Long Toyota Poems
Long Toyota Poems. Below are the most popular long Toyota by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Toyota poems by poem length and keyword.
My Dream Date Over A Moonflower
She be a Toyota amongst Ferraris
Nondescript, simple, garden variety
A book with a plain cover
Yet with pages that intrigue
Pages that enlighten
And raises my eyebrows
And especially
A book that I can't put down
And want to read over and over
Unlike others
She'd take life slow
Definitely in moderation
Definitely with an eye on spiritual riches
Instead of materialistic gains
I see her heart skipping with joy
On slow walks around the park
Or taking a swim in the ocean
With both our eyes and hearts in harmony
And filled with laughter and warmth
Her eyes would say
"Let's Go Places"
... Some others would want a fairytale
Rome, Paris, London
Perhaps a candle light dinner under the moon
With romantic music in the background
But I would be happy finding that special one
That's swells with taking in a Chinese restaurant
In the slowest part of town
... sharing a moon flower soup
1/25/23
My Dream Date Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Dad bad habit slammed can fan which wish list mystical brisk hip hotel spelled smelly shellfish baking soda Toyota Music factory packed banana slate clean reamed dream that obscene creamy scene team leaning on and upon the thong song covered by a sarong bong hit bonkers Wonka wizard Tonka truck out of luck stuck in a rut no bucks Griffen ridden was given pigeon toed snowshoe road toad as a fingerprint wince pain drains brain game sane name lame dame sprained ankle cankle wasted toothpaste face mace grazed gravy lace taste of the Elated emaciated overrated unsaturated elevator alligator double hater breaker box two toned blue Sox hawk shop stop sign rhyme timer empty diner whiner primed sign finder linebacker stacker shabby Mad Hatter fashion able to be stable while watching cable faster than one could fasten their seat belt the belch yelling the telltale whale tail for the thong song when Cisco goes to the disco in Frisco toe to toe with Joe Blow instead of a showdown with a drowned hound from behind the mound over in the next town safe and sound rounding 3rd base for a home run to be somewhat someone who is no fun picking crumbs at runny scum tons with both guns hundred blunts well done jumbled stumbling puns for every one munching on the funniest lunge after the rafters hoist up the black lung sponges that spoiled the Fun Bunch lunch brigade while being played with the Ace of Spades raiding the trading card throwing star hash bar black tar Mars Bars Hot wheels cars for real deal scars that lard could lighten lighter yards to fish farther for gars in Garland instead of on the other hand deep sea fishing for Marlins with George Carlin. That on the other hand would be very, very startling.
With a call like a Kuia,
the wail commenced our ride.
Gently bathed by mighties
Marama and Matariki,
our path lay clear and bright.
Ko Te Tohoraa, the nurturer,
hikers nestled nicely by her nipple.
Strolling on with Te Tohoraa,
on a breathless yet perfect stride.
Honoured journeys
both near and far,
are lovingly remembered with aroha.
Memories remain with such sunny smiles,
and a staunch salute to
Te Tohoraa.
______________________
Ika Moana: Traditional name for a Whale.
Kuia: an elderly woman, especially a female relative or ancestor.
Marama: Clear, light, moon.
Matariki: Matariki is the Maori name for the cluster of stars also known as the Pleiades
Te Tohoraa: The Whale. Also, the name affectionately given to a 1998 Toyota Dyna - campervan that I recently had the utmost pleasure of driving (and holidaying) for 1300km. Hence this tribute!
Aroha: Love
The Pain of Drought
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
The road trains full of emancipated cattle roar by
Heading south to somewhere that is lush and green
For the big dry out west as tightened it’s grip
As the dry westerly winds lay the paddocks bare
--
The cows they roar and moan and stamp their feet
At the struggling calves that lay dying in the dirt and dust
The Kites on high circle the scene of death and dying
As the mothers walk away they dive bomb the carcasses
--
The cattle cluster round the dwindling water holes and shade
Their skeleton clearly visible held together by skin and bone
The heat so intense they endure .. together with the millions of flies
A scene so horrendous you just cant help the tears in your eyes
--
The lean and tall farmer looks over his dying herd of cattle
And wonders why mother nature can be so bloody cruel
I’ve nurtured these cows from birth, they are my pride and joy
And to watch this scene of my dying stock… Mate it hurts
--
To bloody late to shift this lot off, he says out loud
I must end their suffering as quickly as I can
He heads to the Toyota to fetch his gun
Walks back to the herd with a tear and a heavy heart
--
With an anguished look and tears in his eye, he fires his gun
As the last one falls he looks on with pain etched on his brow
I best bury them deeply before the night falls
And heads to the homestead to fetch the machinery
--
As he drives he mumbles to himself the bloody politicians don’t care
And the city folk, well it’s outa sight outa mind with them
They can rest easy in their homes and comfortable beds
Whilst I toss and turn with mind racing of how to survive this devastation.
