05snopro440
Well-known member
Good one Bob!
Hot Rod Poetry
- Thread starter bob w
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MercuryMac
Builder Junky!
What Soltz said.
Good one Bob.
Good one Bob.
BillM
Well-known member
My daughter gave me this poem she had written for Christmas. I apologize for the quality of the photo, it's framed and behind glass so I had a hell of a time trying to get a decent picture of it. She and her brother were home for a visit in the summer (they both live about 90 min away in Toronto). I had taken them out for a ride in the Thriftmaster and she wrote this after the ride. I guess it's not really about a hot rod, but certainly inspired by one. To explain - their mother and I divorced about 20 years ago, and then she passed away in 2015. I remarried so i also have 3 step kids now.
Attachments
bob w
Still crazy after all these years!
Bill, thank you so much for sharing. Beautiful.
smallfoot
He's rockin' the "Nuttin Special"!
That is cool! I would have framed that too...
soltz
The Rat Captain
Very nice!! Thanks for sharing [cl
MercuryMac
Builder Junky!
Very touching, Bill. Thank her for us. Thank you for sharing it.
DozerII
Well-known member
Very good poem Bill, I would imagine it brought a tear your eye as it did to mine.
bob w
Still crazy after all these years!
Cruising
Worked hard all day, sweat dripping from my body.
Cooler now, feeling kinda hot roddy.
My roadster is sitting under that big maple tree.
"Come take me for a ride." It's calling to me.
A siren's call I can't resist.
Turn the key with a twist of the wrist.
The mill barks to life with a bit of smoke.
The flathead has power and that's no joke.
Been driving the roadster for 30 odd years.
A little blue smoke won't cause me any fears.
Shift into first, the gears mesh so sweet.
The '39 Ford tranny is old but it's neat.
Down the driveway and turn to the right.
Got plenty of hours before it is night.
Up the hill heading for the stop sign.
I can hear the quick change with it's familiar whine.
Downshift, the rapping pipes sound super.
Yikes! on the shoulder sits a state trooper.
No prob, I recognize officer Mel.
He has louder pipes on his big block Chevelle.
I drive past my daughter's house and it makes me sad.
A while ago we had words and now we're both mad.
Can't worry about it this is a joy ride.
But sometimes the emotions you just can't hide.
A couple miles farther and we're out of town.
So beautiful out here that I lose my frown.
Some of my grandkids went to that little brick school.
That's where they learned "The Golden Rule."
All grown up now, from my life they are gone.
Maybe they'll come see me before too long.
I just went by the Smith brother's farm.
They must have 20 hot rods in that red barn.
Through the years they've had a bit of bad luck.
Hit 12 does, a fat sow and a 12 point buck.
Lots of twists and turns in this old road.
My hot rod is humming, it can handle the load.
Up ahead is the Blacksmith Lounge.
At the swap meets there I love to scrounge.
Lots of shows there in the summer.
Never won a trophy but that's not a bummer.
Visiting old friends and telling a joke.
That's the fun for this old bloke.
Twenty miles farther to the west.
Was where my grandparents farm was, they were the best.
There I spent the summers of my youth.
Raising turkeys, loved it to tell ya the truth.
Stories about Grandpa say he was violent and mad.
To me he was golden, better than a dad.
It was there I learned of hard work and thrift.
For me it was a most important gift.
The farm is long gone and so are they.
Hope to see them again some day.
I point the roadster to the northeast.
She's running fine, such a gentle beast.
Ahead behind all the commercial devastation.
Is a little graveyard, my next destination.
This is where Grandma and Grandpa now reside.
I pay my respects, but my sadness I can't hide.
Heading home on those dusty gravel roads.
The warm air, trees, the wild flowers, the frogs and the toads.
The beauty around me gives me reason.
To enjoy once again the roadster driving season.
I'm happy, I'm sad, but not looking for sympathy.
I accept that my life is a bittersweet symphony.
Worked hard all day, sweat dripping from my body.
Cooler now, feeling kinda hot roddy.
My roadster is sitting under that big maple tree.
"Come take me for a ride." It's calling to me.
A siren's call I can't resist.
Turn the key with a twist of the wrist.
The mill barks to life with a bit of smoke.
The flathead has power and that's no joke.
Been driving the roadster for 30 odd years.
A little blue smoke won't cause me any fears.
Shift into first, the gears mesh so sweet.
The '39 Ford tranny is old but it's neat.
Down the driveway and turn to the right.
Got plenty of hours before it is night.
Up the hill heading for the stop sign.
I can hear the quick change with it's familiar whine.
Downshift, the rapping pipes sound super.
Yikes! on the shoulder sits a state trooper.
No prob, I recognize officer Mel.
He has louder pipes on his big block Chevelle.
