Long Fenders Poems
Long Fenders Poems. Below are the most popular long Fenders by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fenders poems by poem length and keyword.
The tweet on the pipe called the muster fall-in
The cadets all fell in with nary a din
For now they’d be grouped for “Hands to Cleanship”
To dress up the ship afore the Old Man's pip-pip
Well-trained, the cadets set to their work
The Bo ‘suns and POGIs made sure they didn’t shirk.
The awnings were tautened with the Shark's Mouth agape
The ropes in the grommets brought all into shape
The hydrants and fittings were brassoed and shined
The scuppers were cleaned where muck was confined
Running rigging was secured with belaying pins
All loose gear were neatly stacked in their bins
Hawsers and towropes were carefully coiled
Wire ropes ‘spiked, unkinked and oiled.
The decks were all cleaned with the broom and the brush
Fenders and pontoons secured so sides wouldn’t crush
With hammers the cable was chipped off of rust
The shackles were oiled after cleaning the dust.
The bitters on the bits were tethered on tight
With the bitter ends belayed and tucked out of sight.
The QD was holystoned with water and sand
(All set for the do with the Naval Band)
The Old Lady was painted in her customary gray
Her waists all shaped up for the rest of the day
The guns were all covered for the incoming squall
Even before the “cover guns” call
The Inglefields were mustered, the pennants and flags
Strung for’ard to stern without any sags
And thus was the ship all dressed to the tee
As shipshape and dandy as she rightly ought to be.
Their tasks all done, the cadets did secure
But the day was not done, there was more to endure!
I learned something the other day that I never knew.
There is a form of poetry known as the clerihew!
'Tis a form of rhyme about a luminary of some fame,
And the first line must contain the feller's name.
Alexander Graham Bell, as every schoolboy has known,
Was the genius who invented the mysterious telephone.
'Tis well known that he is credited for this famous coup,
Uttering the immortal line, "Watson, come here - I want you!"
Paul Revere is famous for making a daring midnight ride,
Heralding, "The Brits are coming!" to the countryside!
As a Boston silversmith he also gained a modicum of fame.
In this enlightened age we still "revere" his name!
Henry Ford satisfied the masses, we may all agree,
By manufacturing the venerable Ford Model "T".
He said, "You can choose any color as long as it's black!"
He even tossed in fenders, a crank and a sturdy jack!
Ben Franklin was a multi-talented feller indeed,
Noted mainly for helping develop our nation's creed.
Perhaps also known for suffering a shocking jolt,
Fooling around with an occasional lightning bolt!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Every joyful Christmases of distant past
were all very special and memorable.
Except for one unique Christmas unsurpassed.
I recall it was an unforgettable
day, with presents under the lit Christmas tree.
My parents and I gathered at Christmas morn,
I dropped to my knees. I found, I was torn, gee!
So many gifts which to open first. I was torn.
I looked about the room, there against the wall
stood a very large clumsy wrapped Christmas gift.
I asked, "Can I open that one first of all?"
I pushed all the other gifts out of my way
to get to the one large clumsy wrapped ultimate gift.
I unwrapped with quick fingers, the welcoming gift.
I tore at the string and wrapping. Then, ecstatic
screams of joy, tears, and wails it took my breath away.
There was the Schwinn bike I saw in “The Attic”
store window that my heart simply craved and yearned.
My parents looked at me with pride and joy and said,
“Merry Christmas!" My heart gleefully turned.
My eyes were fixed upon the bike with a smile;
it was the most magical moment of any Christmas.
It was a bright red, with shiny chrome fenders,
and tassel hanging down the ends of the handle bars.
I rode all day.
They were all special and memorable memories,
except for one unique Christmas.
11/29/2017
***A Parenting Tale***
He must’ve been
Just barely fourteen, but still off as
A ninja filling a pillowcase
with chocolate on Halloween.
Although through all other days
his ken was an avocado green,
That is actually a deep
nubby, buttery green.
The older teens, always girls,
Stood leaning on the fenders of their parent’s cars,
Twirling their lemon curls around
Still child-small index fingers
While foot tapping to some unknown
Time until night cloaked our court.