--
He returns to the macabre scene of blood, bodies and gore
The Kites in their thousands lift off from the bodies of the cattle
He digs a large hole and buries them deeply as night falls
And hopes that he doesn't have to repeat the process with the stock that’s left.
--
The farmer heads home and is greeted by his wife at the door
He sobs in her arms and she says… I’m so sorry but it had to be done
We will look to the new day and hope the drought breaks
Knowing that Mother Nature will always have her way
That’s what she calls herself
who boasts of the longest reigning monarchy in the world,
producing a short of one to twenty Nobel Prize winners
as only two colleagues beat her to global wealth.
Her buttocks sit on the red hot coal
of the deadly pacific ring of fire.
Her cultural and innovative influence,
already clinging on global corners with their webs.
The sushi, sashimi and the tempura;
the karate, judo, sumo and ninjutsa;
the Toyota, Sony, Nintendo, canon and Panasonic,
all testaments of her hands of influence.
She’s a home to over six thousand pieces
resting on large waters to stay as one.
Three-fourth of her landscape is forests or mountains
and so industrious to make possible the Asimo.
Her short poems have been globally popularized
with almost every of her citizens literate,
while some of her streets still remain nameless.
She must have acquired lots of black cats
to reach such a height of civilization and power;
Beauty comes with teeth not quite regular,
visiting the vending machine to satisfy ones need for a beer,
possessing the largest trade center for fish in the world
but publicly blowing the nose and tearing off a gift’s wrap
converts her cool countenance into a bad mood.
She has centers for drinking and taking alcoholic shots
so also for enjoying the fluid of lactation for adults.
Ironing a shirt with a speed of light
is her special craft and yardstick for a serious competition.
Population of pets outweigh that of children;
her appetite for Basashi and expenses for the melons
invite controversy to any form of human reasoning.
Immigration then is highly regulated
to give continuity to such traditional and economic history.
I drive around a bi-cycle
a cycle bike psycho
at night a light’s on
my-ma (ma) mountain bike
oh it’s a little delightful
my seat on my cycle
I ride all night on
my-ma (ma) mountain bike
I’ll jump the curbs in acceleration,
and pedal push to my destination,
don’t pay road tax, my declaration,
no f... that, drivers hold frustration
Oh
Oi
These trucks get way to close
thinking they own the roads
Woah
Oi
they test test test my nerve,
these flucking bus ankers
I drive around a bi-cycle
a cycle bike psycho
at night a light’s on
my-ma (ma) mountain bike
oh it’s a little delightful
my seat on my cycle
I ride all night on
my-ma (ma) mountain bike
dirty dank fumes got me spacey
light headed it sways me
others walk or run but I go this way
I like to ride my bi-cycle
I'm cycle bike psycho
all day and night on
my-ma (ma) mountain bike
It must be said, some mouth opinions
you cyclists all smell like onions
which is mean
so I thump them and nick their keys
I speed on
oi oi
and I say ha ha ha you cannot drive your car
they say
woah woah
as I fly fly fly fly over the handlebars
I crashed into an Aygo
a Toyota Aygo
the wheel's mangled on
my ma (ma) mountain bike
I wasn't looking where I go
when I hit an Aygo
so I'm in mourn for
my ma (ma) mountain bike
in a hospital room
going crazy
fresh air seems tasty
they say ha ha can't ride your bike today
I think karma's a bastard
it put me in plaster
and now they have to
ha ha (ha) help me s**t
ma (ma) mountain bike
(oh) mountain bike
(mountain bike) ohh
Hear the song copy and paste link below
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1n6wawuYE5s&index=3&list=PLrWXQQOwWgeAzG8lMiXPHNQeO_aFFxhLi
Shipwrecked
He was Japanese, smiled politely
and took his shoes off
I smiled also, it was the right thing
for us to do, shipwrecked sat
in a rubber raft of the type leaving
Tripoli
Libya, where we murdered Gaddafi
and made a mess in the smaller
states he helped
All this because Tony Blair and the
loathsome French president bored
money from Gaddafi but didn't
want to pay it back
We had harpooned a whale with
a pen knife and a cycle pump
but we didn't have soy sauce and
let the beast go
A blue balloon in a sea of calmness
The setting sun teased us, throwing
gold coins into liquid jade.