I drive past my daughter's house and it makes me sad.
A while ago we had words and now we're both mad.
Can't worry about it this is a joy ride.
But sometimes the emotions you just can't hide.
A couple miles farther and we're out of town.
So beautiful out here that I lose my frown.
Some of my grandkids went to that little brick school.
That's where they learned "The Golden Rule."
All grown up now, from my life they are gone.
Maybe they'll come see me before too long.
I just went by the Smith brother's farm.
They must have 20 hot rods in that red barn.
Through the years they've had a bit of bad luck.
Hit 12 does, a fat sow and a 12 point buck.
Lots of twists and turns in this old road.
My hot rod is humming, it can handle the load.
Up ahead is the Blacksmith Lounge.
At the swap meets there I love to scrounge.
Lots of shows there in the summer.
Never won a trophy but that's not a bummer.
Visiting old friends and telling a joke.
That's the fun for this old bloke.
Twenty miles farther to the west.
Was where my grandparents farm was, they were the best.
There I spent the summers of my youth.
Raising turkeys, loved it to tell ya the truth.
Stories about Grandpa say he was violent and mad.
To me he was golden, better than a dad.
It was there I learned of hard work and thrift.
For me it was a most important gift.
The farm is long gone and so are they.
Hope to see them again some day.
I point the roadster to the northeast.
She's running fine, such a gentle beast.
Ahead behind all the commercial devastation.
Is a little graveyard, my next destination.
This is where Grandma and Grandpa now reside.
I pay my respects, but my sadness I can't hide.
Heading home on those dusty gravel roads.
The warm air, trees, the wild flowers, the frogs and the toads.
The beauty around me gives me reason.
To enjoy once again the roadster driving season.
I'm happy, I'm sad, but not looking for sympathy.
I accept that my life is a bittersweet symphony.
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DozerII
Well-known member
[cl[cl[cl[cl Awesome Bob
smallfoot
He's rockin' the "Nuttin Special"!
Bob, you see things more clearly than most....
soltz
The Rat Captain
Another job well done [cl
Thanks for sharing [P
Thanks for sharing [P
MercuryMac
Builder Junky!
You made me think, Bob.
Thank you.
Thank you.
bob w
Still crazy after all these years!
Spring
I heard my first Cardinal sing.
Is this a sign of spring?
Walking down the road and all around.
Two feet of snow still on the ground.
There are signs that winter is losing its grip.
Snow melting turning to ice, gotta be careful I don't slip.
And break a hip.
That seems to be what old guys do.
Or lately, get the Covid Flu.
That young Red Bird has a pure sound.
Hopes to get a girl bird to hang around.
This might sound a bit corny.
That handsome fella is probably horny.
Supposed to learn about the birds and bees.
Never figured out how birds do it, if you please.
Actually, I'm not all that curious.
Too much information make me delirious.
Another sign of coming Spring.
Is the big red ball, you know, the thing.
Seems to be getting earlier every day.
Warming the air with a golden ray.
Feeling quite jaunty, do I dare?
Walk the dog without my long underwear.
The birdsong and the bright early sun.
Enliven me, want to have some fun.
Forge a path through the snow.
To the storage shed is where I go.
Into the shed, through the door.
Sits my hot rods, could be four or maybe more.
For an old guy that's absurd.
Gonna have to thin the herd.
Invested quite a bit in car covers.
A small price to pay for us hot rod lovers
Rolled a cover back and there she sits.
The Anglia's got some scratches and pits.
She's my baby, she was the first.
Sha ain't the prettiest but she ain't the worst.
I sit in my baby and turn the key.
She grumbles, "It's too cold, let me be".
Stumbles at first then begins to purr.
50 years with the old girl went by with a blur.
Me and my Anglia got lots of history.
How much more? Have to wait and see.
But I know that I'm blessed for every new Spring
That I get to hear the first Cardinal sing.
I heard my first Cardinal sing.
Is this a sign of spring?
Walking down the road and all around.
Two feet of snow still on the ground.
There are signs that winter is losing its grip.
Snow melting turning to ice, gotta be careful I don't slip.
And break a hip.
That seems to be what old guys do.
Or lately, get the Covid Flu.
That young Red Bird has a pure sound.
Hopes to get a girl bird to hang around.
This might sound a bit corny.
That handsome fella is probably horny.
Supposed to learn about the birds and bees.
Never figured out how birds do it, if you please.
Actually, I'm not all that curious.
Too much information make me delirious.
Another sign of coming Spring.
Is the big red ball, you know, the thing.
Seems to be getting earlier every day.
Warming the air with a golden ray.
Feeling quite jaunty, do I dare?
Walk the dog without my long underwear.
The birdsong and the bright early sun.