Then, with a wave of the girl’s arms,
our son collapsed to fit out through
Keyholes or go with the autumn mice
Under the garage door, to slink
From one girl’s car to three, where
Not one pair of pink lips cou answer
me if her parents knew her where?
Hardly a surprise then one night
near ten p.m.,
When authority alarmed, fist-knocking
on our front door. Police?
What is the, aaa, problem, sirs?”
“You’ve a son we’ve gotten word of.
Is he home?” Yes. Well, yes.
Certainly, yes. It’s bedtime…
He comes down, cool from his room to
Join us in the hall, looking face to face,
so sliced-olive green.
The officers, wasted not a second.
“We’ve a warrant for a missing girl,
A friend of yours said you knew.
Have you seen Anna Joe today?” No.
“Have you had company tonight?” No.
“Have friends up there with you?” No.
Then to us, “We’d like to go up to look.”
I was mother-so-proud assuring, “He
doesn’t lie. I’d’ve heard company.”
Within a minute, the parade came down
The stairs: handcuffed girl, officers
with son between them and coming to
Stand by me, supposing it was safe.
I screamed, “You lied! To the police!
To us!” Then, I swung my arm back
And forward again with force from
Knowing how he’d dealt us into danger.
I smacked him hard and loud
in front of the police in that
Scrapbook moment of parenting the idiot
Events of a bean-green teen, which also
ended musical car nights on our
court.
————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 2/6/22
Got yourself some new wheels, huh?
I can hear the squeals of rubber burning
I cough exhaust…left behind, oh gosh! I’m holding just a pile of dented fenders…
suspended… Your bucks spent. Engine Red..that foreign bred truck!
Snap, crackle and Popular Mechanic…Look at the maniac go….!
Holy, Moly….must be rolling in dough!
Woe is me, a junk yard dog, pile of junk, smelly sneakers left in my trunk
There he goes….who knows where….how many horses…under that hood...?
Should I know? I’d fly too, if I could. Just scrap metal in my bellow.
Heavy pedal, limp and wasted..used to be his favorite girl…kept me polished, waxed
and oiled…now I’m soiled. No garage..no umbrella, who gives a rip? Worn out
engine, give up the ship! Cast away…..not in style…gave a ride to Gomer Pyle
“See the USA in your Chevrolet"…, ‘cept that I ain’t got no carburetor
See ya later gator…what’s the hurry fella? Did ya see the light was yellow?
Red light, yellow light…. see if we can make the green
Going green….going green,….does that mean his hybrid’s clean?
Anti-freeze, it makes me sneeze….can’t I have some oil please?
Give ‘er the gas, let’s see what she’s got!
OH.. forgot!…ain’t got my tires..I’m retired
Pubescent male migration, arcing over sunless streets
Hear that squeak……doctor told me oil leak
Honest Engine, joined the pack, no Pontiac to take that ride
Is there heaven for old cars? Car 54 where are you??
I got my kicks on Route 66, running relays, no baton, just open freeways
Son of a gun…give it the gun……vroom.. vroom… run… run!
One door closes, need new hoses, or I don’t go nowhere… no how
Pile of rust, I’ve been busted, up on blocks…what a crock!
My teeth and pride are all knocked in…windshield wipers brush a tear
Windshield wipers swipe the years…skid marks show behind my eyes
Teeth and pride are all knocked in, guess I’m just an old has been!
______________________________________
a stream of consciousness
Just scrap metal in your bellow?
Is your pedal, mellowed old?
Poor old friend, you've lost your wheels
You dream in color, of rubber burning,...
where coughed exhaust, was left behind.
Now we're lost, two junk yard pals
Relics, that have rusted time.
Just a pile of dented fenders,
suspended… here, in desert sand.
Jammed and stacked, we'll make a pact
perhaps the two of us can make a dime.
A part of you, a part of me.....perhaps they'll make some artsy thing
Snap, crackle, hot and Popular Mechanic,
They should come and fix us up
Woe is you! You junk yard dog,
something smolders in your trunk!
Smells of socks, perhaps a skunk?
Once so dandy, someone's bug
Not so handy, you can't move.
How many horses, under that hood...?
