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Poems On / About CAR  12/1/2015 3:53:55 PM
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Traffic Jam

The sun has risen, the world is new,
The sky has a new shade of blue.
Under this vast open what do we see?
I am sure it's something that'll make you flee.
Cars over here, cars over there,
Every morning I see the never-ending queue of cars around me,
Trying to fly away, trying to be free.
I look into the cars and the people inside,
Some of them mad with this frustrating ride.
Some cars have old people with their serious looks,
Most of them reading newspaper or books.
And there are those other teenagers around,
Who are angry and impatient with the honking and sound.
I see some small children going to school in uniform,
Dozing off happily, dreaming of Jerry and Tom.
I too wait in this never-ending mess,
Which increases my already high stress.
The new world presents me with this every day,
I bear it because this traffic jam, for hours will stay.
Wini Jose

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What I Own

I have myself a car and I own my own house
But, no longer am I married, so I have myself no spouse,
My car takes fuel and my house always takes repairs
The spouse took my heart which left me broke with despairs.

My car gives me transportation to where I need to go
The house gives me shelter from the wind and the snow,
My spouse went with me nowhere, and she always cold
Too bad she couldn't be repaired, or traded in, or even sold.

When my car has no fuel it cannot move it refuses to run
If I didn't own a house, I wouldn't be protected from nature or the sun,
Without having a spouse I feel not needy or contrive 
So, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart; I happily will survive.

Fuel is in my cars fuel tank and my house is fully repaired
For a cold long winter or a long or short trip I am ready and prepared,
I still have no spouse, but I know I could always do worse
I could be broke and living in a tent, and be driven in the back of a hearse.

Randy L. McClave
Randy McClave

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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 218

I stand outside all night cos you wont put me away
My silver body work is a grim kind of grey
You drive me miles and miles every single day
It’s not much fun being your car

You rev too much, burning oil every mile
Keeping on going really is a trial
All I ask is a service once in a while
It’s not much fun being your car

You haven’t cleaned me inside or out for years
When you’re in a hurry you start to grind my gears
If I whine up goes your music so you’re not one who hears
It’s not much fun being your car

You have me roaring down the motorway again
Through the wind and grit and dirt and fumes and rain
Being used so carelessly really is a pain
It’s not much fun being your car

But one day on the road my engine will just die
And you’ll have to wait out in the rain til help comes by
And when the mechanic starts me I will work first try
I can have some fun being your car
Flying Lemming

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Box Car Harry

The railroad dick looked straight at him, eyes unwavering, beady-eyed, menacing, and Harry counted his change to see if there was enough for a bribe; searched his thoughts for an escape route, but he was not as young as he used to be and the dick was young, legs like a deer.

He tussled Barney’s hair and said:

“Go there in that thar car and wait for me, got to dump the dick. Wait for my whistle.”
Barney looked up him hesitantly and Harry stammered hoarsely

“Go! ”

Barney scrambled on all fours the way Harry had taught him and quickly disappeared under cover of the dark Chicago night.

Always, the dick against the Bos, the rich against the poor was Harry’s thought, been that way since her was born, the wanders, the lose, the lose people on the road trying to find an odd job and a meal, against the railroad fat cats trying to exterminate the railroad people, who what was just trying to get by.

Harry held his breath and told himself to concentrate and finally turned back to the dick and showed himself, full on so as the dick could get a good look at him. The dick wide-eyed and incredulous stared hard at Harry surprised by the brazenness of the tramp and stood stock still for a moment, prey in the eyes of the predator.

Harry swayed a little left and then a little right like a running back taunting the linebacker, which way boy, am I going to bolt, which way is the question. Harry feinted a dash to the right and the dick crouched right ready for the chase, Harry smiled and then feinted to the left, testing the dick’s reflexes. The dick danced to the left enjoying the thrilling moment before the chase.

Harry guessed Barney had had time to secure himself in the car and then dashed straight toward the dick, who was thoroughly surprised and steeled himself for what he thought would be a crash between the two men. But Harry at the last minute slanted right allowing the dick to remain close behind but not enough to lay hand on him.

He headed for track 13 for the Great Northern line car.
The dick was breathing behind him; Harry could hear his labored breaths, close enough but not close enough to grab, what was what Harry wanted.

He hit the Northern line yard and saw number 13 looming. The dick was laughing behind him yelping with the sheer joy of it all, feeling he had Harry cornered because the Northern lot was a closed in one, a big wall in the back, a closed station and of course cars, most closed.

But Harry was aiming toward 13 and left up into the car and waited for the dick to catch up and see him. Harry looked down at the man’s heaving chest smiling his best Harry smile.

To be Continued
Lonnie Hicks

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Poems On / About CAR