Long Volkswagen Poems
Long Volkswagen Poems. Below are the most popular long Volkswagen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Volkswagen poems by poem length and keyword.
I was brought up on a smallholding when I was a lass
We needed something to help us cut the vast expanse of grass
I wanted a goat and my parents they agreed
We saw one advertised and rushed there at great speed
Poor ‘Susie’ lived in a paved back yard
Finding her food to eat must have been hard
We paid them some money and then the fun began
Travelling home in dads Volkswagen van*
I sat on the back seat with ‘Susie’ next to me
It looked pretty silly – I’m sure you will agree
Back home she bounded out of the car
She trimmed the nearest rose bush – she really was a star
She headed for the washing line and tried to eat dad’s pants
It was pretty hilarious – I can still hear poor dad’s rants
She was ‘with kid’ and got settled in her comfy shed
Her favourite food was bananas she’d eat them all when fed
Finally the great day of the kid’s birth did arrive
I called them ‘Billy and Nanny’ I was filled with great pride
The kids were so cute and we would take them out for walks
If people saw us out in the street their eyes would be on stalks
The kids they grew so quickly and nanny she got sold
Billy stayed a few more weeks but he was never to get old
Billy became a problem and was sold off in a hurry
I was devastated to find poor Billy was made into curry
This really did happen as written - I had Susie for my 13th birthday present
The ONLY amendment is it was a VW Beetle not a van *
Jan Allison
10th April 2014
Oh! as I begin this journal hardly ...I REMEMBER those Car-Keys
I remember in high-school the first time I placed car keys in the ignition
I remember that I had envision some grand flow
I remember that I didn't even know the first auto I was in was a Volkswagen
And I DON'T KNOW HOW! to drive no stick(shift)
I remember hinkN man-Oh-man where's the automatic(transmission)
I remember I hated cars back then, give me my Ten Speed Schwinn™
I remember the simulator trainers, give me them any day liken a video game then
Even need car keys to start them
I remember failing the physical driving test so I went on a road trip on my 10-speed bicycle
But my favorite memory's yet to come
verrrrooom!!
10/18/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Written for North Omaha Writers group (NOW) class assignment
"How sweet to the heart are the scenes of my childhood"
Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842
I'd help milk the goat and feed our two pigs
and loved being outside in the warm sun
picking potatoes whilst my father digs
We'd go to the coast it was so much fun,
driving for miles in dad's Volkswagen car,
dad would buy big ice creams for everyone!
My primary school was not very far
I'd walk there with my mother every day
academically I wasn't a star!
I was a tomboy, I guess I should say
and never played with dolls when I was small
I dreamed of throwing sis's Barbie away!
Just a few memories, I can recall
I have many more... but won't share them all
Terza Rima Form Poetry Contest
10 syllables per line checked with how many syllables
Sponsored by Constance La France
20/11/20
I once thought
we would leave Brooklyn
and travel across America
in a chariot.
An awesome, red,
'67 Lincoln convertible,
with suicide doors.
Radio blasting Jefferson Airplane.
Hair blowing in the wind.
Soaking up the sunshine.
Breathing freedom.
No watches, jobs or boss.
Stopping at Howard Johnson's.
Eating all 28 ice cream flavors,
one stop at a time and
fried clams by the bushel.
We were San Francisco dreaming.
'67 brought
responsibility, stability,
Timex watch,
Volkswagen,
subways, overtime,
a baby, diapers,
larger Brooklyn apartment
and reality
but...
1967
was a very
good year.
a baby, diapers,larger Brooklyn apartmentand realitybut... 1967 was a verygood year.
In the 50's mom and grand
Had that old Maytag™ drum washer
It would twist and dance
~
Wiggle N turn
Like a baby wobble
That old washing machine
~
had a motor almost as big
as a Volkswagen
Boy, did love to wash them clothes
In Grandma's Old Wringer Washer -
~
shaped shaped like a barrel
on top of it a wringer
with a handle place in the clothes
~
Too wring out put it in a wicker basket
And then take to the clothesline
and hang up too dry outside
That task was a job., was a shore
In Grandma's Old Wringer Washer -
In Grandma's Old Wringer Washer
12/8/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
Mimes at my Funeral by Carolyn Devonshire
When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
This piece sums up Carolyn’s joie de vivre and her positive attitude to death.
For Gwen’s Devonshire contest
Form:
Deborah painted our new mailbox…and though it may not seem earth changing to you…
we have high hopes on what one mailbox can do.
You see, we believe when hate erupts…It flows like lava…
glowing hot and filled with wrath…
spewing hate in all directions…destroying everything in it’s path.
And if you don’t escape it…if, perhaps, you’ve nowhere else to go
If you’re not cautious, alert and careful…you could be caught up in its flow.
We believe love is much more subtle…it does not pray upon prejudices and fears
It comes from patience, understanding, trust…and softly whispers in our ears.
Hate is fast and loud and noisy…
while love moves slower…is much more tender and sublime
Hate works best in groups…in crowds and congregations…
while love prefers to touch one person at a time.
So when the inevitable happens…when hate and love collide
We must show the flow of hate that love will not be swept aside.
Which brings me back to our mailbox…at then end of our driveway for all to see.
It’s filled with messages of peace and love…
It has a dove, a smiling sun…flowers and a honeybee.
It’s painted to look like a 60’s Volkswagen bus
and was painstakingly decorated
from a time when our beliefs our values our ethics and our morals
were collectively created.
We understand fighting hate with love will alway be an uphill climb….
but that will never stop us from believing we can change the world
one person…
and one mailbox…
at a time.
From a BMW
Slower than snails, slower than slugs,
Holdens, Hondas, and Volkswagen bugs;
All crawling along in slow moving lanes
On the fast freeway, bypassed by the trains.
All of the views from the passenger seat
Flow as thick as treacle sweet;
And once in a while, when you nod off to sleep,
The guy behind you, his horn will beep.
There is a boy who’s desperate to pee
And he’s not by himself, there’s also me.
Here is a cafe; the sky’s getting dark,
There’s no way to stop, there’s nowhere to park.
Here is a cyclist, his bike flying past
Whizzing along, going so fast.
Here is another, and there’s one more,
I close my eyes, we’re stuck for sure.
apologies to R L Stevenson. (from a railway carriage)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cathy traded studying calculus for chakras and declared:
"Reality’s just a bourgeois hallucination, man."
Her boyfriend, Sky, nodded gravely,
adjusting glasses scotch-taped at the hinges.
They wore tie-dye shirts that bled in the rain,
their sandals re-soled with tire scraps.
Their van was a tin-can utopia:
mattress in back, protest signs up front.
Discussions were existential but brief:
“Is reality really reality?”
"Is the universe love, or just vibrating strings?"
They believed in everything except deodorant and 9-to-5s.
When the decade spun itself out,
these children of peace scattered like dandelion seeds—
some rooted, some withered,
their buses rusted quietly into earth’s embrace.
Where did their wildness go, their unshakeable faith?
Did it fade with tie-dye, the beads, and bell bottoms?
Did their revolution disappear with the music,
or did it simply find a new home?
The seeds they scattered, wild and untamed,
took root in unexpected places~
a gentler hand, a kinder word,
a questioning gaze at the status quo—
Sometimes, on a quiet evening,
the scent of rain on dry earth,
a song on the radio,
triggers memories of them~
I see them again, their faces illuminated,
leaning against a Volkswagen bus,
young and foolish and full of hope,
believing they could change everything.
Maybe, just maybe,
for a moment, we did.
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved