Best Pontiac Poems
Promo
Point guards and shooting guards
On the floor
No visiting team hits
or scores
If a shoot is made,
Altered is its destination.
'Cause the All Stars is history in the making.
Coach
Guards
On the floor
No one hits
The score
If a shoot is made,
Altered is its destination.
'Cause the All Stars has history in the making.
Guards and centers are now
On the floor
No visiting team hits
or scores
When a shoot is made,
Alter its destination.
Captured the ball and slam-dunk in their faces.
Guards, centers, and forwards -
All are on the floor.
Not to let the visiting team score.
Once a shoot is made,
Misshapen its destination.
Apprehend the ball and alley hoop for home.
We are the All Stars -
The Team to score
With confidence and so much more!
______________________________________|
Written May 07, 2016!
Categories:
pontiac, character, confidence, future, meaningful,
Form:
Verse
There wasn’t any way I could have boiled
and drunk yesterday’s cup of espresso or
moved the olive tree past the ridge or make
the sky forever purple, or perch with the
sparrows and blue jays on an oak tree branch.
There wasn’t any way I could have
made the Pontiac go any faster or upside
down or sideways while I sped down the
highway trying to escape my father. There
were wars all over the world then, while I
tried to look as beautiful as possible for a date
and walked down on the beach smelling the
sand and feeling the soft spray of foam from
an old fishing boat going by.
There wasn’t any way I could cut my
tongue out or replace it with a hand full of
lilies or olive leaves. I couldn't afford to listen
to my friends anymore, as I hid in Long Beach,
California and stay there at the thought of being
alive among the oranges and lemons and the
sparrows with their infinitesimal red and brown
stripped lives and an occasional hummingbird.
Categories:
pontiac, lifetree, tree,
Form:
Free verse
A TRIBUTE TO PRINCE FROM PONTIAC, MICHIGAN
Driving a new Colorado Storm into the City with the radio disc jockey playing a song of Prince.
The sky is clear and the sun is shining.
I feeling good irregardless.
Of course, he will be missed.
It seems like life is leaving today with a mental preference.
Is it better to believe in immortality?
His [Prince...] body was found in a peaceful state.
It seems to be best and in a better place.
Walking into my place of business with a solemn face.
My mind is preoccupied with thoughts of life itself.
It seems like so many known travel a foreseen path.
Transgression is life expectancy destine.
A lifetime is never aged when you live life to its fullest and enjoy every day.
Even when sadness embrace, as all of us know, our life still will span the globe.
Existence is eternal to our souls.
Prince was a sparkle that true essence shown.
__________________________________________________________________|
Written April 24, 2016!
Categories:
pontiac, appreciation, tribute,
Form:
Quatrain
Oh he was deep black and so shiny in the sun,
I fell in love the moment I first saw him;
There was a need to have him- this was no whim,
I could see us together, it was a love staggering.
Oh he wasn't a man but a car, a Pontiac Firebird,
So I bought him and I thought it was forever;
I washed him by hand- in a car wash never,
While driving we got the looks, oh so flattering.
Well he was older, so there was some clattering,
But he was an original if you know what I mean;
Wherever we went he made quite the scene,
As he got older I did notice the odd little tremor;
The day I lost him to car heaven I was shattered,
After the crash he was quite broken and tattered.
____________________
December 3, 2015
Canzone
For the contest, For Women Only
(Would you, Could you) Write About Cars
Sponsor, A Poet Destroyer
Sixth Place
Categories:
pontiac, car,
Form:
Canzone
Sending the tending to an unfriended ending,
yet somehow suspending from rending a newly offending recommending.
Logotype monotype linotype,
overripe stereotype,
teletyped an unripe heliotype.
Guttersnipe snipe,
stipe snipe ripe,
a wipe type a tripe,
unleash a withering hype.
Dip snip,
nip lip,
slip skip,
rip the apple pip
over a battleship Chip.
Clip,
airstrip,
blip,
scrip,
gyp,
flip,
dip.
Unsip, blue clip,
A warship, weathering stick.
To miche an itch,
to stitch a witch.
Rich a quitch,
Hitch a flitch.
Gabrilowitsch,
the grand son of a *****!
Pitched a ditch to flitch a niche.
Made a rich hitch lich.
The Thia tie thy tried to untie an unshy,
Spied a sny sty,
He ascribed a bribe tribe,
to dib drib, lib and sib.
A death pale,
dwaled and engrailed,
enjailed and bewailed.
The cocktale turned into a,
ginger ale stale.
A hobnail.
A pale kale.
The whale waled
a veil of wail.
The stale air,
railed the quailing sale.
Dipped the snip,
to pip the tip,
and baled the avail,
to the flailed snail.
Attract extract reenact,
saddle backed and subtracted,
the tact the pact
an unmistakable fact.
Swag the unsage,
the wage of the tutelage.
A coffee break
a bit of a cornflake
cupcaked the cake of the devil's flake.
Draked the fake fruitcake,
and hake the jake on the mellow lake.
Mistake the overtake.
A pancake sheik,
cried spake of a toothache.
