"muffler" poems
T'was just before Christmas and I went down to the garage
To have my old car looked at by a fellow known as "Sarge"
He said I need tires and my wipers weren't so hot
My hoses all were leaking and my muffler was shot
The repairs just kept on coming and I saw a sparkle in his eyes
He was counting all my money, he was the devil in disguise
I told him "Thanks, but I would go and get another look"
Before I signed for his repair list and I was on the hook
So I went on to my friend's place to see what he could do
We've been friends for nearly 30 years...since 1982.
His mechanic took it out back and while he had it on the hoist
I saw a woman at the counter, looking rather moist
She said my car is leaking there's a hole that must be filled
I thought that if Rob had a coffee, it'd most certainly be spilled
A girl came in and she told Rob her boyfriend had loose nuts
And whenever he was driving her, they slid into the ruts
Rob stepped back, grinned a bit as he was looking down her front
And from where I stood behind her I could almost see her
Donation to the Angel tree that was standing in the corner
A door opened, a breeze blew in, and there was no time to warn her
Her skirt blew up, exposing her tattoo of some sprigs of holly
And Rob came round and covered her just like Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm sorry miss, for I did look when your skirt was lifted
And I must say, you made my night, for my drive shaft has shifted
And then a man came through the door and said "My name is Nick"
"I've problems with my reindeer and I need them seen to quick"
Rob said "we work on cars here sir , I can fix tires or a hose"
"It's nothing major son, I need a bulb for Rudolph's nose"
"It doesn't stay on like it should and the other deer get frantic"
"And I can't risk it going out when I'm over the Atlantic"
"So, if you would replace it now with something nice and bright"
"I'd pay you well for all your time and for aiding in my plight"
Rob stepped up, fixed Rudolph's nose and said "This one's on me"
"And for all work done in my shop you get a guarantee"
We all stood round as Santa left, for we new that it was him
For he left us each a candy cane in a metal alloy rim
And as we watched him fly away, I'm sure we heard him yell
"There's mistletoe tattooed on her too, but...where I'll never tell!"
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
"Cash, Grass or Ass-No One Rides Free!"
reads the bumper-sticker slapped on the ratty Harley.
Its black leather seat is cracked, tattered and torn,
the headlight is busted and there's no friggin' horn;
with mismatched saddlebags strapped to each side,
the panhead leaks like a sieve, but it's still quite a ride.
The gas-tank is dented, scratched and coated with muck,
the chrome no longer shines, but who gives a flyin' ****
Its tires are bald, the spokes are all rusted to ****
and the frame is off-kilter from a cage-driver's hit.
The biker just puffed the last hit from his pipe,
slammed down the rest of the J.D. from the bash last night;
then he hops on his hog, kicks the monster to start,
the muffler-pipes blast flames and roar like a ****
Together they roll down the road like old pals,'
with nowhere to go, just obnoxious and loud:
the tombstone tail-light flashes bright red on this mess,
'though Cashless, Grassless and Assless, they couldn't care less!
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 1:34 AM UTC
My faithful companion,
My insomnia,
In the deep of night
While I sleep a fragile, restless dream,
The sound of engines cuts across the highway
Drills a dark well into my ears,
Forcing itself into my head
Like a worm inside a red, flawless apple.
Noise, the scarecrow of summer nights.
And my insomnia,
My silent shadow,
My friend of unrest
O, summer nights, you are too much for my delicate world!
The roaring old motorcycle,
The car with a broken muffler!
Loud music from a car,
Screeching tires,
Laughter echoing in the distance,
Dogs barking.
Oh, lively and restless warm nights!
Sounds follow one after another,
Like ants on a pool of juice
I keep quiet in the silence,
With a muffled scream.
And yet another summer night stretches painfully,
Strutting foolishly over the darkness
Of a sweltering city.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 11:13 AM UTC
I Remember THAT Day
I remember that day
I remember that day
THAT DAY………….I FOUND YOU!!!
I remember that ******* ****** *** **** YOUR LIFE TYPE OF **** DAY
We were both just fifteen years old, so rebellious but shy in our own right minds
You were just fifteen years old, when I found you slouched over the steering wheel of your mother’s 1978 Red Ford Pinto
YES, that red Ford Pinto with the rusted out, broken muffler, busted right tail light and six dents on the passenger door (that we caused when we were just 13)
YES, that red Ford Pinto that your mother insisted on driving us to school in, only to have us insisting on her dropping us off a block early, why, because we were too embarrassed to get caught seen in that “hunk of junk”, “piece of **** red Ford Pinto.
I sat down next to you, in that red Ford Pinto, but you breathed not one single breathe out of your blue stained lips. I screamed at you “WAKE THE HELL UP, **** YOU!!”
