Fuel Poems - Poems about Fuel

There's No Fuel Like Gruel

Ate peas porridge hot,

Ate peas porridge cold.

It tasted like snot,

It tasted real old.

On Mom's second shot,

It tasted like coal.

"I made a new pot,"

"So, have a hot bowl."

But, fresh gruel or not,

It smelled worse than skunks.

Put head over pot,

Blew peas porridge chunks.

There's No Fuel Like an Old Fuel

She took a stroll one moonlit night
in search of lumps of anthracite.
She knew that coal could soothe her soul:
one moonlit night, she took a stroll.

Insomniac, anaplasty
coal soothed her soul: but she knew she
would need, to get her nostrils back,
anaplasty. Insomniac,

obsessed with smoking magic weed,
to get her nostrils back, she’d need
a plastic surgeon – but the

Falcon Fuel

Sycophants, thy future.
On what does it depend?
Gold upon the ground, be pure!
River, yield thy bend!

Tormented, ye prophets?
Pleiades, rescue me!
Toolshed, art thou Tophet's?
Fly, O fancy-free...

Gain upon in rhythm?
By what right, friend and foe?
Onward, black abysm!
Dark backward, well ... Although ...

Reign of conquerors endless!
On this doth all things hinge!
Forward, O ye stark friendless!
Heart within all, twinge!

White sand,

OF A FUEL HEART

Hope's restoration,
is the fuel of faith's flow;
the pump of god's love:-

Nightmare fuel

Just turned 22
Six years flinching at you 
Six years of you leaving me blue
Our love is an engine 
And it runs on nightmare fuel

Metamorphosis

I fell through a hole amidst of a serious political moment 
And choked on my anger
I kept falling and falling,
The world now looks like a burning hell
And I'm a living fuel,
Blazing and falling all the way to down there 
Where my metamorphosis will be completed.

Fuel

We all stumble into sticky situations 
Scratching our heads for explanations

Wishing things just simply went our way
So we can easily breeze through our days

What if we put the striving on the shelf 
Replacing it with a sturdier sense of self

Rooted in reality that we will face setbacks
But they don’t need to throw us off track

Reminded

Fossil Fuel Row

The windows are closing in, and gaps are getting thin, mankind has paid the sacrifice for useless pollution on the surface of the earth and their lungs are filled with dirt. 

 I look above the benevolent sky and search for the big lie, Fossil Fuels supply eighty four percent of the world’s energy and

Fuel for the Pyre

  How strident are their screams, 'Ceasefire!'  
                                             ~

Fuel

Humour and laughter are essential to me 

Not a want but a need

Both warm my being

Fuel for my soul guaranteed


Humour and laughter

Both the beat of my heart

Raise my spirit high

Anxieties and woes readily depart

Space Fuel

If you drink old Han's elixir
You won't live much longer.
Only get sicker and sicker.
Punch your ticket, a goner.
More potent than still liquor
and something a bit stronger.
Ancient Aliens have a new witness.
Claims its space fuel, for a Saucer.

Use As Fuel

To those naysayers telling you
"You're bound to fail,"
Respond with "Watch me!"
Use their words of doom
As fuel for inspiration
To aim higher for the stars.
Each time they employ tactics
To dismantle your
Painstakingly constructed dreams.
Each time they sound 
The death knell against you,
Simply keep on walking toward
The practical goals 
you've set for yourself,
Step by step
Keep laying 
the foundation of

Sufficient Fuel For Duel

On this wait not for Prophet Joel 
Nor for Augury rated Jewel: 
Offensive language Sufficient Fuel 
For what ignites Murderous Duel…
 
One I’d watched sparked off by Noel 
To his shame like unpleasant gruel; 
Keep words picturing like served gruel
For The Jailed by A Jailer cruel: 
“I hate you: Satan’s Emmanuel” 
“As much I you:

Get Real About Fuel

Aloft in once pure blue,
form strings of yellow hue -
pollutant see-o-two.

Man's abuse going on.
Dumping fossil carbon.
More filthy pollution.

Six miles up it is seen.
The sky a crisscross scene 
from tax free kerosene.

Fuel

I have been technically dead 
and technically alive.
Escape clause, minor glitch
in my truth-machine,
but a kind of life does occasionally permeate
my real life.

I like the click and clunk of a well-made 
flint ignition petroleum lighter.
‘Zippo’ light warms hands in a cold woods.
Sometimes I am the flint
sometimes the light - we all are I guess.

Before I was

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