At dawn, the Japanese gave me his teeth
and swam towards the rising sun
I gave the teeth to an elderly shark
that, in gratitude, piloted me to Mandalay
where i met another loser selling
pink oversized bra, suitable as tents
for the bombed-out people of Gaza
green plastic buckets and Nottingham
scarf,
The Japanese sent me a postcard offered
me, a Toyota at half-price
Racial harmony is about
common respect
A love of fast cars that he could not afford
led him to be a poor fourth place in his own race.
He once lived in an ancient Toyota van,
just for a week, but long enough to establish
that he was weak, and needed an older woman
to finance any future souped-up muscle car.
A woman with a sloppy caboose
mature enough to own a patch of land, adopted him
to tend a spread of dirt and raise chickens.
For a while he thrived in a mediocre way
until cock crows came between them.
He financed a much used Mercedes.
but the payments were too tight for his loose life style
so he buried it at night
in a mud pit at the side of I-75.
What he really wanted
was a girl dumb enough to love him prematurely
as if he were a thing to be worked upon,
but then grey hairs in an otherwise flaxen field
foretold the end of those country songs.
In a grungy bar of lost hopes
he hitched-up with a slow thinking quick drinking woman,
someone’s ex on a reliable government check.
Eventually settling down with her in a holler
in West Virginia.
He took his Stetson off, dutifully plowed her and the land
while collecting motor parts for his perfect fantasy car
one he could never quite toggle together
or ever drive.
It was Easter Sunday
I was leaving Isle of Palms
in my 2004 Toyota Corolla
that was once my sister’s
before she moved to Colima, Mexico
I overheard a conversation
and left the house
I wanted miles between there
and anywhere
I called you as I trembled
up the road on all four wheels
All the cars were bulldozers
of purpose and confidence
I felt like iceberg lettuce
swaying over pavement
ready to be tossed
out of the sandwich
You told me to get it together
“You’re from Rochester, remember?
Come on woman! Breath!”
I asked you to help me
get over the bridge:
“Just keep talking.
I don’t know where I’m going,
and my hands are sweating”
It wasn’t your words,
I don’t remember many
It wasn’t you next to me,
we live too far for intimacy
It wasn’t any reassurance
You know
my vulnerability
that I hide so gracefully
in my Audrey Hepburn
attempts for elegance
I show you my raw,
unhinged, unlovely
childish fears
that I will not outgrow
I am the chipped marble
you hold in your hand
I am your Minnie,
your knucklehead,
your superfluous adjective
I know you prefer
succinct conversations
and strong women,
but I need your steadiness
You carry me over
every bridge
for no reason
whatsoever.
All the little ways
and threads aligned
because I paid attention
to the ups and downs,
the lefts and rights
of the here
(a hot day in April)
and the now
(laughter on the trampoline)
while I write this
on my bed
and smile quietly
to myself
with gratitude
for a life that was gifted
to me.
I see me in the mirror
of my Toyota Corola
and my reflection
comforts me.
My middle-aged eyes
and unbrushed lose hair
look free and unfettered
by trying society.
A homeless man
crosses the road
on his bike, many bags
tied to it.
That could be me.
It might be, tomorrow.
I don't read magazines
or read the news.
All of that is already old
before it is new.
I am going to watch
the trees that will be here
before my life is done,
hopefully.
This was all theirs
before it was ever mine
anyway.