Grease Poems | Examples

Grease on the Stone

I was more of a step stone than a stepson
a tiny stone leading to the heart of my father.

You played the game well... though
squeezing a ring from the coal of his lonely heart.

So, there I was minced by little boy blue grief
then tossed into your beehive whirlwind.
You wisely hid your wicked side...young bride...
Many times, playing hopscotch on my hide.

The lessons to make me into a man
started around six,,, I recollect
Scrubbing those greasy plastic dishes
until they were no longer slick.
You knew that it was an impossible task
for six-year-old hands.
So over and over and over again 
you'd plop that greasy plastic back into the suds...
until well past dusk... 
(Now, even as a man, it's always well past dusk.}
I became more like your whetstone.
something to sharpen your barbes upon.  

I'm still waiting for karma to change the color of your hide.
Make you scrub a freighter filled with your greasy plastic lies.

Grilling

I tried to do some grilling
But the sky just opened up
And it rained like Noah’s time
Each raindrop filled a cup

I’m using here hyperbole
To make a point of rain
The grilling of the burgers
Could not even begin

So I used an indoor griddle
To heat the burgers through
It wasn’t quite that bad at all
I was trying something new

I think they were less healthy
Since they sat in their own grease
Where the grill would let it drizzle down
And all that’s left was meat!

A Prime Time Rhyme Meme Theme

Some of those closest to me
are concerned my poetry
does not rhyme
every time.

I do not complain,
but try to explain
that total symmetry
is not important to me.

The meaning of a verse
is, for better or worse,
the point of a piece.
Rhymes are just grease.

Mental lubrication to let words slide by,
while I try
to impart a certain feeling,
repulsive or appealing.

This frees myself and my reader from the
tight restraint of what seems sing-song.
But maybe just this once,
I will kind of go along.

My Name Should Be Lucille

My name should be Lucille.
I am that squeaky wheel.
If some things wrong I'll weigh it.
I'm not afraid to say it.
Some may not want to know her.
She's been a whistle blower.
I'm not a quiet bird.
My voice is always heard.
I'll never give you peace, so
just give me that grease.

I Am the Grease Jar

Of glass I started at a shop,
But then they filled me up to top.
And day by day, I would decrease,
But now I serve just for the grease.

Sometimes I wish I was refilled,
With pickled food or grains a-milled. 
Despite the options rich and rife,
I hold the grease my second life.

And when I sit below the sink,
I really can’t but help to think,
Of flavors that I hold inside,
Out from the meat and tossed aside.

Instead of going down the drain,
On into me the grease does strain.
Tucked inside and stored away,
Maybe reused another day.

It’s wishful thinking, I confess,
For no one gets what I possess.
These flavors used to cook the food,
Will often never be reused.

And so one day, it will begin,
With me inside a garbage bin.
Until that day, I am at peace,
To do my job to hold the grease.

Cleaning

There was a little girl I knew
Whose smile so brightly grew

She listened to her Mom and Dad
Was always good and never bad

Once, she cleaned the oven interior
But, soon was feeling quite inferior

Her scrubbing and rubbing concluded
With her so sure she had been deluded

Nothing she did made the oven clean
Bringing its heart to such a great sheen

Finally, she asked her Mom for advice
Sure she’d take it no matter the price

Mom said, “Put some elbow grease in it”
So off she went to find the grime grit

It was only moments before she discovered
Her parents guffawing until they’d recovered











 Make Me Laugh with Some Humor - Any Form - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin 
November 23, 2020


This story happened back in the 70’s before there was any knowledge of a product called Elbow Grease

Axle Grease

Coaxing
Words from limbo
Into life.

Slipping them from
The pocket of 
Your muse, onto
Eager paper.

Lovely linen,
Thick with roses.

Or threaded with
Barb-wire.

Altar for the gentle
Blood of visionaries,

Mingled with axle grease
For sturdy wordsmiths 
Eager to lay concrete verse
Lasting beyond time.