My voice cracked with apology, I was so wrong to yell at you, as thoughtless anger filled my heart with sinful hate. But still not a single breathe passed through your lips.
I whispered in your ear “I am sorry”
I remember, that day and that single note you left on the dusty, cracked dashboard of that red Ford Pinto. That note with scribbled letters running across the wrinkled white paper and the pen that you dropped on the floorboard. That note that read “I don’t understand WHYYYYYYY”
That last letter on that note, that you penned, was flown across the paper as if you didn’t want to leave. THAT LAST letter gouged the wrinkled white paper with remorse and apologies. I felt every syllable that you wrote stapled across my chest as if I was being pierced by a thousand sewing needles that were trying to mend my severed, bleeding heart.
I REMEMBER THAT DAY, IN THAT RED FORD PINTO, WHEN I LAID MY HEAD ON YOUR BARE SHOULDER AND HELD YOU CLOSE TO ME. I REMEMBER OUR FINAL EMBRACE.
I REMEMBER THAT DAY, IN YOUR MOTHER’S 1978 RED FORD PINTO, WE WERE BOTH JUST FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, SO REBELLIOUS BUT SHY IN OUR OWN RIGHT MINDS, I REMEMBER TAKING MY FINAL BREATHE AS I HEARD THE GARAGE DOOR START TO OPEN.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
Dog days fly dust to dust over a hick
pit sardined between corona bikinis that house
the unmistakable stench of lukewarm apple
sauce in the c-cup padding and toothless
******** sitting indian style. Graveled friction
fading the back pockets of their overall
dungarees. Amongst them a settler on their native
turf accepting a Jim Beam peace pipe while above
the influence commercials march in protest claiming fried
egg consequences from engaging in the act. The culture
shock is worth the weekly once-in-a-lifetime chance
to sip the tabasco-glazed opening of my chemistry
teacher’s flask while he schools me in perfecting
the cotton eyed joe. A muffler spontaneously
combusts, melting the raybans off the face of a tragically
hip spectator taunted with “that’s why dad named you Joe Dirt.”
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
muffler exhaust pipe,
post catalytic breath,
ten F 'n above.
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
Since the time I was born,
I was nurtured as a fawn,
My governess looked after me,
As my mother had then been a busy bee..
When I grew a little more,
Like I was around three or four,
I whined and nagged all the way to school,
All wrapped up in muffler and wool.
I romped,I played, I learnt
Through all the years that I grew,
Life whispered new lessons in my ears,
And everyday I grew into someone new.
And now I'm in my adolescence,
Too swayed by emotions, impulsive in nature,
Vulnerable to the torment of words,
Chasing after fame and stature...
Yet this is not what I want to be,
Let my wings develop completely,
One day I'll be soaring up in the sky,
Dear Mamma, that day you'll be proud of me!
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
All of a sudden I can no longer write
I’ve lost a tone, an evil glint in the eye
Lost the snicker of a sardonic, and instead found a
Muffler for madcap laughs.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 10:12 PM UTC
I often softened my hours waiting for her
By reading Cummings or Plath
Or other dead poets.
Still, she took her time arriving.
Usually dropped off a block down where mom and dad didn't see her
Getting out of her Big Brother's car.
A '71 Pontiac.
It was blue, like her eyes, and noisy, missing a muffler.
Like her...
But I waited.
Anticipating her secret roar and rumble.
Just waiting to crawl into the back-seat of those Pontiac eyes.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
The light of the stars in the sky that I looked up to
Old memories and wishes are sent, crossing through time unfading
The cries of someone are reflected in your eyes with a sparkle, the feelings in the wind
The wishes in the moon, they all live within powerful limitations, today
Our feelings too, will one day continue to shine
With someone's heart, like those stars
One, two bell chimes resound vast and deep, to within the heart
Drops of stars like a story; fine tracks are amassed within them
The era moves along with time, and the flowing stars quietly move too
If you close your eyes, and listen closely, good bye
A bunch of black and white photographs of the sky, a blowing muffler, white breath
I want to get closer, even if it's just a little; running double time until we're on higher ground
If we take out a massive telescope
The lens will disturb the star dust
Time takes away time, and romance passes through the eras
Releasing the light, now we'll firmly pass through time without giving up
Until it reaches someone, the light of glory will go on and make a story
Beyond all of this, along with us
A baby's first cry is raised, a small light, a bit light
Crossing through space and time, they meet
All of the individual sparklings become one, and a story is created
Like the constellations that are connected point to point, if only
I could paint a beautiful picture for someone
Look up, hey, they're winter's diamonds
The creeping milky way, soon I'll be able to take back my courage
Releasing the light, now we'll firmly pass through
Time without giving up, until it reaches someone
The light of glory will go on and make a story
Beyond all of this, along with us
The sky is infinitely vast, yes
Beyond the sea, first breaths are taken, and lives are cut off
The stars shine down like goddesses
The moments of the four seasons repeat, continuing on for long times
That's good, we'll carve in our memories just a little bit
Passing through endless time, and starting to shine
The story continues on inside of my heart
One day, the you from that day will board the night train
Continue to shine, like those stars.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
#at the mirror above the wash basin
i pause at my reflection
in spectacles and muffler
is a face familiar
where have i seen him, where?
