Car poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best car poems ever written. Read all poems about car.
Where is the Jim Crow section
On this merry-go-round,
Mister, cause I want to ride?
Down South where I come from
I was hoping to be happy by seventeen.
School was a sharp check mark in the roll book,
An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team
Was going to win at night. The teachers were
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
Last night I drove a car
not knowing how to drive
not owning a car
Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
So they bought you
And kept you in a
Very good home
I wake up in the morning and pull back the curtains, wide,
And look out through the window to view the world outside,
To see if the sky is blue or grey, sunny or with rain,
And see if the postman's on his way with letters that contain,
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
'The hot night makes us keep our bedroom windows open.
Our magnolia blossoms.Life begins to happen.
My hopped up husband drops his home disputes,
and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes,
Here on the Hard, you're welcome to pull up and stay;
there's a flat fee of a quid for parking all day.
And wandering over the dunes, who wouldn't die
Philip Le Barr,
Was knock down by a car,
On the road to Mandalay.
He was knocked down again
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'
O Venus, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
stuck in the rain on the freeway, 6:15 p.m.,
these are the lucky ones, these are the
dutifully employed, most with their radios on as loud
as possible as they try not to think or remember.
—he's a dandy
—usually sucking on a cigar
At ten AM the young housewife
moves about in negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband’s house.
I pass solitary in my car.
Down the road someone is practising scales,
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails,
Man's heart expands to tinker with his car
For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar;
That boy I took in the car last night,
With the body that awfully sagged away,
And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright,
And the poor hands folded and cold as clay --
This is a poetic eulogy to the outlaw Bonnie Parker.
Including here all the known poems associated with Bonnie,
To this day, the coolest car I've ever known was our Ford Falcon.
What I understand now, at the time could only feel, was what made this the coolest car ever—wasn't what the car was—but what my father made it become.
(in answer to Robin Camhee)
On a lovely Sunday morning you asked me to go with you
to do shopping at Carnival Mall in Brakpan,
'Give me a ticket,
Give me a ticket''
said an old man
in the railway
i have a car
you have a car
we have a car
Motor car Motor car
Dancing to different destinations
Car Lover- With The Eagerly Awaited Acquisition in my Assumption. Hardly Can I Wait When it
Becomes my Possession.
Jim Clowes had a red '53 Ford that looked terrible. The paint on the car was almost all gone, although there were still patches of paint mixed with patches of rust. The clunker was an unsightly quilt in their small town surrounded by family farms. Even in the Sixties, few people in this rural area had ever seen a car as rough as this one.
Jim had a small pension and couldn't afford a better car. He and his wife Emma would sit on the porch day after day in the summer talking about anything. Emma would use the hand fan that had Eagan Funeral Home on it to keep the flies away and to stir whatever breeze there was during the late summer.
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