Annie Elise Rest In Peace Died By Fish Grease

ANNIE ELISE REST IN PEACE DIED BY FISH GREASE

Rest in peace
Buried in this plot, Anna Elise
Occupation was fry cook
Died: burnt by hot-boil fish grease

9/18/18
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018

Cleaning

Cleaning
Under the greasy stove
Behind the washer and dryer
Inside the smelly refrigerator
Under the bed where the best shirts hide
Such a mood lifter
Cleaning

Winter Grease

I have chills that are multiplying and skin that needs grease lightning




12-22-17

Grease Beaches

We would talk all night
During the summer and winter
And we'd ignore our eyes begging
And our hands burning

And our cheeks shined
And our foreheads were grease beaches
And our skin was sand for the oceans of hair
And we never washed our faces

And we wrote crappy letters
Saying things we both knew
And we'd make each other cry
And we'd make each other laugh

And then
It was over.

Grease and Pickles

A thousand vents for blowing grease
the burger bleeds and trickles.
The stove tops way of frying meat
to sell their grease and pickles.

A greasy slab to clot your blood.
The hamburger's inflection.
A special sauce to fatten up
the liver from protection.

A heart attack to fear aloud
you come to feel the hurt.
Your senses blind to feeling pain
your swearing has to blurt.

A paramedic standing by
with paddles out to shock.
The ventilator turned on low
in case you start to gawk.

A hospital for calculating
service for your wealth.
but don't forget the morgue is there
and that could mean your health.

Grease, Oil and Fashion

The lollipop lady and laborer,
Driving to work we can see who it is.
In bright fluoro orange and yellow
Retro reflective people wearing high vis.

There’s vests and jackets and singlets and bibs,
Worn by these people like a fashion design.
Drivers of forklifts, bulldozers and utes,
For safety all day and night time.

Every worksite embraced this vogue of a trend
Begun years ago by a single fire fighter.
Years ago when people just wore normal stuff
But now we all appear brighter.

Call me old fashioned, I like normal work gear
Denim jeans, overalls or blue tops.
Covered in grease or mud you could see
They look good in the mechanic workshops.

But alas we live in an age where we’re blind
To what’s aesthetic, beautiful and nice.
Replaced with high intensive colors of vivid,
We evolved to walking flash lights.

Grease Monkey

Grease Monkey Rainbows
                                by Odin Roark

How colorfully the reflective smears ignited the senses.

How sinuous the undulating slick remained forever permanent,
its unintentional abstracts made prescient.

Dank syrup of engines idle,
spilled upon aged concrete
where the mechanic beneath rusted warriors
drained yesterday's tensile stress,
fresh loading tomorrow's fluid to live.

How focused his oily footprints remain,
now aloft riding the escort of Valhalla,
gliding upon colors of other-world palettes,
yet remaining forever heroic,
forever indelible,
in a little boy’s perpetual memory.

Yesteryear’s ever present ether continues embracing,
bestowing a blinding courage for the senses to endure,
even as the buried vestige remains dark.

The smell revered.
The smooth touch esteemed.
The unbridled colors forever a reminder of love.

Diesel rainbows,
still rippling in this man-child’s quiet ebb.

Grease Monkey Supplicant

the lackluster heart
is a careless companion
his tarnished love is a thin man with hungry eyes
loved only by her mad mad mind
with a clean beauty to her that shines
the sour bread is bitter wine
his own madness stifled his tongue
painting its masterpiece of literary eloquence in utter silence
a neon glitter mona lisa written for the ages
like a grease monkey supplicant for the siege engine that is his heart
the lackluster heart tinkers with his noble endeavour soul
seeking that sweet music perfection you see in all the magazines
hand in hand with the dream come true girl and her saltwater jewels
she is dragging sacks of christmas cheer  
decorating the avenue with beautiful things
its that time of year
the lackluster heart is uninspired
but he's handsome and thats all that matters to her

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