i remember it was beamed on tv, newspaper
made headlines for some days
before on an early dawn
he was quietly snuffed out.
from the mirror
i make a hasty retreat
so closely resembles my face
with that terrorist!
back on the writing table
i ponder
if the resemblance
goes beyond the face!#
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
car exhaust exhausting me
cannot be healthy for the tree
who offers us a breath of life
sweet oxygen which we breathe in
but she breathes in what we breathe out
so why not from our muffler spout?
and if emissions alter synthesis
then who's to say what we breathe is?
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
#5: warm welcome, a kind beginning begun
_______________________________________
it is a bit of a shock, the world of words
more often swallows & surrounds you up between walls of impenetrable silence
you actually read me, heard me, even
fed me! they taught me/us to diagram
our sentences into its component parts,
like a car going to an auto body shop,
*** my car needed a muffler but instead
I was given a new horn, and I’m in an empty
Walmart parking lot, unsurrounded,
and leaning on the horn, making
a fireworks celebration of one sound,
and your
warm welcome, kind welcome,
to a visitor to this new planet,
astonishes & astounds, for it
seems we speak the sane/same
language, how can this be???
Is smiling a word on this planet?
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 4:02 AM UTC
Here comes that dream again.
I am 17 not 58
My old candy apple red 64 mustang convertible
Screams it throaty roar.
From its straight through muffler.
The Beatles are screaming
All my lovin.
From my favorite 8 track tape.
Next to me is Abby Foster
Only the hottest girl in my school.
She is laughing in joy
and slips her hand into mine.
I have been fantasizing
about her for weeks.
Maybe today's the day
She will.....
Never mind its my dream, right.
I love this dream
The alarm clock rings
and gives me a rude awakening.
The scene changes to the
Real world on a workday morning.
I turn to the middle aged lady
In the bed next to me.
Gently I awaken her.
And kiss her forehead.
I say softly.
Rise and shine
Abby my love.
It's 7am.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
Once a day
I think of you
Your hair that grew white at 40
Your tending of the garden
How cats trailed you
as if your world was paced just right
Once a day
I fall for you
for your abundance of heels
your soothing voice
your gentle hands
your lack of plans, you loved to rest in Sunday's best
I fall because
you fell too
Once a day
I remember before
when the rich girl
gave it up
for the poor boy
and as I had to teach you everything
I remember thinking it was worth it
it's been worth it ever since
and once a day
all day long
I sit on my porch with eyes shut tight
listening for the rasping of worn down Janet
and her broken muffler
announcing your return
Well, it's a bit silly
because Janet's been compounded
and I know that despite all the efforts
you've been years grounded
and the folks in this town
have made sure I'm hounded
telling me once a while
to leave this place
Once a day
I've been waiting
I'm still waiting
I will wait
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
so the door slams and the windows open
air rushes in full of lustful wonder
this is singular thinking in a fog of sweet adolescence
i come from devils' fur
un-washed and smelling of sulfur
i reep your evil sews
we blink at each other
unwilling to file for glory papers
unchecked harshness towards the self
an oblivious and romantic way of being
the shadows cast behind zoo walls will follow their own mist
i speak like a broken muffler now
if i can speak at all
and the singing
only the last gulps of saltwater
churning up in the esophagus of a man lost at sea
breathing in the doom
it is only nourishment
the abyss seems at a low tide
it is passable and inviting
death is laid upon a lattice work
and they all wonder what you're really up to
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
I don't have a clue what to write in this song
the chorus is fine but the words are all wrong
although it's been said that these lines should be read
thought it best if you sung them instead, dear Ed,
drag a comb through your darling bedhead
Well I came home to find you asleep on the couch
and tiptoed around you my big hungry slouch
if I knew you were home I'd a planned something nice
but this chicken's still frozen on ice, anyway
let us pray that you'll take my advice.
Don't say you do when you don't
Ed I'm talking to you honey
Don't say you will when you won't
you know it really isn't funny
Don't say you'll come when you know that you can't
and I won't say a word when you rant
no I shan't, not a whisper from me when you rant!
