Convertible Car Poems | Examples
These Convertible Car poems are examples of Car poems about Convertible. These are the best examples of Car Convertible poems written by international poets.
A giraffe went out to buy a car.
He didn't like nothin' that he saw'r.
Maybe, he'd be more comfortable
driving a convertible.
alfa romeo
convertible at high speeds
freedom redefined
No one can take my baby
‘cause she was meant for me.
My baby and I go cruisin’
and that’s when I feel free.
My baby takes me anywhere
that I could want to be.
Playing tunes, I take her
down curves that lead to the sea.
My baby looks cool, top down.
She’s smooth and she is fast.
The wind caresses us
as the shoreline we go past.
My baby’s built for comfort.
I stop and then recline,
gazing into the night
and feeling ever so fine.
My baby doesn’t mind
a single thing I do.
She’s just as sweet today
as when she was brand new.
My baby doesn’t get jealous
when I leave her until dawn.
She knows when the morning comes
again I’ll be turning her on.
I spend the night with my honey.
We both get up for the day.
I turn my baby on; she purrs
and she carries me away.
My baby’s a convertible -
a Mustang perfect for me.
My honey can jump in his jeep.
With my baby a while I’ll be!
.
she ordered a car paint job
wanted a subtle pink with metallic
painter showed her a paint chip
it was so light she could not see pink
take it outside, you can see it there, he said
it was a gorgeous color
it would cost four thousand dollars
worth it for a beauty like this!
She said “Let’s do it.”
Later when her husband and she drove up
There was the most garish, gaudy, ugly bright fuchsia convertible
That better not be your car, he said
It was
Nothing like the color she had asked for.
this car was a horrible, horrifying color
she learned a lesson after that
have the paint color written into a contract.
I ran to the gorgeously designed convertible
to see if it was wearing a wrap
“It is original paint,” the owner told me.
He was an artist, covered in paint.
I wanted to go for a ride
She was so beautiful in her fuchsias, yellows and limes.
“She is a delight,” I told him. “like a gorgeous painting.”
“Do you want a ride?” he asked me.
Boy, did I, but I said no.
Pretending to be normal for a change.
fast convertible
hair to the wind
fleeting summer rays
submitted on June 2, 2020 for contest FRESH HAIKU sponsored by JCB BURL - HONORABLE MENTION
I once thought
we would leave Brooklyn
and travel across America
in a chariot.
An awesome, red,
'67 Lincoln convertible,
with suicide doors.
Radio blasting Jefferson Airplane.
Hair blowing in the wind.
Soaking up the sunshine.
Breathing freedom.
No watches, jobs or boss.
Stopping at Howard Johnson's.
Eating all 28 ice cream flavors,
one stop at a time and
fried clams by the bushel.
We were San Francisco dreaming.
'67 brought
responsibility, stability,
Timex watch,
Volkswagen,
subways, overtime,
a baby, diapers,
larger Brooklyn apartment
and reality
but...
1967
was a very
good year.
a baby, diapers,larger Brooklyn apartmentand realitybut... 1967 was a verygood year.
Highway One California
Lovely and so cooling, was driving my
1956 Chevy Bel-Aire ragtop!
Its whitewall tires, its heavenly hubcaps.
Just stunningly gleaming!
That magnificent red and white convertible!
With joys, so profoundly thrilling!
June 2, 2019
7pm PST
_____
Dedicated to my parents, who gave me this
car on my birthday. Thanks, Mom and Dad for
letting me "Drive My Dream!"
I was sixteen and a half when my Uncle Bill came
To visit
From Arizona
He was shocked I did not have my license.
She has no car, my mother said.
Why does she need one?
My sentiments exactly.
But Uncle Bill dragged me to the
License bureau anyway.
He made me drive with them.
I was a shaking like a hummingbird.
Hoping not to pass.
I wanted to drive his car home.
It was a gorgeous convertible.
I had already driven it all around the square right?
Now he was the one shaking like a hummingbird.
I kept pretending I was going to run into something.
Loving the powerful feeling.
Driving.
Nothing like it!
hot convertible
zipping down highway
sun to the breeze
posted on April 19, 2019
Car classic
roof opened
feeling the breeze
on a humid day
It is very cooling
on a sticky scorching day
enjoying the convertible
as we travel along the dirt road
to the beach where the antique show is
red convertible
speeding along the highway
~ blur of summer past
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Four boys,
A tan convertible
A warm summers day
1968
Four boys
Drove to Missouri
For Fireworks
Across the state line
One boy
Threw his cigarette
In the air, it landed badly
In the back seat
With the fireworks
Four boys
Friendship doomed
Angry families
Blame
Rage
One ruined car
Drivers leg is broken
Angry fathers
Relieved mothers
Feelings
One boy
Guilt-ridden
Wishing he had
Been less careless
One boy
Sightless
Eye gone
Things are awful.
Mother is crying
One boy
Drafted to Viet Nam
How bad can it be?
After the car fire?
Thirty years
stuck in a basement corner cubicle
Now retirement is on a countdown approach
Seems all you can do lately
is dream about that burnt gold convertible
Going from zero to sixty in a heartbeat
gives you a sugar express rush
To bad the office years didn’t go that fast
Making coffee for the staff,
coming in first, leaving out last
kept your job safe through all of the
reorganization shuffles
You knew the corporate drill
better than you let on —
New bosses love old hired hands
People come, people go ...
so it is in business also
Dot.com fast, market share growth slow
Hedge funds looking to be trimmed,
projection for profits got a narrow window
But you don’t care much
for those company Byzantine things no more
You’re ready to flee the cubicle,
hop into the shiny new convertible —
and burn rubber ... go go go
Head for the wide open spaces,
spread your wings and soar like an eagle
Making the dream come true:
from cubicle to convertible
The first poem
I am a woman in mid life now.
finding myself pensive and reflective.
Working in my flower garden
on a sunny Sunday morning.
Then a poem pulls up in the driveway.
Driving a red mustang convertible.
I remember this car.
And this beautiful poem.
It wants me to unbutton my shirt
and unhook my bra.
I sit in the still familiar back seat.
The poem recites it's soft downy words.
The ones from a lifetime past.
I notice I have taken
all my clothes off for this poem.
I look like a white pale statue.
I notice the reflection
of my naked self.
so desirable so hot.
I still have it I feel it
I know it.
Afterwards
the poem and I
talk of Forevers
and marraige
and other untruths