of this predefined manliness and
rhetorical dick-waving
Enough of cages and lures and foxes in the
chicken coop
I see a lioness and her fawn under acacia
shadows
While my thirty-something year-old
compatriot playboys
Are on the prowl for pretty young things in
search of a fantasy
Wearing cravates of woven chest hair resting
over shirts not quite buttoned,
With Ralph the Polo Player getting bigger
and bigger
I have no fur coats, and I won’t sport any swag
I have no car horn to honk at your skirts,
No sly comments to mutter as you pass
No scarves to force around your heads
No honor to vest in your purity
I have only my faith in love
And whatever flaws that may bring
So what is it then,
to be a man?
A behemoth of fire and rage
Red scales glimmering with the potential for death
Its absurd cries of evil shatter empires
Its unjust breath of malice devours lives
So comes forth a shining knight
A star descended from the heavens
An answered wish to the denizens of mankind
And with a sword gleaming with an altruistic ego
He cuts down the dragon, and rightfully so
And just reward does follow this magnanimous deed,
Maidens and praise and-
a fated car horn
I awake-
and with the reflexes of a knight
Catch my book as it slips my grip
Smiling, I find my page
Just as the not-so-chivalrous Knight
Slew the not-so-fearsome Dragon
and if for moments more
I live on as a knight
Content with well-worn pages
if not Maidens and praise.
A woman on her daily walk was serenaded by
a cardinal, a blue jay, and a Carolina wren—
or so she thought. Imagine how surprised she would have been
to learn it was I, a mockingbird perched on a limb up high.
I can make you think you hear a car horn or an alarm,
a barking dog, or a piano. Year-round, day or night,
I perform many charming songs, to listeners’ delight,
but I’ll attack if I think man or creature means me harm.
I am wildly popular, along with being versatile.
I am the designated state bird in five Southern states.*
Those living in the area know that in the forest waits
a concert by performers that are sure to make them smile.
*Arkansas, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Texas
My warn croissant is all mine.
Go away, dog, tis not thine!
No need for you to whine!
Try my delish hot coffee!
Way hot, do you see?
Please, stop pestering me!
He left the room, me forlorn.
Chasing a loud car-horn.
Ah, my day of peace was born!
12/20/2021
BEFORE THE COCKCROW
late at night, struggling with my heavy eyes
On my delicate eye lids it lands , the natural sleep
It is dark, quiet , a little dry
The moment a pin drop sounds loud like a car horn
When the tick of the wall clock becomes audible
Gently lying in my little space
Falling to the unconscious world
All before the cockcrow
All I remember is closing my sinful eyes
How my spirit travels in the dreams I knoweth not
Crossing rivers, jumping rope , chatting like in real life
I heard , some people murmur rubbish , say they sleep talk
Some snore so loud like the bleats of goat
All in the night before the cockcrow
Enemies best moment to lunch some war
The arrows , how I survive I do not know
Some babies couldn't do but bed wet
Having some dreams, seeing himself urinating
Worst scenario when I skipped dinner
The hunger comes knocking , the night seems longer
I sometimes count the ceiling slates , praying for the cockcrow
The wonders of the night, the angels sent to me
Oh God, how marvellous is your work on me before the cockcrow
Growth occurs, as some nutrients flow
Healings, stress relieved, all my bones stretched
My organs recharged and the brain refreshed
Within the short moment, before the cockcrow
Spirit travels and returns for me to wake
Yet, sometimes I forget to say thankful
After the cockcrow, the ungrateful rush to set out
How to feed for the day occupies the mind
I implore , when the cockcrow, remind me to say "thank you Lord"
Oh lord, at the dawn when I wake
Put in my mouth your song of praise, singing....." any time I see another breaking of the day , I say thank you lord, thank you lord...."
For your protection is irreplaceable, all day and every time , even before the dawn, when within the ear range, the cock crows.
Faniyi James is a writer, a poet and a career trainer. Mr. Legend.
my heads about to burst
cant take no more
that damn squeaking
of that broken barn door
the dog is barking
a car horn blows
a baby is crying
as someone blows their nose
birds out there squawking
my wife coughing
the old bed springs
3 in the morning and my phone rings
the cats meowing what am I going to do
and what the hell is that out therekeep screaming who
crickets chirping in the tall grass
and now a hee haw from that old dumb ass
damn that rooster and his cock-a-doodle-do
its 4 in the morning are they really playing the blues
rain is falling on that tin roof top
is that the bad weather siren or is that the cops
someone walking through the house and the floor creeps
I guess its about obvious that im not getting any sleep
That’s why I write because I have no other choice
Cause all night long I hear these crazy noises
The Unexpected Moments
1. Spider floats down a web, you grab at the web, then you toss it out the door,
you feel a tug in your hair, eight legs fumbles about, you shake and shake,
until it falls on the floor
2. Step off a curb, a tire screech, a car horn that never lets up
3. A honeybee in love with a woman's hair sprayed hair, hands waving all about
4. An edge-of-the-seat horror flick, popcorn sprinkles in your hair
5. A surprise party with an odd start, where's the handkerchief
6. A tap on your shoulder from behind, you roll your hand into a fist
7. Someone said boo and you do the boogaloo
8. An authority person calls you by your full name
9. The 'To-Your-Face-Do-Not-Flinch' Game or punches galore
10. A teacher's get-your-attention ruler slams the desk
11. The dreaded alarm clock goes off -or- didn't go off
12. The dozing off at work, co-worker finger snaps
2019 May 27
*4th Place*
What Makes You Flinch
~~Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
I look and listen to all that’s around the view from where I’m standing seems like a mound.
If you see what I see and are no kin to me we are free to be given an aura of chi?
Being humble and meek but not considered a sneak what spies the eye I silently seek.
Ghostly In style never cracking a smile I absorb all that I see my vision is limited to me,
blind I am going to be.
Hearing growing sharp chirping song birds in the park keeps me with a spark my spirit happy
and lark, the lord has all of my heart.
I take nothing for granted my feet are ground and planted, where I am in life is where I’ll be
abundant resources are available to me.
Very few friendships relying on kinship the night owl hoots sirens and car horn always toot,
my vision is tunneling all my money is funneling.
Glaucoma has a will the eye drops and pills keep the pressure almost to nil all I can do is
upgrade my skill until someday my main purpose I can fulfill.
The meaning is clear my vision is not inflammation has me seeing black floaters and spots,
the years of sight I have left I know not.
James C Bryant Jr.
July 4, 2010