Ack Ack!
Back, Bootblack Jack.
Pack the Pontiac rack,
sack the Hackensack,
hijack the leatherback.
Offtrack the outback,
rack the sack,
smack the stack,
stickleback the tictack track,
to the umiak Union Jack.
Twack the whack yak sack,
A mystical one eyed zodiac.
Bready a speedy,
deedy the weedy,
Reedy to leedy.
Unheedy indeedy.
Leda, Vida, Theda.
Sketched an etch,
itched a hatch.
So speechless,
breathless,
toothless.
The socialist,
the communist,
the theorist
the terrorist.
Bedded the bedding
in a dreadful beheading.
Weeded the weed,
leading the lead,
tended the teed.
The ready read,
the reedy reeded.
The seedy seeded.
The end is Ending.
Categories:
pontiac,
Form:
Verse
She tore me apart
under a rockabilly sunset;
Set me free from the
sway of pop culture jive
with her bass-line booty.
She smelled like gasoline,
tasted like cherries,
and made my heart rumble like a .454
And she knew she had me,
when she dropped her hair
outta that black bandanna,
wrapped it it round my neck,
and lit me up with
…Pontiac red lips.
Yeah, she tore me down
like a fixer-upper,
built me back up,
and revved me high.
Reeedd liinedd by those
spider web leggins’.
I know she’s mine,
thank God in Heaven.
Cuz when she whispers in my
ear “Baby, lets go for a ride”
I can’t find a way to make
this monster glide.
We’re stuck in high gear,
bound to make it outta town
for’ daddy knows I got her
sittin’ in the middle of my bench
seat ‘stead of that church pew.
I know he’ll come a lookin’
but as long as we keep bookin’
we’ll make it to horizon ‘for the
world even knows we’re gone.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved
Categories:
pontiac, beautiful, imagery, leaving, longing,
Form:
Free verse
Always building cars,
Dodge enjoyed framing grand historical ideas.
Jaguar kept long models noble.
Overdrawn Pontiac quadrupled.
Rare Saturn tested unfair.
Victorious winner xeroxed yet zany.
Categories:
pontiac, funny
Form:
ABC
Got yourself some new wheels, huh?
I can hear the squeals of rubber burning
I cough exhaust…left behind, oh gosh! I’m holding just a pile of dented fenders…
suspended… Your bucks spent. Engine Red..that foreign bred truck!
Snap, crackle and Popular Mechanic…Look at the maniac go….!
Holy, Moly….must be rolling in dough!
Woe is me, a junk yard dog, pile of junk, smelly sneakers left in my trunk
There he goes….who knows where….how many horses…under that hood...?
Should I know? I’d fly too, if I could. Just scrap metal in my bellow.
Heavy pedal, limp and wasted..used to be his favorite girl…kept me polished, waxed
and oiled…now I’m soiled. No garage..no umbrella, who gives a rip? Worn out
engine, give up the ship! Cast away…..not in style…gave a ride to Gomer Pyle
“See the USA in your Chevrolet"…, ‘cept that I ain’t got no carburetor
See ya later gator…what’s the hurry fella? Did ya see the light was yellow?
Red light, yellow light…. see if we can make the green
Going green….going green,….does that mean his hybrid’s clean?
Anti-freeze, it makes me sneeze….can’t I have some oil please?
Give ‘er the gas, let’s see what she’s got!
OH.. forgot!…ain’t got my tires..I’m retired
Pubescent male migration, arcing over sunless streets
Hear that squeak……doctor told me oil leak
Honest Engine, joined the pack, no Pontiac to take that ride
Is there heaven for old cars? Car 54 where are you??
I got my kicks on Route 66, running relays, no baton, just open freeways
Son of a gun…give it the gun……vroom.. vroom… run… run!
One door closes, need new hoses, or I don’t go nowhere… no how
Pile of rust, I’ve been busted, up on blocks…what a crock!
My teeth and pride are all knocked in…windshield wipers brush a tear
Windshield wipers swipe the years…skid marks show behind my eyes
Teeth and pride are all knocked in, guess I’m just an old has been!
