Hot Rod Poetry

[23crate]

Originally Posted by MercuryMac

You brought back memories, Crate. My cousin Doug and I grew up together and we could have been the guys in your car. Doug would have been the guy roaring over the raised bridge gap, ---- and I would have been the guy in the back with the unheard voice of reason, holding on to everything.
We were very different, Doug and me, but we got along well, because, without his wild grandiose dreams, I would have had no life. And without me injecting some logic and reason in once in a while, he wouldn't have had a very long life.
Thank you for the poem, Crate.

hahahaaha people like that make for a good world !! the driver and i carried doing crazy things ... the rear seat guy .. we lost touch with him not too long after that .although he did get into local drag racing scene joining the club for several years

. finally thanks Mac,, glad you enjoyed it !!

thanks Soltz..,

[bob w]

It brought back memories for me too, crate.

1958. Around midnight. 1957 Olds 88. Ed's Daddy's Car. Going about as fast as it would go. My girlfriend of the moment and I in the back seat. Dark country black top road. Stop sign ahead. Too late. We hit the high crown cross road at speed and did a "Dukes of Hazard" launch.
No seat belts. On the rebound my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend hit her head on the rear window garnish molding and almost went to sleep.
No beer was spilled.

Thank you for posting. Your poem was fun.

[lazarat]

The story by bob and the poem by crate
trying to fly when at night and late
reminds me of things that make me lose breath
...how the hell did we escape death...

[MercuryMac]

Good one Laz.

[bob w]

This one isn't for everyone. In fact, if Tripper thinks it doesn't belong, it won't bother me if it is deleted.

Happy

I try to be happy, but I find I am sad.
The world, like a rotten apple, is going bad.

Turn on the radio to get the news.
Nothing good, I get the blues.

Working in the shop all day and night.
Just to stay away from it, it gives me a fright.

Eventually I go to bed.
A song by the Gratefull Dead.

Keeps playing in my head.
Then another song that I dread.

Jim Morrison comes through a Door.
"The End" echoes in my dream, torments me some more.

I awake from sleep but get little rest.
Knowing the world is going through a test.

A little blue coat, little blue boots.
Along side a mother in a soiled grey suit.

Lying in the street, blood trickling down a drain.
These are the images coming from Ukraine.

Into the shop, get my mind off thinking.
God, why did I ever stop drinking?

Building a hot rod is pretty good therapy.
But it can't blunt the images that my mind can see.

Can't help it, I'm filled with guilt.
People are dying, still my hot rod gets built.

Lunch with buddies, I try to be convivial.
My hot rod passion, right now, seems so trivial.

Back in the shop, I give it another try.
Don't look now, you might see a grown man cry.

[smallfoot]

[DozerII]

I agree,

[soltz]

Good job bob
I been angry since day one

[BillM]

Well said Bob. You've summed up my thoughts perfectly....

[lazarat]

I was going to write a poem to say,
that I feel exactly the same way
but this poem I would cleverly write
for this forum it may not be right

I rhymed war and the final tribulation
with the rising price at the gas station
and many more, yes I did rhyme
like the rise in food prices as well as crime

But for now I will eat my Wendy's egg biscuit
.....and figure out my front disc kit
Yes it came yesterday, so something to do
I am keeping the faith, we all should too