Gas Poems - Poems about Gas

GAS STATION LIGHTS II

a lone ancient dark night
Your engine stumbles
rumbles, coughs to a stop
so close to E
The gas pump, blocky, digital
smells of gasoline
like a primordial dance 
an intercourse of machines
rape of a Mesozoic age, processed 
Petrol in a tank, deep
Swipe card, digital hum of circuitry 
Choose your poison, your savor 
Buttons—regular, premium, 
Reek of diesel 
Corruption 
So many

All Talk, No Action

They are now but cash cows
(a trough in which to quaff)
for the many attendees
who sit on long-winded
Government-funded investigation committees
no one around to hear the sound
(of what falls in the woods)
while their coffers swelled
for all the papers printed on the ecology
more than several trees were felled
the fracking drilling boring too
(found underground)
wastes water in copious quantities
releases greenhouse

We Danced at the Gas Station

This poem is featured on YouTube (The Convergence point with Dr. Ivan Edwards), bringing its words to life through spoken expression.

A gas station on the edge of the city,  
Neon lights buzzing in the night,  
graffiti scrawled across walls,  
the hum of distant traffic our backdrop.  

The place was nothing special,

Professional Gas Lighters

they stand at the bar
tipping poison into their own drinks
smiling like devils with cherry lipstick—
their eyes cold and wet,
like alley cats wet from the rain.

they love to tell you
you’ve misunderstood the truth
you’ve got it all wrong—
your shadow’s on the wrong side
of the street.

they hold up a mirror—
you see yourself cracking
like cheap glass—
they grin,
one step back
one

The Gas Station Paradox

A woman at the gas station
is unremarkable besides
her name tag reading Clarity 
and her teeth, saying never mind. 

She asks if I need a receipt. 
I say no, like I'm not collecting
evidence in the glovebox of a car
that only drives in reverse. 

The smell of ethanol summons
June bugs: last summer, I siphoned
moons from my mother's

Old Man Flynns Wind

There is nothing dainty about my wind
It lifts me out of my chair said old man Flynn
He rocks the house and the garage interjected his wife
I just let them rip, he agreed, thus, I have no strife.

Last Exit For Gas

Spreading fast from West to East

Did it come from Man or Beast

The pungence just hit my nose

Everywhere a foul wind blows

We've got winds to the North 

And winds to the South 

But the winds West to East

I can taste in my mouth

It floats through the air

And sticks to my clothes

Everywhere a foul wind blows

I said

Gas Station Manifesto

Turning the pages backward
I find pressed flowers in my old diary
from the day we saw 
lavender growing in the woods.
The sun was swallowed by clouds 
that were halfway to a metaphor
and you told me the eye color of love
was dark hazel, the very depth of my own. 
In a packet of handwritten letters
I find polaroids

The Light Within Earshot at the Gas Station Snack Bar

Our oldest light goes by the name cosmic 
microwave background radiation—
CMB for short. She's everywhere: 
fluorescent birdsong of modern offices, 
hum of corner store ice cream cases. 
Have you heard of her? This gal was born 
screaming into freedom from the expansion 
of a bang so big we're still talking about it. 

Expelled from the

Kamala's Turned Up the Gas

     Harris can’t run from her record, for sure
     Never admitted Biden's health was poor
       Not running ‘half-assed’
       She’s turned up the gas
     Insisting the southern border’s secure

gas on the fire

We drove crime and it made us mean
But now we appear more serene
Without exposure
Global composure
Improved with lead free gasoline

Mad And Sick Of Seeing So Much Violence In Our Streets

I am going to scream
That there is too much injustice
In our streets.
The Police,
These days, are not there for Justice,
For all citizens in our cities.
I am going to scream
That there is too much mayhem on the screen,
Too much unbearable pain for the spleen,
And too much chaos and violence in my dreams.
I can hear the screams,
Coming from

Classroom Gas-tronomy

In the echoing halls of third grade,
he sits,
a nine-year-old lad,
master of the silent symphony,
the classroom's perpetual farter.

His seat,
a throne of hidden thunder,
each release a stealthy gust,
an unseen hand
that wafts through the air,
invisible yet undeniable.

The girl down the aisle,
her eyes wide with wonder,
a scientist in the making,
studies his every move,
curiosity alive in her gaze,
as if decoding

Rats On Gas

My garden backs onto a farm
Which shouldn’t cause any alarm
With so much fresh air
I’m glad I live there 
And only one thing spoils its charm

I feed the birds and feral cats
At night I enjoy watching bats
The field mice and spiders
That reside beside us
Are fine, but there’s too many rats

It’s fine that they eat the bird’s

Robot Fills Up on Gas

In 1952 a robot stopped by the Sinclair gas station.
Walked up to the pumps and had an instant celebration.
Gas station attendant was horrified but stayed away.
As the creature filled up on gasoline that weird Tuesday.

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