What Makes You A Petrol
u r a petrol
know what for
ur turning the car
when you drive on the roo road
dont need water
to satrt up
being the petrol ur
is ennn enuf
everyone else on the road can see it
everyone else but you
petrol u start up my car
like nothing else
the way that you smeel in the air
gets me over dizzy
but when you leak on the ground
it aint hard to tell
you dont know that your a petrol
woh woahh
thats what makes you a petrol
if only you smelled what i can smell
youll understand
why i hate you desperatly
right now im selling
in ur petrol tank
and i cnt belive
u dun knw ur a petrol
poem by Raabia Tabassum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I was recently looking at what they can actually do to reduce consumption of petrol. It would be quite possible to build automobiles out of carbon fibre that would be just as strong, weigh 10 times less and consume 10 times less petrol.
quote by Susan George
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If my car could run on pure water
IF MY CAR could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would wander thousands of kilometers in the day,
Driving at roaring speeds through the broad highway streets; drowned in waves of tremendous euphoria.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would stop contemplating the cost of expensive gasoline,
Explore every nook and cranny of the gigantic globe; would prefer to drive; every time I was overpowered with the incorrigible urge to walk.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would evacuate the monsoon rivers of their liquid,
Storing it surreptitiously in my colossal tank; pilfer every droplet of the solvent dribbling from the mountain springs.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would relinquish to travel by the most extravagant of aircraft,
Thoroughly utilizing my incredulous contraption; to transport me wherever I wanted; without the slightest pinch to my pocket.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would never feel uncouth pangs of thirst reverberate in my vocal chords,
As I would devour frugal mouthfuls of the liquid stashed in my fuel jacket; at intermittent intervals while traversing through the streets.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would make frequent visits to the gushing jungle stream,
Swimming rambunctiously in the same; withdrawing as much water as I could while gleefully returning.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would camouflage my automobile with coarse sheets of sprawling canvas,
Would impregnate it with all the amenities indispensable for life; inhabit it unrelentingly all day and night; while rolling on the roads.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would save astronomical sums of money,
Investing the same in diversified arenas of life; gain in insight and loads of experience while transgressing through mesmerizing parts of the world.
If my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would get reprieve from obnoxious stench of the elixir,
Instead have the ravishing aroma of fresh water waft into my nostrils; encompassing my persona with waves of enchantment.
And if my car could run on pure water instead of petrol; I would sleep like a diabolical demon all night; released from the onerous tensions of ruminating over price hikes,
Travel all sunlit day in my luxurious caravan with my beloved in close proximity; now completely oblivious to the hour when I had last filled disdainful petrol.
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Any woman can consume.
No woman to a man is failing.
As matter to fire is not failing..
Some, like petrol, catch instantly.
Some, like wood, catch in time.
Some, like coal, do with time.
Some, like iron, at least, rust.
Petrol to metal, a woman can be.
Time given, no love is unborn.
No love is out of burning.
21.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Warm Leatherette
Warm leatherette,
See the breaking glass,
Beneath the underpass.
Warm leatherette,
Feel the crushing steel,
Feel the steering wheel.
Warm leatherette melts,
On your burning flesh,
You can see your reflection,
On the luminescent dash.
Warm leatherette,
A tear of petrol,
Is in your eye,
The hand brake,
Penetrates your thigh.
A tear of petrol,
Is in your eye,
Quick lets make love,
Before we die.
On warm leatherette,
Join the carcrash set.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
George and the Dragon
I'll tell you the tale of an old country pub
As fancied itself up to date,
It had the word " Garage" wrote on t' stable door
And a petrol pump outside the gate.
The " George and the Dragon" were t' name of the pub,
And it stood in a spot wild and bleak,
Where nowt ever seemed to be passing that way
Except Carrier's cart once a week.
The Carrier's cart were a sturdy old Ford
And its driver were known as " Old Joe
He had passed pub each week but he'd never been in,
It's name even he didn't know.
One cold winter night, about quarter to one,
He were driving home over the moor,
And had just reached the pub, when his engine stopped dead
A thing it had ne'er done before.