I would push you if I could !
Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours
I'd paint you blue, and paint you bright,
If I could, to set you right
New transmission, lubed and oiled
Anti freeze to make you sneeze
Honest Engine, we'll get our kicks,
I'll fix you up, and grab the stick
Headin' down Route 66........
Get off me blockhead......we are fixed !
_____________________________________________________
12/10/14 For The "East Jesus" contest: Image number 5
Sponsored by Roy Jergen
All the Christmases distant past were all so very memorable. Except for one Christmas I truly remember,
especially because it was unforgettable.
My parents and I gathered around the tree Christmas morn.
Many beautiful presents I found,
I was torn, which one to open first.
I looked about the room, there behind the tree
stood a large clumsy wrapped Christmas package.
I asked, “Can I open that one first please?”
Unwrapping the package with quick fingers,
I tore at the string and wrapping.
Then, ecstatic screams of joy with tears and wails
it took my breath away.
There was the Schwinn bike I saw in the store window
that my heart simply craved and yearned.
My parents looked at me with pride and joy and said,
” Merry Christmas!”
My eyes were fixed upon the bike with a smile;
it was the most magical moment of any Christmas.
It was a bright red, with shine chrome fenders,
and tassel hanging down the ends of the handle bars.
For all day long I rode.
12/15/2016
Smiles express, tears depress;
friends dwindle, fools abound.
Efforts fail, hearts confess;
eyes beckon lies confound.
Rivers flow, souls, shutter;
doubts linger; passions flame.
Truths falter, words stutter;
fears fester, feelings blame.
Bonds erode, friendships bind,
teardrops fall, dreams desist.
Insults hurt, beliefs blind,
egos bruise, pains persist.
Grapes ferment, needles sting,
gamers play, babies cry.
Bellies ache, fenders ding,
eagles fly; soldiers die.
Failures fade, hopes renew,
spirits haunt, debts amass.
Hugs assure, hurts construe;
sails unfurl, heartaches pass.
Behind the fence, not there to play, two junkyard dogs are on the prey
Engines scrapped, and fenders bent, and shattered glass now pays the rent
Heavy pedals, limp and wasted, rusty metal, paint that's faded
It's much too late to get our kicks, Route 66 has led to this !
Now, these old friends sped past their prime, perched up on blocks and wearing time
Do they need new carburetors? ….And we should check the tachometers
Their teeth and pride are all knocked in, piled high they hide, in "auto-bins"
How many horses are under hoods? Would they tell me if they could?
Easy riders rocked the day, now planted-crops in fields of hay
Castaways, just piles of parts, where some are savored for their hearts
Hear the squeak of this old seat, and that one has an oil leak
Anti-freeze won't save the day….and frozen gears won't melt today!
I wish that we could turn back time, and see this jewel while in its prime
Nose to nose, in scattered rows, while rubber hoses rot to slime
Leaky oil soils shoes, ….And black exhaust is hot perfume
Is there heaven for old cars?……."Car 54" , oh where are you?
New transmission, with permission, or could we get one realigned?
Kick the tires, it's retired……..but with some love it might be tried
Find a jewel, don't be fooled. Could there be a life inside?
Excitement sparks, and spark-plugs start, I have a new idea in mind !!
Now were talkin' ……..I'm not walkin'…… I have plans to drive
Cough exhaust, but it won't cost as much, if I just try to
exhume this guy, the one I'll buy, will be my pride and joy !!
__________________________________________
6/23/16
Contest: Rusted And Busted
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
On starry, moonlit nights
Or those pitch black ...
These are the roads ...
I drive forth and back
My tailights and headlights
Go rolling through the mist,
Scattering newly dead leaves
With a turn of my wrist
Fenders ruffle the wildflowers
That grow high by summer's end,
Brushing them with wind ...
As I go sailing 'round the bend
The fog through my fingers flows
Cool, damp almost eerie to feel,
Sends a shiver along my bones
With one hand on the wheel
Time, it disappears out here
Old songs on the radio,
All around spin tones of gray
Driving as fast as she can go
Between midnight and morning
A lonesome hour for some,
Here you'll find an empty seat
If another soul wants to come.