Automotive Poetry

his thoughts,
the hum she chose,
in virgin white shining
as he approached.
the angle,
in which she’s presented,
required leaning in close
as she murmured,
come on, let’s go

classic, shimmering
hard angle envisioned,
shift not needed.
touch of a hand,
twist of a wrist,
and she listens

tone of the road,
shifting gears,
until she’s wide open
and he’s forgotten
the fear of letting go


and now a bit of silly…

a ford, worth a giggle
pink, tires, no middle
chunky some places,
yet timeless, and
pairs nicely in
the woods with a fiddle

***For a friend who wondered what automotive poetry might look like. I put my sensual soul, mystic tendencies and giggles on my words and turned a few pictures into poetry.

A side note, most everyone I’ve met has referred to their automobile as female, yet I admit to not really polling my female friends and only going from the experience of the men I was raised around as a kid. The only exception to this, in my experience, has been my mother.

Who affectionately named her red and white t-top Thunderbird, Todd, and her old flatbed chevy, Steve Curtains.

I’m fairly certain I’ve been embarrassed, throughout my youth, as much as what is humanly possible. Looking back, I don’t know why I’m scared of anything now.


Ever seen the movie Mermaids? With Cher? Pretty much my childhood…

For a brief time I drove a white muscle car, a gift for my birthday a couple years back. Driving it made me feel amazing. 

Writing these poems made me miss how sexy the car made me feel, maybe it was a man car after all, and maybe I’m more like my mother than I’m willing to admit.

 Yet, all good things come to an end.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my project. Listening for a chuckle, probably.



24 thoughts on “Automotive Poetry

  1. Love this project, Audrey. I must be nuts, but I’ve always had male cars (and generally always have named them, too). My current car is named Seamus (means “replacement,” which it is since I totaled the previous car). Not sure I’d feel comfy driving a Pepto Bismol-colored truck, though, ha!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Great poem Audrey. I’ve never named a car or motorcycle but seems guys like to name theirs Betsy or something like that. I adore the pink truck, I would definitely name her. πŸ™‚


  3. I loved your automotive poems. I have had a life-long love affair with vehicles. I only named one which was a 1959 Ford truck. She worked the farm and her name was Maybelle. All the rest (and there were some really good ones) came and went without a name. Good job, Audrey

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh, I’m so glad you do, John. My sensuous side never seems to cause more than a blink of the eye for you, which I adore. I’m certain Maybelle would have gotten my approval as a great truck, too. Dying to know what the really good cars where. Lol One day, I hope to have a car I feel compelled to name. Til then it’s the black car with too many memories I can’t wait to see leave. Maybe that’s a name…naw, too long.
      Thanks for reading, John.

      Liked by 1 person

    • I do enjoy your sensuous side and appreciate your talent. A blink is the public reaction. Really good cars to me are those that are well made and cost a bundle when a bundle was no issue. πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Now I’m a wee bit confused.

    My rumbly-grumbly truck was christened “Grumpy” by the girly-girl. She had quickly noted that he seemed at bit reticent on cold mornings. Seems that diesels aren’t too forthcoming at first when it’s below zero. But he’d warm up quickly as she stroked the armrest (“His favorite spot on this side!”) and calm down like any well trained beast.

    Does the male name make us sexist? Am I teaching her wrong? (Smiling, joking)

    Now the car, she’s called “Baby” for a reason.


    • Giggle. I adore this paragraph about your grumbly truck. It’s a lovely window into an adorable moment. Loved reading it, because it just sounds like you. Trained beast..adore that.

      I admit to doing similar things like rubbing and whispering sweet nothings when in fun and interesting vehicles. I once, chatted at a dirty semi window while riding with my brother down a gravel road at 20 mph…I thought she needed tending to, as the corn dust had taken her shine and my brother neglected her. His version…it’s’ll get to her.

      Us girly girls are tricky sometimes.

      I think you teach perfectly. Smiles

      And “Baby” suits her, I’m sure. Thank you for reading these poems, C.


    • Never be something you aren’t.

      I’m odd but I prefer those around me pretty much as God made them. No problem with braided hair but a pancaked face of warpaint and tattoos is, at best, a visual downgrade.


    • I’d fail miserably if I tried. Not in to failure either.

      Huh?! I’ve always visualized you as a tattoo covered, eyeliner wearing ’80s punk band retire. And Cindy Lauper as your neighbor.
      Smiles. Sometimes when you reveal yourself I just shake my head in agreement and murmur…knew it. πŸ™‚ If I didn’t know better I’d say I knew you already, C.


    • One of my many blessings is to have many Mennonite and Amish families about. The women wear mostly homemade dresses and keep their hair up. No makeup, jewelry or trendy crud. They are beautiful inside and out. Their concern is their family not their reflection. Then, as I travel the world about during my day, I see others. I smile inwardly and shake my head at the fact that they spent so much money and time to look half as good as those Mennonite ladies. Had that time and money went elsewhere, they could possess the same appealing glow and happiness as the “backwards religious girls”. Life is indeed full of irony.


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