Slow Car Poems | Examples
These Slow Car poems are examples of Car poems about Slow. These are the best examples of Car Slow poems written by international poets.
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.
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
In buses, on bikes, as passengers in Ubers
Faces blur and deeds collide.
Sprint down streets, stuck behind the slow,
always in passing I see stories unfold.
Quick check behind in case of cars,
None in sight but there's a beep.
Cyclists are invisible to pedestrians with places to be.
Taxi beeps at taxi and beeped at hops out
To harass the beeper with a wagging finger.
Apology, apology, I demand apology!
Delivery driver on a monster truck e-bike;
Near miss with a clueless tourist.
It's all too much for one man to keep.
I try to write them as they happen
but seconds pass and the moment is gone.
Passing, always passing, these moments with people
that we'll never know
but for a second,
laid bare on their face is themselves
whole and complete.
Each day has a second to be remembered.
Gather them, pick them, stuff them in your pockets.
Each day has a second for us all.
This is when the old and the young,
beasts and confraternal drunks
damn the consequences of death
lying porous on crossroads upon
bifurcated paths, fractured junctions
and ceremonial cul-de-sacs...
The time is immaterial,
so long as the traffic lights — the veggie-green,
the claret, and the urine-amber —choose their slow
blinking and rapid-eyelid movement carefully.
And moon might decide not to power its own light.
Tenebrous tracks then fill our eyes with the age of
sea monsters blinded by charcoal waves.
Need I hail the neon signs of bordellos!
And the city’s restless constellations!
They sparkle with rage and with the brio of rioting stars,
thus adding celestial films to our already overloaded eyes....
But that’s another story.
C’mon... we are no Deer or Asahel descendants!
Closely related to sloths, millipedes and snails,
we drag our feet, which in turn drag the volumes of
stupidity in us, aggravated by drams and midnight parties
held between a flowing weekend and a stagnant Thursday.
When you're in a rush almost every light is red
Part of the problem is not wanting to get out of bed
Fooling around and doing everything at last minute
Rush hour isn't rushing when your out there in it
Some things feels as if it requires too much time
Stopping on a dime isn't happening at stop signs
The normal speed limit all of a sudden is too slow
Most times you're patient but this time you got to go
Each minute of the hour becomes so precious to you
When rushing you want everyone to share your view
You're wondering how did this start in the first place
A seemingly well paced morning that turned into a race
Race Car
The driver is one with the machine.
Every turn on asphalt would be tires burning.
A V8 with horse power, the car flies down the road.
Turn up the music and push the pedal to the floor.
Need for speed while the tires grip every turn.
What a rush to fly by while the oil burns.
This is the life of a man in a locomotive.
With torque the gears turn crank down shift.
Racing down the speedway on a straight away.
Man and machine compete to win the race.
Just one more lap through the trees down the road.
The checkered flag is just a mile to go.
Drifting around the corner.
Why do race car drivers drink milk when it’s over?
Under the sun the engine is on fire.
Pass by all the slow pokes with power.
Just like a spark plug the lightning keeps striking.
Like a racehorse, it charges to keep on fighting.
Driving fast is like having the feeling of being free.
Just you and your car, this is the way it has to be.
When traffic is flowing at eighty,
that pedal had better get weighty.
And in case you don’t know
it's unsafe to go slow,
so get in the right lane there, matey!
When you're on a busy road, driving fast your car,
be within speed limit, cautiously look near and far.
Bikers and pedestrians maybe slow, crossing the road,
let them pass, ensure your car has stopped or slowed.
Be careful to see and stop at all stop signs, don't be hasty,
while driving nothing is more important than traffic safety.
The big green ones are everywhere,
next exit in half-a-mile,
they seem almost reassuring,
all done up in the same style.
Then smaller ones bordered in blue,
with promises of food to eat,
the big chains and local diners,
places to stop and take a seat,
then more such signs with the same look,
but this time it’s lodging and gas,
don’t really need a place to sleep,
though I could really use some snacks…
A small sign with a stadium
for the minor league hockey team,
there’s rumors they might move next year,
happens every decade, it seems.
And then there is a really big sign,
it stands tall in a farmer’s field,
hawking Indian casinos,
with their fantastic weekend deals.
ever so often, by exits,
I see symbols on a high pole,
visible near a mile off,
telling me here burgers and sold.
And sadly, there’s a blinking sign,
a warning to slow for road crews,
it never fails, they’re always out
when I have got something to do.
Watch how you go
As you rush home from work
The speed of your ride
Spawning dangers to lurk
The curve of the bend
As you screech to your goal
The curse of Diablo
Is taking its toll
The bus up ahead
Holding valuable souls
Has stopped at the sign
To offload them home
Your thinking is quick
The braking is harsh
The vehicle careers
Into the slow cooling marsh
a flock of geese honks
flying in blue skies above
slow busy traffic
Heidi Sands
9/17/24
(C)opyright
In a bright yellow, the big bus stands still,
Its lights flash a warning, a sign of care.
Giggles and waves from tiny hands inside,
A moment to pause, where safety’s embraced.
Red lights flash, and the bus is waiting,
You’re in a rush, but safety calls loud.
Around the bend, a cop might be watching,
One moment’s haste, and you face the consequence.
The ticket’s not just a fine, but a lesson,
Every stop sign guards lives we hold dear.
In their small hands, trust is given, so slow down,
In that brief pause, we see the cost of rushing.
Police might be near, keeping an eye,
What seems easy is wrong when caution’s ignored.
So slow down, remember, these kids count on us,
Let kindness guide your actions, respect the bus.
I’m waiting for my mom to move.
She puts the car into drive.
My car had airbags.
The ones she grew up with didn’t.
Huh.
My mom is driving,
I wonder why she’s taking this weird route.
I never ask.
I’m waiting for the car to stop.
My mom could stop it at anytime.
At stoplights, she has to.
At fast food places, she doesn’t have to.
I don’t know why my mom won’t just let me…
I don’t know why my mom won’t…
The car is in drive.
The speed limit is 45,
But it’s always too slow, or sometimes it’s too fast.
I never ask why.
My mom is driving.
I’m an adult, but she drives anyway.
It was nice of her to drive.
So I can get some sleep in the car.
But first, I’ll write a poem.
Following the yellow brick road is the only
A way for me to go
I will take it slow to watch the show
I don't know if this road has a lot of curves
And just getting there is my only concern
Deep down I feel very nervous
Because I don't know
What is my purpose
This is God's road
And the road only goes one way
But deep down I know everything will be okay
With each mile I travel I'm getting closer to Heaven
But I still have a lot of questions
I know my heart and soul are with me, God
And if I'm in trouble
My God is with me and will respond
Just remember the yellow brick road
Is ahead of us
And it is a road we can truly trust
It’s hard to get from A to B
If you are in a car,
Although I guess it could depend,
Of course, on where you are.
In New York’s metro area,
The traffic’s so much worse
Than just a few short years ago;
It’s really quite perverse.
The GPS diverts us
To some roads we do not know
And even then, construction makes
The going very slow.
So trips are twice as long (or more!)
As they’re supposed to be.
The lesson to be learned from this
Is very clear to me:
Leave extra time for traveling
Whenever you may roam,
But even better, park your car
And just stay close to home.