Best Undercarriage Poems
Oh boy, she was gorgeous and I made mention of bed
She said she really liked me but she won’t until we’re wed
She often said there’s stuff that really ought to be discussed
But I could only think of getting hitched to quench my lust
We did it, we were spouses, and our first dance was real close
I thought that she would realise who wanted who the most
We left our guests to party and I hoped I would impress
And once we were alone I ripped apart her wedding dress
And that was when I wished that we had dallied before marriage
For there and then I found ‘her’ quite extensive undercarriage
‘She’ said, “Why don’t you try it out, I’m sure we will be fine.”
I said, “Why would I play with yours… when I could play with mine?”
Well, ‘she’ looked shocked and what she said caused all my toes to curl
‘She’ looked at me and muttered, “Oh! I thought you were a girl.”
I said, “Are you quite bonkers for you’re talking really weird,
I’m stood here and I’ve got a most extensive ginger beard!”
‘She’ sauntered to the bed and threw me down upon my back
And said, “I’ve got a gift for you and it is never slack.”
‘She’ nipped into the bathroom saying, “You can be the wife.”
‘She’ came back with a sexy smile… and a massive knife!
The heart of a lion
The soul of a flea
The energy of a gnat
Please do not let this be me
Reaching into my junk drawer
I pick up three items that give me glee
A candy bar wrapper,
And a playing card with a decorated bee.
Dragons in my undercarriage,
Dolphin party in the sea,
This poem is starting to feel jazzy,
It is lively, and it’s free.
I line up the unicorns,
Who are laughing at my knee.
They ask Trixie to join them,
So she dances away with thee.
Her underling muses
Chip and Dale come running to me.
They are dying to write a poem,
So we line up the junk items three.
Let’s make it funny, says Chip
A cut up we all agree.
But Dale wants a sad poem,
So we begin to disagree.
Trixie's assistants laugh at my consternation
And run away you see,
So this is the end of the poem,
Which made me yell a “whee!”
Somewhere over Europe
A B-17 flies
Strafed and damaged
In her enemies skies
The flak has taken
Its toll on the plane
This crew so brave
In this theatre of war campaign
Many hours have passed
With no sight of the channel
Only land ahead
Is it our instrument panel
A shout is heard from the rear of the plane
A Messerschmitt ME-109, beside us flies
We are sitting targets for another kill
The pilot turns his head, as i look into his eyes
He is making a gesture
For us to turn 180 degrees
Do we believe our enemy
But we eventually agree
He continues to fly
Like an escort of question
Were we right to agree
His degree of suggestion
For up ahead we see
The glint of blue water
Our horizon of hope
Are we saved from slaughter
Moments later
As i turn my head again
A wave from the German
As he banks his fighter plane
We are now well over the channel
As we sight the white cliffs of Dover
Our B-17 in struggle
This mission near over
On the runway at Kimbolton
The fire crews stand ready
Will our plane take the landing
Is our undercarriage steady
Touch down we make
As we talk of our flight back
About the German fighter pilot
Who refused to attack
It is now many years later
For we were lucky, we grew old
As we assembled on anniversary
Our story could now be told
For he had kept it his secret
But now we have to say
Franz Stigler and his German fighter
Is why we are before you today
He was scrambled to intercept
The enemy that we were then
When he arrived we awaited
The fate of us men
When he viewed our plane
He couldn't believe his eyes
Why something so shot up
Still flew in his skies
When he returned to base
In his reports he states
It went down over the sea
And sealed our fate
After all these years
I am so happy we have met
We have lived many years
While our lost colleagues have slept
I thank you Sir
For sparing the lives of my crew
As we stand together for peace
We salute you
This is a true story from WWII, written by request for Sara Kendrick,
who loves to challenge me, and i thank Sara kindly for the opportunity
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-6.php
I am a grossly overweight midget
of later years.
I have a penchant for funny women,
the absurd,
and baked goods.
I have 826 thousand dollars in the bank
and a dose of psoriasis.
My personality is that of a freight train
with two, loose wheels.
I must use bag balm
on my undercarriage and
moisturizers on my elbows.
I burn with barbaric breathing and sweat.
My reptile heart is that of a porkyitalian lover.
I can beat out a double-paradiddle on a snare drum,
or compose electronic pieces.
My time is best passed writing,
and romping
with my 4-legged friends.
-----------------------
If you don't already know, ABOUT ME
usually refers to a section of a web site or
BLOG that tells about the author. This is
parody, BTW.
Street-lights golden nuggets on a plane
I shimmer with anticipation
Aircraft dips left like a soaring hawk
Golden eyes zero in on its prey
Aloft and descending turbulence
Undercarriage open like talons
Binocular vision so alert
As screeching rubber thumps the tarmac
Decelerate adrenal glands pump
Undoing buckles my thoughts floating
About casual normality
Within casual catastrophe
We have naturally come so far
Yet I feel so unnatural here
Aircraft mobiles cars cities and things
Overwhelming sophistication
Better to lie in my earthen bed
Feeling the pulse of my heart beating
Better to be the hawk in the sky
Feeling the wind ruffle through my wings
I'm a big tree and a vast forest,
I shade the undercarriage,
I'm a kid slash florist.
I live to raid any broken marriage.
This is a stick up, give me the goods,
Wonder, get lost and stolen,
This is a trick yet you hide in the woods.
My technique must be golden.
Leak so i can crush your existence and steal your being,
Why does everyone sprint?
I take everything from anything I'm seeing.