Enliven me, want to have some fun.
Forge a path through the snow.
To the storage shed is where I go.
Into the shed, through the door.
Sits my hot rods, could be four or maybe more.
For an old guy that's absurd.
Gonna have to thin the herd.
Invested quite a bit in car covers.
A small price to pay for us hot rod lovers
Rolled a cover back and there she sits.
The Anglia's got some scratches and pits.
She's my baby, she was the first.
Sha ain't the prettiest but she ain't the worst.
I sit in my baby and turn the key.
She grumbles, "It's too cold, let me be".
Stumbles at first then begins to purr.
50 years with the old girl went by with a blur.
Me and my Anglia got lots of history.
How much more? Have to wait and see.
But I know that I'm blessed for every new Spring
That I get to hear the first Cardinal sing.
Last edited:
soltz
The Rat Captain
Once agin a great job Bob, thanks [cl
bob w
Still crazy after all these years!
Thank you soltz for you comment. I really appreciate it.
Since the poem was posted March first, the thread has had over 250 views.
At most poetry readings a person is lucky to get 5 friends and relatives, a couple would be poet/critics and a hungover guy looking for the local AA meeting.
Since the poem was posted March first, the thread has had over 250 views.
At most poetry readings a person is lucky to get 5 friends and relatives, a couple would be poet/critics and a hungover guy looking for the local AA meeting.
Nice work Bob
lazarat
Well-known member
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2018
- Messages
- 657
I heard there is a bar somewhere in my town that does open mic. Kinda think that would be fun.
lazarat
Well-known member
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2018
- Messages
- 657
Stories to tell
I have stories to tell.
try to put to a rhyme
Hard to do, takes editing
not enough time
Yet here I am,
on the keyboard I punch
I might have something,
maybe by lunch
I once told here about a crime
A murder no one heard
because hot rods started up
just as the crime occurred
Then there was the pizza story
what fun making money
delivering pizza in my rat rod truck
as I try to make these funny.
I told of the 55 Olds, that
me and freinds pushed
all day through the neighborhood
until we were bushed
well I have more,
not all involve rods
but crazy enough
to hope to get nods
Yes, another murder, and shootings
I was on local news
twice in one year!
by the same camera crews.
Both happened very close to my home
Plus a girl I took on a date
was found strangled, a week later
I was questioned into late.
Then there was my heart attack
A crazy ambulance ride
where I was locked in the ambulance
and where I almost died
But the one I have been writing
I call the Charger from hell
is one that is taking time
its a long one to tell
It involves a car that was too fast
for my buddy to handle
It was soon to become
the neighborhood scandal
From college kids in a Mustang
to accidents, an outlaw biker bar fight
To the college kid that had to have it
no matter its plight
And plight it did have
the kid still bought it
even driving it away
with a back seat full of vomit.
But! I divulge too much
and I still need to tell,
this crazy four week story
of the Charger from hell
So I ask, dear reader
what would you like to hear
...and in what format?
story, poem, as lunch time grows near
So please let me know,
car show time also grows near
and I am still in heaven
with my new 327
So instead of finishing that poem/story
I write out this tease
a poem about poems
...enjoy if you please!
I have stories to tell.
try to put to a rhyme
Hard to do, takes editing
not enough time
Yet here I am,
on the keyboard I punch
I might have something,
maybe by lunch
I once told here about a crime
A murder no one heard
because hot rods started up
just as the crime occurred
Then there was the pizza story
what fun making money
delivering pizza in my rat rod truck
as I try to make these funny.
I told of the 55 Olds, that
me and freinds pushed
all day through the neighborhood
until we were bushed
well I have more,
not all involve rods
but crazy enough
to hope to get nods
Yes, another murder, and shootings
I was on local news
twice in one year!
by the same camera crews.
Both happened very close to my home
Plus a girl I took on a date
was found strangled, a week later
I was questioned into late.
Then there was my heart attack
A crazy ambulance ride
where I was locked in the ambulance
and where I almost died
But the one I have been writing
I call the Charger from hell
is one that is taking time
its a long one to tell
It involves a car that was too fast
for my buddy to handle
It was soon to become
the neighborhood scandal
From college kids in a Mustang
to accidents, an outlaw biker bar fight
To the college kid that had to have it
no matter its plight
And plight it did have
the kid still bought it
even driving it away
with a back seat full of vomit.
But! I divulge too much
and I still need to tell,
this crazy four week story
of the Charger from hell
So I ask, dear reader
what would you like to hear
...and in what format?
story, poem, as lunch time grows near
So please let me know,
car show time also grows near
and I am still in heaven
with my new 327
So instead of finishing that poem/story
I write out this tease
a poem about poems
...enjoy if you please!
Last edited:
