There was this old fellow from Princeton
Whose Dodge Ram did throw a piston
With the engine bloc shot
He ran home at a trot
And switched to a Chevy in an instant
Farmer Sue drove up on her tractor
Told Stan I’ll be your extractor
Hooked up to the Chevy
Dragged it atop the levy
For payment Stan quickly smacked her!
Stan gazed at the muck in despair
And ran muddy fingers through his hair
Said I’ll rescue the Chevy
Drag it atop of the levy
Certain it'll be dry up there!
Stan’s Chevy van had a flat.
"Where is the damn spare at?"
Stan cursed at the tire,
Letting loose his ire.
Poor Stan and his van had a spat.
Stan’s Chevy van was a seventy-two.
Wanted a red one, got stuck with blue.
Offered Sue a quick spin.
Sue refused to get in.
Now poor Stan has just one thing to do...
Way back in 1983,
when I was just twenty-four you see,
very early in my career,
young, naïve, somewhat cavalier,
I wanted to buy a brand-new car,
something sporty, not some "boxcar".
Of course I had the money, the "dinero",
so I went out and bought a Chevy Camaro.
It was a 1983 Sport Coupe -
rather appropriate for my age group.
The color was diablo red,
and lemme tell ya! It sure turned heads!
Everywhere I went, that car got attention
and I won't deny it gave me an air of pretension.
Looking back, I suppose I was young and foolish
thinking that the car made me look coolish,
but that car was dependable
and took me where I needed to go,
whether on winding roads
or on the straight and narrow.
Now I have a treasury of memories:
its sounds, touches, and sights as well;
I still can remember that new-car smell.
Your first car is something you fondly remember,
forgetting the flaws, looking back on its splendor.
Remember when we walked to school?
Remember when we thought we were cool?
We were good friends in those years
Our laughter overcame any fears
We were young, we were pure
We were safe, we were sure
Nothing could hurt us
No one there to alert us
We thought it funny at first
But our bubble soon burst
When he drove up beside us
Offered to ride us . . .
Home in his tangerine Chevy.
the 1957 Chevy Bel Air was fine in every way
Full of chrome, her sassiness gave her enormous sway
Some people like red autos, but turquoise was so fine
At the age of eight, I wished this car was mine!
I understood cars like the boys did in town
This beauty pranced and danced, she was heaven bound
I still love this car to this very day
I wish all cars were built and chromed this way
What kind of car is that? My eleven grandchildren scream.
It has driven by slowly, and it is my childhood dream.
a 1957 Chevy, sleek, black, full of chrome, I say.
Coveting the red leather seats as it drives slowly away.
It doesn’t look like any contraption we have ever seen!
I know this is true, I wave to the driver as if she is the queen.
She is driving my dream and I am out of words as I watch her go.
Adding this much chrome is something today’s car designers do not know.
Mythical wizard hag sits on her haughty throne
Who is she? Some whisper, perhaps thinking crone.
Magical and mystical, she is rarely sitting alone.
Her power animals surround her, hoping for a bone.
She gets to make all their decisions, she is in charge.
Her ideas and ideals are incredibly worthy and large.
We know her as grandma, our grandpa calls her the Sarge.
She is the most magical creature we know, our grandma Marge.
'57 CHEVY
I've entered what's called my golden years,
But there's silver in my hair.
Is that the color of my setting sun?
If it is,
When did I get here?
My tattoos are all very faded,
Blurred lines running together.
My breasts don't sit high anymore,
And my arthritis forecasts the weather.
As I go about my days,
Carrying out the routines of life,
I forget the shimmering blonde is gone
And I'm no longer someone's young wife.
When I go to the doctor and pharmacy,
Or even the convenience store,
People seem so curious about me,
They always want to know more.
So when I'm asked for my date of birth,
Although there's silver in my hair,
I just smile and say "I'm a classic!
Like a pink and white Chevy Belaire."
Clever lever on robotic wheel
Tasted grease and oil, a big time meal
Sculpted a Chevy’s bumper, a shiny deal.
Ford and Chrysler helped him glue his seal.
Juan (Johnnie) Avocado Seed
By George W. Clever-----15 September 2020
A migrant boy in California
His only toys were avocado pits
Making castles at the Rancheria
In the dust with the pits where he sits
Until told of a boy who traveled the borders
Planting apple seeds to grow fine orchards
Dreamed of a day when he’d be in demand
Planting huge avocado seeds across the land
For all to share his gift of avocado’s monounsaturated fat
He would be Juan Avocado Seed and that was that
Giving people Guacamole to spread on chips
Sliced garnish on tortillas rice and in their dips
Avocado Mac and Cheese or on pizza Chicago Style
He would be famous as Juan Avocado Seed mile after mile
Unable to leave his Rancheria without a Chevy
The bag of Avocado pits was just too heavy
Yes, the avocado seed, a Creator’s mistake
Its pits too large and heavy he did make
Silverado truck and F-one fifty Ford
Went on a date but both got extremely bored
Chevy made a wheelie and Ford promptly booked
Date didn’t last as long as the dinner we cooked.
I was born in the year of the greatest car and the biggest flop. The ‘57’ Chevy had personality and power along with class. The greatest flop, the Edsel had few sales; nothing spectacular to offer; not even style. I took this as a sign that I could be great or a failure as well so, I asked myself what, could I offer this world? I find answers to that question, every day. When I am gone, I want people to remember me as a ‘57’ Chevy!
Nature gives all life,
Power to achieve great things;
God gives them talent.
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