Even as soon as they catch my scent.
I feel huge, it takes two blinks to contain my image,
I play on fields that scare,
I play with real lives and call it scrimmage.
Life is a game of chess, check mate, you stare.
A cool breeze
like the slightest graze
of the recently passed
flows under the shaded thickness
of the ancient woods.
The worn paths,
sunken below
the forest floor
like water forgotten stream beds,
slide naturally
through this wooded sanctuary.
Broken decaying trees
rest upon the strong backs
of the sun reaching ones,
spreading their
immense girth of leaves
allowing the barest of rods of sunlight
to illumin the undercarriage
of this dense growth.
Stillness presses on me,
making me one
and alone
with this placid place.
Ambering down the trail,
knowing what every
touch of movement
and nuance of the environment means.
In the distance
all I see is trunks,
like a never-ending
collection of mirrors
imposing their presence
upon each other
barely acknowledging my passing.
Consider the chance meeting of a man and a dog on the street.
The man smiles and smacks his lips – a calming signal to the dog.
The dog, head down, tail at half mast, wonders what this stranger wants.
The man asks if he may pet the dog and the proud parent says sure, but a little hesitant.
He pauses, the dog strains at the leash.
The man squats and smiles and offers the back of this hand below the eyes of the dog.
No threat, no sudden moves, just soft words
and a quick glance at the undercarriage of the dog to determine the correct greeting.
Good boy...nope, Good girl.
The dog knows a dog lover and a possible friend.
The owner stands straight and proud of his four legged child
and the man sees himself in the eyes of the dog
and knows that he, too, would like to be greeted like this
on the street by a stranger, and clicked at, and lips would smack,
and he would be as calm and loved as the beast.
“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate", most frequently translated as "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here". A. Dante, 14th century Italian poet
They sway the power over mere mortals
They drop the words that cannot be appealed
Gods of carjacks are deities, immortals
The voodoo magic over vehicles they wield
Their world is full of strange sounds
“Alignment, ratchet, dolly and exhaust
Lift, mallet, drip-pan” terms are out-of-bounds
To lowly humans who will surely be lost
It’s torque, rotation, caddy, pliers, wrenches
Inspection sticker, undercarriage rust
The noisy drilling on the workshop benches
And wailing, “Fix my car at once or bust!”
Compressor hiss and cannonade of hammer
Struts, piston rings and diagnostic code
The mystery of sensor change glamour
Oh, deftly moves, returning auto to the road
It’s coolant check, brake fluid, fuses, coils
Spark plugs replacement, tire pressure gauge
They know of summer vs winter oils
And best brake pads, domain of the sage
Cars pulled apart, they look so weak and tender
Like bugs without wings that cannot fly
Await repair of the fender-bender
We’ve all been there and can testify
Patched tires, shock absorbers, sockets
The wiper blades, the funnels and headlights
Big bucks repair our hitting pockets
But while here we have very little rights
Male shadows standing here and there
They look askance, the humbled, quiet bunch
As if infer the process of repair
With facial expressions of a hunch
And while surgery performed, there’s hope abound
For chariots of fire, as before
When gods of auto centers, homebound
Us send at once, by fixing what was sore
January 12, 2025
A sign in a Japanese hotel, “Please take advantage of our chambermaid”
Sounds like it could quite possibly involve touching her undercarriage
Steady down, friends
It's only pretend
But on leaving, you should thank her for allowing you backstage
PAPER PLANE
A project with my small son
After so much paper folding
Sharpening important creases
Anticipation slowly increases
Thumb and forefinger holding
First flight testing has begun
He sees me throw the plane
Into the garden’s warm still air
At first it floats and then dives
A sense of freedom in our lives
What’s a wing without a prayer
Swooping down to crash again
Initial plans were crafted well
Launching to fly into marriage
Reminds me what went wrong
All planes land before too long
Skidding with no undercarriage
Flights suspended as you can tell
Dated 26 August 2022
When my brother was fading away,
black chimes signaled for the demons to play.
They attacked all sides of my hobbled mind.
Treating the heart like an orphaned marble
They were rabid and had brackish intentions
Hope chipped away like a crowbar to cement.
In a dream, one of them took me into its sky
I clung tight to its undercarriage
begging for it to release me
It promised that it would if I said
that I loved it...I relented
It didn't keep its promise as expected
and we wrecked together.
I coddled a little amber cross....
(a field mouse in an owl's greying claw).
I was dismissed into a pillow of tranquility
The demons slowly drifting away...
as did my brother the very next day.
.
fathom this fellowz
whilst i try mine
superior
not
tuh twist
yourn
thinks
Her petticoat
Oh sure
she held unto
normal stand'z
yet
the audience found thuh
wonder
why it's cotton
white
sway'd az uh church bell
miss'n it's
rockabilly frilly
habit
Tap
*In Old English “habit" meant attire or dress.
It originated from the Latin “habitus" meaning
appearance.
*The undercarriage of a woman is the pelvic floor,
which is a large, layered muscle sling located at
the base of the pelvis ,)
A sign in a Japanese hotel. “You are invited to take advantage
of the chambermaid” sounds like it may involve her undercarriage
Steady down, friends
It's only pretend
But you may want to thank her for allowing you backstage
A sign in a Japanese hotel, “Please take advantage of our chambermaid”
Sounds like it could quite possibly involve touching her undercarriage
Steady down, friends
It's only pretend
But on leaving, you should thank her for allowing you backstage