Motor(A) Poems - Poems about Motor(A)

uptight

Your Choice T Poetry Contest: Sponsored by Brian Strand (April/May 2025)

all time classic soul
music from a poor man’s son
turn that volume up
for the motor city sound
now everything is alright

Motor Mouth Clyde

the new employee was a walking cartoon
opening his mouth proved he was a buffoon
would have seemed wiser if he could have kept quiet
said the weirdest things, thought he was a riot

we ran from the lunchroom as soon as we spied
the exaggerator, who made up things, and always lied.
Did we ever give him a chance? Yes

Enduro Cliff Motor Biking

One nerve-wracking race
Is motor bike cliff climbing
Grand finesse with grace.

The wind is swirling in the Tree: Harley Davison motor bike riders are coming to town

The sun is melting at a hundred and five degrees and the wind is swirling in the trees, the petals are opening wide in the skies and the motorcycles are rolling by. Hundreds of them in line rolling down the street in a similar pattern and they are riding in an orderly fashion, men and

when the motor cut

the skiff chugs along
toward the end of the lake
where the tall peaks rise

snowcapped mountains ripple
across a backwash

an eagle
glides in a blue distance

a red and yellow float
mirrors itself
below the surface

one silvery fish slipping 
under
a deeply swimming sun

no way to catch that

Odor's Motor

   Fine scent
     Suave gent

   Wad spent
      Descent

A Motor Park In Nigeria

Here, the word I drop for Travelers “Hark!”
Where offended driver begins to bark:
“Why should you there your Stupid Volvo park?”
The bared teeth of speaker those of a shark;
If he sank them in one’s flesh the same mark,
Now cursing one, next singing like a lark…

Hurry not if destination is Park,
Not the Amusements, I mean: Motor Park!
Where

A Little Motor Inside Me

I pointed to a little motor inside me
  My teacher shook her head
Said, 'No such thing, no such name'
  Left her classroom burning with shame

All the same I heard it a-whirring and purring
  Directing my footsteps, so reassuring
Though not on a path my teacher would like
  I felt it touch my

Motor

Motor

O grande motor da vida
é o sonho,...Sempre 
que uma pessoa sonha 
o mundo pula 
como bola colorida 
nas mãos de uma criança.

O sonho 
é batom,
é espuma, 
é fermento, 
bichinho 
de focinho pontudo, 
que fossa através de tudo 
num perpétuo movimento
de fazer mais e mais.

Motor Home News and Blues

An abode you can drive down a road is a trip,
but the learning curve’s steep. It’s a help to be rich,
strong, and good with your hands (for things often go wrong
that you will not expect). All support’s a trip too:
fun can stop for repairs - your transmission goes out
at some watering hole where you’re barely

Cowboy Shooters On Motor Scooters

[Just a little note to help maintain the peace on Soup.          
To cause no animosity among our friendly group
I myself am partial to some tasty asian food 
I hope you’ll see my tale as fun and not just think me rude

And also for the rest of

Burn Rubber

As I get older I’m taking a liking
To relive my youth and go motor biking 
To pull back the throttle and kick down the gear
And tear up the highway, just like yesteryear
My hair flowing free as I ride without care
My wife put me straight, ‘You ain’t got any hair.’

I told her there’s one thing that

Motor Home

This new invention was very unique.
Both evil and efficient it solved a few problems.
It’s the mobile death van.

They’re nothing special to look at.

A normal paddy wagon based on a minibus.
Unmarked with a house of horrors inside.
21st Century style with electric bed, push button drugs and CCTV.

Several companies make them and dozens are in use.

It’s all

The Curse of a Motor Mower

They’re motives of the weekend - they’re a gardener’s saving grace,
buzzing up and down and ‘round and ‘round cleaning up the place.
There’s nothing like the latest smell of a freshly mown down lawn,
once you ease a hiccup which can cause a heap of scorn. 

You can bet your bottom dollar when the clouds build up

When the Motor Cut

The outboard chugged along 
toward the end of the lake
where the tall peaks were.

When the motor cut, all was still.
Then snowcapped mountains 
began to rise-up from the lake;
eagles flew under our hull.

Imagine staring at your float,
humped like a heron over the bow
while a panoramic sky 
moved under your boots.
Imagine Rainbow trout
sailing around the sun.

No way

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