He lifted the bonnet and fiddled around
And gave her a bit of a crank;
When he looked at his petrol he found what were wrong,
There wasn't a drop in the tank.
He had eight miles to go and 'twere starting to rain,
And he thought he were there for the night,
Till he saw the word " Garage" wrote on t' stable door;
Then he said, " Lizzie, Lass... we're all right."
He went up to t' pub and he hammered at door
Till a voice up above said " Hello!"
It were t' Publican's Wife-she said,
"Now what's to do?", "I've run out of petrol," said Joe.
She said " Who are you? " He said " Carrier Joe."
" Oh, so that's who it is," she replied
You've been passing this door now for close on ten years
And never once set foot inside."
"A nice time of night to come knocking folks up,
She continued. "Away with your truck,
" You'd best get your petrol where you buy your beer...
" You only come here when you re stuck."
Said Joe, "Aye, I'll go if you'll sell me some fuel,
"I can't start my engine without.
"I'm willing to pay." but she told him to go
Where he'd get his fuel for nowt.
"Coom, coom, Lass!" said Joe, conci-latory like,
"Let bygones be bygones, and when
I come round next time I'll look in."
She said, "Oh, Well, your petrol can wait until then."
With these few remarks th' old girl took in her head
And slammed winder to in his face;
He took a look round and for t' very first time
He noticed the name of the place.
He picked up some pebbles he found in the road
And tossed them against winder pane,
And before very long lattice opened above
And out came the old girl again.
What d'ye want? " she enquired. And " Not you," Joe replied,
For this treatment had fair raised his gorge
"I see George and t' Dragon's the name on the house,
"And I'd just like a word now with George."
poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mouse In The Maze
You did not
need to telephone today
to tell me
that you would not see me.
Today.
I already knew.
You left your job
I knew
you would not see me
very often.
If at all.
From this point on.
You live in the country
you can go nowhere.
Without justifying your time
people knowing.
Letting people know
paying for petrol.
You pay for petrol
money you no longer earn.
Where do you go?
Account for the petrol!
You do not realize yet
that you live in a maze.
You live in a maze
you are a mouse.
Merv runs the maze
you may run the house.
Or your own treadmill
you may run both.
You may run both
but both lead to nowhere.
You are the trained tame pet
caged laboratory mouse.
You may only run the house
and your children's home.
You are a mouse.
Merv the perve runs the maze.
The really sad thing is
he does not even bait you.
With a whole piece of cheese.
You run his prison maze
craving crumbs of affection.
He sometimes lets you keep.
You are only his mouse
running his relocated maze.
You are not as important
as his computer mouse.
Yet isn’t it funny
that I should fall for...
fall in love with
such a funny
mouse in a maze?
Apparently you are destined
to live a maze life,
running your treadmill
in submission,
to all important wishes
satisfying, the maze master?
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Three green snakes
I was gathering dead branches
and rotting leaves
and mowed down grass
and with my bare hands,
scooped it up
into a wheelbarrow.
From there I carted
it away to where,
a trailer attached
to my car waited.
The leaves and grass
felt humid and hot
in my hands
and a compost smell
hang in the air,
but suddenly three
deadly green snakes twisted
out where my hands
had been seconds before
and in dismay
I jumped away.
My little white dog
ran around the heap
of leaves and grass
and barked excitedly
and although did not
want to I had to
kill them all,
before they brought
death and trepidation
to my door.
The lawnmowers petrol
splashed like water
down on the brown heap
and a match,
flicked onto it
made bright orange flames
leap into the air.
Suddenly three snakes
twisted in agony
and it was like
driving the gods
of the dark earth away
and although every thing
was well,
it was quite sad
to kill three living creatures
with the flick
of a match.
[Petrol=> gasoline.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hypocrisy In Judgement Casting Church Pews
beware my neighbor who suffers
from holier than thou delusions
she believes in casting judgements
she reaps state coffers in her cause
daily uses husband's state supplied car
in her multiple daily to church trips
she reaps state coffers in her cause
every petrol station fill up is state paid
never uses her car petrol in ego cause
she publicly exclaims none can be Christians
who do not regularly go to church following her lead
proudly boasts her husband never office steals
but upon returning from overseas trips
he never returns state supplied unspent funds
his hand is out receives his share in bribes
these two believe their regular church sitting
makes them model to be admired Christians
therefore sitting in a garage them a car makes?