Last month I told you my car's rather beat
the muffler that's hanging? it dropped in the street
the cops heard me coming and followed me home
on the back of my ticket, your poem- it's a tome
on the lips of my lover is foam
Paint me a picture, I'll pay for your time
Inspire one stanza, I'll write the last line
if you'd bring me some hope for I'm failing to cope
we could spice up our rhythm with rhyme, one more time
give me something worth more than a dime
Don't say you do when you don't
Ed, I'm talking to you honey
Don't say you will when you won't
you know it really isn't funny
Don't say you'll come when you know that you can't
and I won't say a word when you rant
no I shan't, not a whisper from me when you rant
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
Up for sale
one used soul mate
Still some useful miles left
Good second soul to scoot around in
One owner
Female who drove him to church on Sundays
And just sat around the rest of the week
Kept outside so paint is faded unevenly
Tires need replacing
Needs brakes and muffler
Transmission slips and skips
Must sell , to pay for new replacement
Cheap , all offers will be considered .
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
I'm 53
until the umpire yells
PLAY BALL
I'm 53
until the new kid steps in
and tries to relieve me
from moving the piano
I'm 53
until 10 p.m.
when I look online to see
my kids have a party going on
I'm 53
until I'm at the stop light
next to a guy
with a bigger muffler
and crooked cocky hat
I'm 53
until the boys call
in need of a drummer
I'm 53
until someone mentions
ROAD TRIP
I'm 53
until the young guns
want to wrestle for
bragging rights
I'm 53
until they start a story with
"Remember the time..."
I'm 53
until the Red Hot Chili Peppers
walk onstage
I'm 53
until the college girls walk by
in their summer wear
my stomach
drawing into my chest
and my stroll revives swag
as the cute one turns to say
"Good morning, Sir.
Can I get that door for you?
I am 53.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
Knitting your muffler
As childhood...
Your black dress smells of me
I can't see the white jasmine flower without you...
"You are a jasmine flower yourself"
"My jasmine flower..."
Oh, my sweet little friend !
Play with me
In the glimpse of childhood memory
Wanting your shoes
Crying to the sun...
Cut my black hair
Turning to a balloon for you
Reaching to the city of you...
شال گردنت را می بافم
...مثل بچگی
پیراهن سیاهت بوی مرا می دهد
نمی توانم گُلِ یاسِ سفید را بی تو ببینم
"تو خودت گُلِ یاسی"
..."تو گُلِ یاسِ منی"
!دوستِ کوچک و شیرینِ من
به یاد بچگی
با من بازی کن
کفش های تو را می خواهم
تا آفتاب گریه کنم
موهای سیاهم را بِبُر
بادبادکی برای تو می شوم
...به شهر تو می رسم
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC
the morning had no coffee. just had 98 degrees by 10 am
and a barn on the lean in the distance.
where time never cuts the grass and nothing happens.
dirt roads pray for death or slow traffic. and clouds like smoke
from a bellicose pipe… on the lips of a medicine man
who became a woman when a cloud called him “ medicine man “
while the peyote was barking without dogs, was unleashed
to prairie in the marsh where the bogs agog
with summer candy in its peat moss.
no dowsing rod to spare a child the ridicule of finding god’s pond
with a stick obeying a cop.
the morning had no mirrors. just broken glass and aspartame
and very minor miracles. no part of a red sea. only dust mites
and last night’s ***** the trucks won’t stop complaining
about the radio. because you have no radio.
and when you sing on those long trips to the corner store…
your truck is like “ what the **** “
and “ this guy must hate trucks….” and all sundry regalia of suffering
from a hole in the muffler and a tone-deaf pilgrim
on half a tank of sunshine and vermouth.
with a dent
in a twist.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
It’s this recurring waking-dream,
especially on these blustery nights.
I can almost see the sheen of the mahogany
surface of the bar top.
I can almost feel the weight of the tattered
rag that sits on my shoulder.
Barryman’s is a place to come in from the cold.
There’s always a fresh carafe on the burner of the Bunn
machine.
Or, there are stronger drinks.
This is the place where you can talk to anyone about anything.
And, no one is ever wrong, because we all know that we all know
that everyone is full of **** but we like them and ourselves anyway.
Well, there was that one time that one poor ******* got the boot.
Everyone remembers that one.
He was hollering about how Winston Churchill could’ve made a better
cup of coffee in spite of his drink of choice being blackberry brandy
and how Kafka was overrated.
So, he was out on his self-righteous ***
Oh, how he did howl for a while, this piss-drunk sonofabitch;
but then we remembered that we’re all a bit like he was then
from time to time.
And, we retrieved him, his muffler, his hat,
gave him some coffee, a copy of “Catcher”, and a seat
by the fire.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC