HEADING FOR VENEZIA
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Young Syd, a squirrel with adventurous spirit most keen,
Bought 1925 roadster, a vintage touring machine.
With top down, tail flapping in the breeze,
The goddess of freedom he was sure to appease.
Popular was he, once featured in ‘Roadster Fanzine.’
Oh how Syd loved the roadster’s crushed velvet seats
Sinking in them as he raced down the city streets.
Waves to all the she-squirrels, feeling outta sight
Spends his dough dancing with them on Saturday nights.
Low on cash, Syd uses his roadster delivering food for UberEATS
That’s when he meets the she-squirrel named Aretha,
a singing diva who always orders lots of pepperoni pizza.
*Oh these city streets move way too slow, don’t you know.
Let’s go riding on the freeway! Drop the pedal, Syd. Go, go, go!
So they cruise onto better-than-ever street heading straight for Venezia.
Shout at the sun
Blind eye the moon
Then shatter the stars
Go out for fun
Shine like the moon
Then chatter in bars
Drink from the sun
Blind to the moon
Then splatter in cars
Slink round the sun
Fly past the moon
Then scatter on mars
rum-tum-tum like a drum
full of emptiness; anticipatory
what shall I eat - food or zest?
I wait for the clang
rum-tum-tum like a drum
with brand new tires. tirelessly
I can wait for fresh and vinyl
for a good long song, like
rum-tum-tum like a drum
yet while I wait, I’ll eat
lettuce? avocados? or score
coffee cake to go with a lake
of caffeine intake. full of
rum-tum-tum like a drum
anticipatory hum of new wheels
I woke too soon, a life almost undone
A sudden call came, before the light of day
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Her life was spared, before the morning sun
She was okay, I heard her softly say
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
No tragic end, no race was lost or run
Three lives affected, dark clouds rolled away
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Thank heaven, no journey to the setting sun
I simply whispered a thanks today
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
A precious chance, a new life has begun
There is a future, no more than delays
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Startled I still have my daughter; beloved my only one
My fears all faded, at the break of day
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
the road became a tree-lined tunnel—flickers of
crepuscular rays try to play tag with the squirrels
as they stutter-dash across the shafts of you’re-it!
a free for all, until the road-tires butt-in—
flattening all the rules on a tire-treaded squirrel.
the light reacts with a sudden shift—to renew.
anticrepuscular rays converge to the antisolar point.
a change in perspective as the light beams fall.
inflating the tire-treaded squirrel with a do-over.
the game goes on until sunset or the next rogue tire.
Sometimes we stare
Into the eyes
Of oncoming cars
Merely for the thrill of it,
To pretend as they do in stories
That the good hero darts away
Just in time,
While the evil villain is crushed
Beneath the vehicle, blood on his lips.
We wait
Until the last possible moment
Pulling back
To understand
Which role we play.
two gleaming shiny cars
how much do they know?
they have taken our family on many journeys
they have seen our anger
Do they make fun of us
Behind our backs?
Maybe in front of our faces?
How can we shame or punish them
if we don’t know?
I stare at the cars in my driveway
resenting their feeling of superiority
If there’s a dump truck and a car,
Car’s sure at greater risk by far.
A soldier thick headed
Who cannot think ahead,
To whom boundaries and borders bar,
Thinks, let Pak be the truck,
Let India’s car get struck,
So thought a general-five-star
To whom stars were gifted
For getting defeated--
How low things in that country are.
_____________________________
Happenings |43.08.2025| allusion, car, humour
Note: Pakistan’s Field Martial unwittingly called India a shining Mercedes and Pakistan a dump truck. He was of course heavily trolled in his country and all over the world. How he gave India, a rival, such a compliment? This limerick guesses on his possible thick-headed reasoning.
I won't lie to you to fake emotions I might feel
and tell you things you want to hear
In this give-and-take, no lie, that feels
lobsided and askew, sometimes like a tug of war
Breathlessly waiting, life in limbo
one toe in the water overly cautious
holding back ~
Stuck behind yield signs and stop signs
the occasional yellow lights
foot on the break ~ go but not too fast
Everyday is a lazy Sunday afternoon
we're out in our sporty lamborghini
dillydallying in life's slow lane
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
So, stranded on Framingham Turnpike,
I walked from the corpse of my Vette
(Unsure just what gasoline burns like),
as far as my high heels could get.
The tow trucker guy got my blood up,
his big chest all covered in hair.
He wordlessly lifted the hood up,
and studied the engine with care.
I’d let the poor pistons get wet, or
my battery somehow went flat?
He said, “Crap in the damn carburetor.”
“How often, dude, must I do that?”
Truck
TRUCK
haul things
powerful
before age sixteen
learned to drive on a farm
I thought I was really cool
“my truck is a tool not a toy”
Self-driving car,
take me near.
Take me far.
But you better not
leave me in the parking lot.
Take me to a date,
but not with Sally -
this time, Kate.
the dogs are frenzied about something
because we took the car out
they know we are leaving
because we took the car out
we cannot pretend it is not so
because we took the car out
the trunk of my car hides things I do not remember owning
sixteen Christmas presents that probably did not get delivered
because this is mid-May and Christmas is in December or January
three or four sweatshirts I diligently searched for in February
but did not find until today
notebook paper pages have been torn into bitty bits by mice
I am glad they enjoyed trunk of my car this winter
It is weird the rodents did not nestle in my scarves and hats
knitted in soft yarns in blues and whites
I sort out my car trunk for twenty-six and a half minutes
It seemed like two days of dull boring sorting
I resolve to sort the rest of it in the next year or so
All I needed was space for my suitcase.
Streaming like the rain outside
The windscreen wipers working like
My heart and chopping onions stuff
A testament to will the good of another
The kids are in the back and can't see what's going on
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling in the driving seat
I think of my wife and when we first met
She was always running late
As I was shoegazing on the corner
I needed a parrot sidekick
High on Belgian waffles and coffee
A hip new sensibility
The dash cam records the journey
Join me on my magic carpet
Grant me three wishes
Give me some tassel
In the Maghreb
I'll be your magic lamp
In order to reveal myself
Let's pick out curtains
Specific Types of Car Poems
Read wonderful car poetry on the following sub-topics:
accident, antique, cool, convertible, fast, funny, racing, slow, sleek, sports, luxury, wash
and more.
Definition | What is Car in Poetry?
Poems Related to Car
car racing, clunker, convertible, coupe, gas guzzler, grand prix, jalopy, jeep, limousine, roadster, station wagon, truck, van, auto, automobile, bus, convertible, jeep, limousine, machine, motor, nascar, pickup, ride, station wagon, truck, van, wagon