I do not travel daily to church I do not travel far
my worship in my heart is to God my sacred star
hypocrisy in the pews is stumbling stone bizarre
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love, A Wonder Word
Love- the most wonderful word
One can find in the dictionary.
It is really so when it is sexual.
With no need of petrol, it runs.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.
quote by John Betjeman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When People Rode Bicycles
Do you remember
When people rode bicycles
All throughout China
But now it is overrun
By petrol guzzling beasts
poem by Edwin Tanguma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My blue bike thunders below me
My blue bike thunders
below me
and cars and trucks
flashes by.
It’s a hot day with an open blue sky
and nowhere there’s a cloud
to be seen
and the warm wind brushes my hair.
The smell of the grass, petrol,
exhaust fumes and tar
rises around me,
but I am free
and the bike catches some speed
and the road stretches out
in front of me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
As markets pick up
Petrol prizes are going up
Many cars are sold
New and bigger airports built
Global warming, be damned.
tanka by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To be safe
Woman is like petrol,
Kept under seal to be virgin.
Wife is like flame,
Kept in hurricane lamp to be chaste.
Women must be safe to be pure.
29.05.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cry Of A Burial
Petrol and diesel run faster
On two wheels and four wheels
Uproariously whirring and whirring and whirring
Dissonantly sounding and sounding and sounding
The road vibrates tremulously
So do I
Two leggeds spit
Four leggeds shit
The road is filthy
So feel I
And my temple road is doddering on to hell
So am I
They dig and dig and dig
On turns the electricity, telephones, drainage
Here, there, anywhere as they dare
The road is burried in itself
And it's crying.So am I from a pit
Help, help!
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We did a gig at the Marquee and we were supposed to be paid five pounds but we never got it, and it cost us something like 10 pounds in petrol to get there to do it. So what we did was steal some equipment from The Marquee.
quote by Andy Partridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Renaissance
Will you tell me what it was
the unknown of the known?
When you step into the eyes of stangers
you start talking without uttering a single word.
Give me back the body,
of dark pink matter
to understand the god’s will.
He was sitting in field of sugarcane.
The petrol burns with hate
in the necks of panthers.
Tiger, tiger I look at my son coming back
after encounter.
The bleeding revolution has overturned
tomorrow. No body knows where we are heading.
The babies flick like tender candles
inside the saints.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What a country calls its vital economic interests are not the things which enable its citizens to live, but the things which enable it to make war. Petrol is much more likely than wheat to be a cause of international conflict.
Simone Weil in The Need for Roots (1949)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
No-one
In my big old lonely house
I often hear things that aren't really there
For example the rustle of my paper
As no-one sits in my chair
And the squeak of old rusty floorboards
As no-one goes up the stairs
In my big old lonely house
I see things that don't exist
Like the wagging tail of a young Border Collie
As by the boiler no-one sits
Or a piece of fresh green mistletoe
Under which no-one kissed
In my big old lonely house
I smell things, but it's just lies
Maybe the rich heavy fumes of petrol
As up the road no-one drives
And the lovely sweet scent of perfume
As no-one sprays annoying flies
In my big old lonely house
I feel like I'm not really here
And now, here all on my own
I'm turning into no-one I fear
For I am old, and I am dying
And when I scream, no-one hears
poem by Amy Darnbrook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Ring Of Fire
After a peek into the world news,
I will start asking many questions to myself
in the dialect of hurling petrol bombs that,
how many names of a god are valid
in my poor dictionary of past truths?
I start eating away myself bit by bit
and save few grains for my children,
for clenching hurts and start a journey of unknown.
The debate will never end for the sake of
poetics in many me, of many avatars.
Un-self I start searching the stairs
of the tower in dark conspiracy of silence.
The night has forgotten a Mozart.The
magic flute will not play again.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!