Short Mechanic Poems
Short Mechanic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Mechanic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Mechanic by length and keyword.
i'm a mechanic for money.
i'm a poet for love.
i dont love money,
i hate it with passion.
i'm a poet writing love so
i am but a poem.
Last night, I dreamt I tried to run away
Til a mechanic —singing— made me stay
Though we never spoke
And then I awoke…
I wonder, what would I say?
Friends told me of some dude they trusted
But left out the part he was lusted
This mechanic, you see
Wanted to work on ME!
And I went home with tailpipe busted
Words are eating commas,
Phrases are eating the page
Pages are eating the parallel space
The end of Quantum Mechanic
Is reaching its absurdity
its maximum entropy
It is cold
I have to burn my journal.
Form:
A Fix Or Repair Daily was toted
Where Fix It Again Tony was noted
Trump's Tariff wars
Closed garage doors
So my Kick It Again got demoted.
a revolutionary
God made man
man made civilisation
civilisation from man
brought money
and that is the machine
of the world today
this machine is broken
it need a mechanic
that mechanic is
a revolutionary
Hey !
I want
To borrow
Your motor bike
I'll let you have all the bits back later.
Written 22nd September 2019
Picture number 4.
For make it five poetry contest
Sponsored by Joseph May.
To fix his son’s bike, a dad once sought
Mechanic does better, the son thought
But dad stripped it all
Yet the mechanic, son had to call
Which is which, who’d taught?
***
He is a mechanic
Repairing failed brakes
to help or to worsen
I know not
for many have fallen victims
in his act of mechanikism
the failed brake he repairs
but to second mission it
He wants it second missioned
but the result he reasons not
for life he thinks laughed
The car now bloody
Getting Frantic
My bro Wally just got pissed right off
Then he blew another gasket scoff
His face is getting ever so red, so red
Better stay away or you might get lead
I think he might not be much of a mechanic
My bro better quit for I don’t like seeing him get frantic.
Written: 4/27/14
Yvonne
doc. death gave him
two to six...weeks to
live
none of us believed it...
but within a month
the rough-edged
hard-drinking bus mechanic
turned from white to canary yellow...
and as he inhaled the last of life
an angel emerged from the mist
of his open water hopelessness
and whispered, "it's time to go, big fella".
One is a skater
One has an ego so high
One loves going to work
Another sleeps under the Alaskan sky
One is a mechanic
One smokes pot
Four live at home
That's not all I've got
One is a photographer
One has a dental degree
One lives back east
Another in Missouri
One is married
One just likes to drink
One wants to be a model
One loves to read and think
where is it?
the commonwealth games are on and i can't find it
my children have never seen it
they need to know what it is
they need to see everything -
including lawn bowls
i'm livid.
what they did miss,
was the mechanic loch ness monster
that was televised -
but not the bowls
i've listened to baseball on the radio
whilst washing the car -
it is euphoria.
Equal and Opposite
In stone, fruit, thought,
breaking free like fugitive drops,
from arrest to arrest,
gravity punishes inclination.
Mechanic, escarpment-teethed
it grinds the inconstant glass
of orbital fall, mental elipse,
until the motive light again
leaps up, and on, out,
over, in, and through
trailing like a spray
the bright scarf
of un-Newtonian surprise.
i bought a lawn mower from my neighbor
the grass is very tall
my cat loves to run around in there
it hasn’t worked since
my neighbor is a lawn mower mechanic
he works far away
he doesn’t have a cat
the grass is still very tall
i wonder if i should buy another mower
i’ve not had good karma from such a device
maybe i will ask my neighbors advice
my cat avoids the neighbor
Marriage is not a boat
rowing gently down the stream
It is a family car
that for years and years
surprisingly passed the MOT
The mechanic looks worried
asks carefully about
the possible possibility
of a new model
But you shake no
see you next year
we still like our ride
we do not care
about an extra rattle now and then
Fill her up with super plus
because we still have a long way to go
Got three minutes,
gotta think fast,
hope this poem
won't be my last.
I wish I could cheat,
instead of writing
from the bottom
of my seat.
More time to go,
I must write fast,
not slow.
I'm in a panic.
My brain needs
a mechanic.
Why do this to me, Matt?
I think you are
a dirty rat!
Oh I'm sorry,
not what I meant -
wait, I'm good -
I still haven't sent.
Bing!
Big metal machine print boxes.
Sell gene altered-mega hit wonders.
A bone from the plunder.
ORGY-DRINK-PARTY- and wonders.
Target that fool good.
Mechanic under the hood.
BUT - I want to be an author.
BEND-FOLD-SPINDLE-conform.
Write this - our seller mold.
COSMIC big brother PEOPLE.
They only think our way.
THE END
1/22/2007 from 8HOP.com
[site crashed] POEWHIT
JESUS SAVES
Yeah, I hawk caught you baby ...
you’re only blind mice tricking yourself
Got those guilty thoughts lately,
trying to pin the blame on someone else
Contrary to your popular mechanic wench misconception,
the worry warts are showing all your flinch imperfections
And the crooked motor design used to lip move your lying,
needed a dummy behind the will to avert the truth prying
all-ways
a worlds reality be
a mental perspective as and of...
a four dimensional world
but
beyond that reality be
better views of the inside and outside of...
buttressing frameworks that support those 4d worlds
that
their existence is as doors to be
there as access entry to a five dimensional now of...
their existence and where-in one may mechanic their own 4d world
stan sand
Dickering aches December me,
tragedy squeaks in knotted knees.
Banana back bent in the sack,
paddywack foot arches
bone of a moan,
no bounce in this frozen morn.
Non-elastic, erratically rheumatic,
I need a mechanic, a spanner
to wrench upon
this brainless stammer,
this dither and shiver
or spark plugs to electrify
an out-of-tune mind
as it circles
behind
a reluctantly thawing
eye.
The curfew of the liver - long gone.
The crowd - drunk, delusional, blank.
We were driving, standing still or worse -
both at the same time.
Howl time, bone time, penetration time
ticking slowly in shadows' breaths.
The war will never be over and
we finally get it.
A soul transplant,
an euthanasia of disfunctional dreams.
Do you still hear the crowd?
These mechanic voices of your mothers.
They whisper:
Shoot.
You can tax a mechanic
On the business he's got
Till he can't buy his tools
And he closes his shop
You can hold-up a ship-write
And be a sailor at sea
But you can't stop a poet
The poets are free
If you fine politicians
Watch the diplomat run
He would start a petition
With the flick of his tongue
You can't stop an expression
If it's not for the fee
The poets are strong
Because the poets are free
I think time far more
than seconds and hours
we agree
more than mere ticks and mechanic
like tocks --
more than the folding/unfolding
our precious seasons
rhythmic dark and light of a planet's
fickle-turning --
Time is opportunity
to wise and share
to heal hearts then
and those newly broken --
Time, at its best, should be written,
read and lyrically spoken --
Time, divinely expressed~ is poetry --
He was a mechanic who sold illegal drugs. His nickname was Snowman. There was warmth in his eyes despite his moniker. There wasn’t a high he couldn’t supply or a ride he couldn’t repair. Despite his humble beginnings, time in the penitentiary, Snowman was a genius with machines. A doctorate’s degree in life and machines, only certified by the streets of north Davidson.
snowman eyes of coal
winter life froze carrot nose
gentrified bulldozed