______________________________________
a stream of consciousness
Categories:
pontiac, fantasy, me, old, pride,
Form:
Narrative
Two bodies hanging from annihilated cars
Collided hearts
Crashed at the lips
Creating daydreams with the impact of their fingertips
Worlds bleeding onto the jagged spears of shattered windshields
Love forming on the merged, crumpled hoods; Love the bodies can't feel
A marriage in death
Exchanging vows in silent breath
You may kiss the bride, the stranger
Upon this altar of a devastated Pontiac Grand Prix and a mangled Jeep Wrangler
Categories:
pontiac, death, love,
Form:
Rhyme
YOU, ME, THE SUN AND THE SEA
I can envision your smile when mine wasn’t evident
I can hear your laughter when mine isn’t prevalent
I can imagine your glowing eyes beam while mine were dim
And I hear your voice of encouragement when my life grew dim
I can be all alone in a forest of Pontiac Pine and Oakland Oak
Surrounded by mementos of momentous monuments sculpted by the moments we spent together
For instance the day we spent at the arcade on the boardwalk by the sea
You and me
By the sea
The ocean where I walked in the footsteps your petite feet left behind
Tiny traces of lightness dwarfed by mine
And you giggled when I picked you up so there would only be two footprints in the sand
Then I recall you lilted lightly through the tiny waves that lapped onto the shore while you wore blue jeans and a checkered shirt
The hems of your denim became wet so you rolled them up to your knees
As you whispered that I was as delightful as that late summer breeze
I remember that day
Your smile
Your laughter
Your entrancing golden and green eyes
While we watched the sea ebb and rise
We were together on days now long past
We shared shimmering summer eves and winter days overcast
Warm misty nights and days when the sun refused to shine
Silvery and sparkling days when you were still mine
© 2011.…..~free cee!~ Phreepoetree
Categories:
pontiac, black african american, summer,
Form:
Curtal Sonnet
Sitting on the old black oak, where we used to fish together,
lost in the past, I think back, and remember a better day.
You wrote to me about your new ship, and new friends,
and your new Pontiac, with only twenty-two payments left to pay.
The morning's rain left the air heavy, like my heart,
as I coax my line and bobber to and fro.
I can't find any explanation for this world,
or reason for why you had to go.
Last watch was nearly over, time to hit the cot,
two exocet missiles hit port-side,
your stricken ship never fired a shot.
Two days later, from the fantail of the USS Conyngham (DDG-17),
Senior Enlisted CPO, tall and proud, left over from an older Navy,
turned his head down, and away, with shoulders heaving,
eyes sunken and red, that Chief cried like a little baby.
Things didn't turn out quite as we had planned,
I was supposed to be your son's Godfather,
And you were supposed to be my Best Man.
I pull up my line and tackle, to answer nature's call,
the stream splashed down to meet the river,
and Marshal Tucker Band played on the truck radio.
I reach into my pocket, and pull out two pieces of metal,
hanging from a faded chain, gleaming, they gently clink.
Name, branch, social, blood type, and religion tell the tale...
thrown now into the river's, deeping, I watch them quickly sink.
Categories:
pontiac, appreciation, remembrance day, river,
Form:
Narrative
My Heroine in life,
is my Aunt Imojean.
She was a Soldier,
in Nineteen Forty-Three.
When they sent the "Boy's" in,
That's France, Normandy.
Then, on the sixth Day,
They sent Imojean.
She was an officer
in the United States Army.
She served in triage,
in Normandy.
The "Boy's "the Boy's",
A Stark Reality.
Why Do We Do It,
She Said to Me,
We Do it for US,
And We Choose to live Free.
My Heroine in Life,
is my Aunt Imojean.
She came through all that,
Back to Michigan Land.
Worked Pontiac Finance,
Brave Ladies' in France.
She's, A Saint and Inspiration,
She is all, of these things.
My Heroine in Life,
Earned Her, Angles Wings.
.
My Heroine Poetry Contest
Sponsored By:
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Aug 4th, 2022.
Categories:
pontiac, appreciation, courage, inspiration,
Form:
Rhyme
Verse 2)
Grandma Willie Mae ,March 14th and a K
Back in 90 Jr birthday; The Gilcrease DNA
The A between M & E Grandma are you missing me Pontiac Phoenix
heart Key
Driving me crazy, memories of when I use to Z
Mash Potatoes sound yummy and Seven Kids said Mommy
Would you know me if I mumbled
Will it be the same like Double
Click It Or Ticket so I buckled
And Um If there's A Will grandson may Add a second to your life
20 10 Eternal life a Life tag and a price
20 acres my Grandma life the old skool smelling of rice
Killing snakes sharp like a knife President and Vice
The sweetness of you is in Pooh's hive your Baby Son is married to the same wife
And Grandma I have a question would you know my name in Heaven if so that's a Blessing
- Loverboi
Categories:
pontiac, heaven,
Form:
ABC
Never bought a used vehicle....thought it was too chancy
Found a reasonable price on a used Pontiac Montana van real fancy
Had a few quirks and they made it all right
She ran real fine for a few months then came the alarm lights
One then two audible and flashing the oil was dangerously low
Checked the oil and it was full; I new this machine was gonna cost me some dough!!
Drove to the dealer and traded it for a Lemona
A brand new set of problems in the Sienna
Categories:
pontiac, angst, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Sometimes we like to do something for the story
we’ll tell afterwards. Buy a ’58 Pontiac, climb
a mountain in the dark. Lamar tells dirty jokes
with class, knows how to wait awhile, bend
a syllable and savor the laughter. We go on
with our absurd work, building a fence miles long
waste of steel and strong straight lodgepole pine
but even I don’t pine over it anymore. We’re
self-acknowledged children, fence is play and
livelihood also, but something cheerful as sunshine
for all the death it costs. There is so much life
a little death doesn’t matter. We stretch our muscles
the men feel like men, the women feel good too.
We stand around, watch a young rabbit one morning.
Categories:
pontiac, children, dark, death, men,
Form:
Free verse