Short Motorist Poems
Short Motorist Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Motorist by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Motorist by length and keyword.
We drive on the left
park in the driveway
and walk on the pavement
over here in the good old U.K.
They drive on the right
and on the parkway
also the pavement
over there in the U.S. of A.
It could be confusing to motorist
and pedestrian alike,
so where should we go
when riding a bike?
Texting whilst driving
Should not be a crime
I've got me a truck
That stops on a dime
I steer with my knees
Now isn't that cool?
Good God Almighty
Just look at that fool
Driving straight at me
And texting away
We're going to crash
And ruin my day
Hold on a second
Life just isn't fair!
I'm ending this text
On a wing and a prayer . . . .
The darkness shatters with an array of color. Brilliant
reds, oranges and yellows reaching out of the torches to
lick the blackness off the trees. Animals running to
escape searing messages from people who have since
hidden away. Another few thousand acres destroyed
because the dried Autumn leaves were used as an
ashtray for a passing motorist.
His old house is crumbling away..Speed- aged by a motorist..I do not make any play.'
Its on the register of old English buildings at risk.'
Estimates at dollars sixteen million to fix
Such very old sticks.' Which i think is exessive as
Its only built light' beams laths and clay tiles
Foundations rather slim, on average only nine
Inches, the earth deep in.' so that cost
i see as really
Grim, nearly as obverblown? as is great appreciation of him."
In life,
Avarice,
In the rise,
Even for a plate of rice!
A poor to rich,
A rich to more rich,
To enrich,
A walker to cyclist,
A cyclist to motorist,
To enlist,
Avarice,
In the rise,
Taking the Sky up wise,
In a home of some souls,
One to hold all,
In a soil of whole,
One to hold all,
Avarice in the rise like the night mice,
Over the trees where crows portion their,their piece,
Robbing Peters should not be the case!
Dame’s Rockets grow atop her grave:
Pinks, whites and purples flourish here
in this cemetery enclave
where no one has visit in years.
Her oblique, weatherworn headstone
stands aside a nearby roadside
hidden amid weeds, unbeknown
to motorist who pass where she lies.
An effortful deciphering
failed to clarify her birth year
Born April first [obscured] in spring
Died forgotten this much is clear
except for these fragrant bouquets
that perfume above her grave today.