Short Junkyard Poems
Short Junkyard Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Junkyard by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Junkyard by length and keyword.
decayed junkyard swarms-
disgusted maggots noise
Created on 11/18/14 for- “One Broken Monoku” – Poetry Contest
Some look for love
in a book
in a colorful card --
in a bar
in a junkyard:
I realized late
in life
that love had
already found me
unlocked the love
inside of me….
Space debris is rife
Collisional cascading
Junkyard in orbit
When these bits collide
Eventuality is
Ablation cascade
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/space.php
I'm just a junkyard dog.
Old scars tell my story.
I'm left water and scraps.
Alone in the dark I sleep
and dream of a better life
and love with es
I smell beyond fences.
Love is just out of reach.
There once was a fellow named Fred
Who owned quite a large junkyard spread
With Grady he was chummy
But Lamomt was big dummy
Aunt Esther he always did dread
4-1-2022
TV Show: Sanford And Son
They like
This man
Who I am today, but
This old junkyard
Brings back
All my past
I am not perfect
Not it at all
I killed a man
With my bare hands
What redemption exist in a man
Lord, I put it all in your hands
A white cat rummaging junkyard
Paws out a fish skeleton
Looks at the hollow eyes
Meows twice and
Walks away waving its tail
In the way you did
On a ramp
Dragging a mink
After staring at me
With murderous eyes
A long time ago
Form:
coyotes howl
desert comes alive at night
I shiver
rats shaking tin cans
junkyard comes alive at night
I cringe
wild zombies dance
graveyard comes alive at night
I turn tail
screaming bobcats
woods come alive at night
I run like mad
The innocence is transfusing
and overturning
the goat skin drums
children of the mills,
children of the junkyard,
alone,
and savaging
and we keep filling them with
mercury, nitrate, espestice, baby bombs
blasted out of their shaved heads
scared,
and foraging
Salvage yards hand me down
throttle starters transmission brawls
Clutch drive spent wheels ravages
Four-wheel drive, five-speed Savages,
all this going on in the Salvage junkyard tow yard
Just 500 feet from the freeway?
2/21/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2022©
Ye old jalopy of the junkyard
spiffed up
with spinning tires
hydroplaning of the weather vane
no ejection seat
no buckle to fumble
open air
hit from behind
the child held with grandma’s wrought iron arms
grandpa’s at the pearly gates
chooses lemon-lime
7/8/2018
She grasped the dinosaur thoughts,
holding on like a junkyard dog,
til the light came,
in a pre dawn dream,
through an archangel,
who walked up the rigorous and sparsely landscaped path
at a crossroads,
where the churning and ancient mental acrobats could not climb,
so she followed.
Junkyard cat
escaping every human
climbing over Plymouths and Dodges,
Hiding in rusty jalopies
that used to carry Grandpas
to potential grandma’s for courting.
Junkyard cat
slinking in and out
Hoping an old woman
will take pity and leave food
She rarely does
Thinking that might
Curb your mousing
Mythical Myra lived in my mind
She was my bestie – lovely and kind
A terrific listener when I had to unwind
Giving me honest suggestions, not easy to find
A wonderful secret, enjoyable to keep
She usually conversed during deep sleep
In my dream, drove a classy Barbie-like jeep
The kind never found in a junkyard heap
Mythical Myra lived in my mind
She was my bestie – lovely and kind
A terrific listener when I had to unwind
Giving me honest suggestions, not easy to find
A wonderful secret, enjoyable to keep
She usually conversed during deep sleep
In my dream, drove a classy Barbie-like jeep
The kind never found in a junkyard heap
Autumn fell away suddenly
snow came
to kiss the ground gently
then it laid down to sleep.
The mornings are wet now,
trees shiver naked
in a junkyard wind, running
unchained.
Hot black coffee means much more
now that daylight lingers late,
the dark brew in the mug
takes longer to awaken,
it has to dream on a little.
the shamegasket…
sealed to its shame
pounding pistons
steam-hiss-bang
don’t let go
won’t let go
polymer of repression
weakening, yielding…
No!
slam-whish-clang
drive-control-wield
must…hold
can’t…help me…oh no
letting…go…now
yes, that’s it
Blow! Blow! Blow!
oil-stained junkyard
slowly spinning
slanted yellow moon
mocks twisted hearts
The Call…
Pain answered the call
you never returned;
Happiness took a dive—fell
into a junkyard of despair—leaving;
Left a broken heart behind
With
Streaming threads of tears through eyes
of rusty needles of grief
to mend itself—
And you have the audacity:
(to ask)
What’s love got to do with you and me!
Picture a junkyard in your mind
a weed infested field covered with rusting hulls
that once were dear
to someone
some met with violent ends
wrecked in the prime of their lives
others were simply cast aside
no longer needed
or wanted
superimpose a homeless shelter
over the scene of the junkyard
how strange
they overlap and become
the same
Form:
Amy the tier-one junkyard cat upends
When her ‘I don’t care’ cattitude offends
She stalks, strikes, then eats
Has no time for treats
Mice used to be fast food but now are friends
Sputnik the panther jungle cat has fun
Laughing as all the humans try to run
Some run as fast they can
Some stop to make a stand
Either way their denouement has begun
She took a bit of this and a bit of that
Things from the junkyard of Uncle Matt
Put them together and made a giant thing
A lynx, I think said my Cousin Zing
It was a lynx, or a puma or possibly a bobcat.
I was intrigued by this sculpture from junkyard Matt
Zing, I said, it is amazing, unique, clever and phat!
It is amazing that she created it out of this and that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The crows lift like burnt paper prayers.
the last sun licks a gutted Chevy~
its chrome ribs still singing.
Somewhere in the background,
a radio coughs static hymns
into the gathering dark.
poem written in fond remembrance of Allison Jones, family friend and junkyard owner, fondly nicknamed Junk Yard Dog.
Bygone youth carelessly spent
Damaged goods years of torment
Guiltless heart cruelly scarred
Abandoned in junkyard charred
Spent days wasted nights crying
Torment focused on dying
Scarred and marred deep to the bone
Charred wishes on a moonstone
AP: 1st place 2025, 2nd place 2025
Submitted on March 9, 2019 to contest JUEJU-QUIJUE WITH A TWIST sponsored by CHARLES MESSINA - RANKED 1ST
I carry a spring deep within my pocket
once a child's toy
I hold it close and reminisce on his warmth
a warmth now long gone
A smile appears as I hear the laughter
permeate my mind
and remember the electric train tooting
and crashing down the line
For a junkyard there had to be, a pile,
wreckage, beside the line
he is gone now - away
a memory today
and I carry his spring in my pocket and smile
A pouting pooch whose boisterous barks
are uttered in superlatives
laying claim to unwarranted
importance
due to an overbearing pride.
Strip him of his diamond studded
collar, not to mention his badly groomed coat
reveals a Manhattan cur:
a junkyard dog
who’d sooner attack innocence
than those bent on his destruction.
Fear not people! For his bark is worse
than his bite
The Donald thrives on attention.