Some of my Poems, Hopefully Funny, Not Naughty, Old Car Related

I was remembering a little unplanned stop on the Bathurst rally and used it as the basis for a poem.

FAILURE TO PROCEED

We’re out in our vet on a glorious day

Our little car’s humming as it makes its way

On country roads it’s just rolling along

The engine is humming like it’s singing a song

Then all of a sudden our speed is decreasing

I guess that makes sense ‘cos the humming is ceasing

I look for and find a good spot to park

Are we out of fuel or devoid of spark

Has a wire com loose or something like that

I’m pretty sure that the battery ain’t flat

My wife wants to know how long to repair

Did I bring tools and also a spare

I pluck up some courage “Excuse me my dear

Please give me some quiet so I can think clear”

I find the fault quickly – we are both shocked

The final fuel filter is pretty much blocked

“I’ll bypass the filter – we’ll be on our way soon”

I am smiling again and humming a tune

To which she replies in a superior air

“I’ve told you before you should carry a spare!”

I know in my heart that of course she is right

Although at that moment I am far from contrite

My fellow vet owners I bid you take heed

We didn’t break down we just failed to proceed.

This following poem is about a Humberette, not as a comment about Humberettes or their owners, but mainly because Humberette rhymes with forget.

ODE TO A HUMBERETTE

I'm re-assembling my Humberette

Where this bit goes I just forget

It could fit here but I'm not sure

It's a big puzzle, a kind of jig saw

I really dare not tell the wife

That would just get me into strife

There are pieces here that I am sure

I've never set eyes on them before

I've asked my friends but no-one knows

Exactly where this piece goes

Then after discussion they conceeded

Perhaps this part ain't really needed

I'll put it together but I guess

The car will have a few bits less

Than it did when I took it apart

I do hope the bloody thing will start

But if it goes with some bits left out

It'll go faster - I have no doubt

If you're out in your vet and I fly by

You will now know the reason why

Had an interesting time determining which fender was the correct one for a friend's restoration project and it seemed to lend itself to a little poem:

ODE TO TWO FENDERS

Is this fender twenty eight or is it twenty-nine

Why on earth did they have to change the damn design

I guess so mad consumers could say they had the latest

The fastest and the cutest and naturally the greatest

You can hold them to the chassis but either one will fit

So you pause in your frustration and ponder for a bit

If you use the wrong one you wouldn’t be surprised

If by all the experts you are roundly criticised

Then your wife points out a very easy way

To tell the two shapes apart and so she saves the day

So you know the one to use ‘cos it’s definitely correct

Its a pity it’s the one that’s been a bit more wrecked

It’s just another lesson that’s been part of my life

It really pays to listen to your charming wife

To complete the poetry from the Hamilton rally here are three assorted limericks I wrote. There is a fourth over in the "naughty" section - if you dare venture there!

The girl in the Clement-Bayard

Exclaimed as she drove in the yard

“The car may be squeezy

But driving its easy

My husband just claims that its hard!”

Our love for old cars does inspire us

But take care lest the law doth require us

To isolate here

Because it is clear

We all suffer from car owner virus

Good kennel are so hard to find

To his dogs Peter F is so kind

“To my Maxwell I’ll tack

A dog box at the back”

But in a way he still leaves them behind

There's a picture to go with the first limerick:

Andrew McDougall wasn't the only person to give me a commission to write a poem in Hamilton. Claudia Holding, another Victorian with a great sense of humor, gave me the run down over a bit of a mix up over sharing a taxi. Please bear in mind when reading the following poem that poetic license, the need to make lines rhyme and scan together with a desire for a bit of drama have combined to turn what was a very responsible arrangement to be able to have a few after dinner glasses of wine sound more like debauchery. As they say about movies - it is based on a true story.

FRIDAY NIGHT’S ALL RIGHT (FOR DRINKING)

Whilst sharing a cab can be fun

It depends upon how it is done

’Cos with no booking

Despite desperate looking

The required cab simply won’t come

If I’ve got this story right

It seems six thought it was bright

A cab they could share

So they had no care

If they drank lots last Friday night

Claudia would book it and pay

But she meant that for only one way

So on the way there

Mick paid the fare

She thought everyone was OK

Whenever there’s so many boys

Engrossed in discussing their toys

It’s no surprise

That the volume will rise

Peter F fled escaping the noise

If you’re not following don’t stress

It just meant that one person less

For a cab had a need

But no-one took heed

Who would book it was anyone’s guess

Till the cab comes we might as well stay

Right here and drink chardonnay

Soon midnight was nigh

They’d drunk the joint dry

With still no cab on its way

The lack of a cab just reflected

That booking one had been neglected

Who could they chide

For their lack of a ride

When its absence should have been expected

So the five did the motel implore

For a cab to come to the door

By that time of night

They couldn’t count right

So got one that carried but four

So Michael despite all the grog

Decided that homeward he’d jog

Two ladies it seems

Saw the man of their dreams

Which left Mrs H quite agog

From all of this what can we learn?

That it really should be of concern

When a cab’s to be shared

Be quite prepared

To check if to book its your turn

When tallying the passenger list

(Especially when you’re half pissed)

It would be nice

To check the count twice

To make sure that no-one’s been missed

Writing individual limericks isn't all that hard - writing a series of them that together tell a story, I discovered, is a whole new ball game.

Andrew McDougall actually gave me a second commission - to write a poem about a Cadillac that refused to start and on the odd occasion it did start then proceed to die again. It was all down to the carburetor which hopefully is clear from the following poem (which did get printed in the April 202 issue of "Brass Notes").

ODE TO A CADILLAC

The carby on a Cadillac is clearly quite complex

It seems that it was designed e’en experts to perplex

The spinner plate moves up and down to regulate the air

We found that Peter’s car will run on Michael Holding’s spare

The onlookers seemed as if they were in a trance

With all the talk of spark control, retard and advance

To get the mixture balanced right in the input draft

It simply needs, or so it seems, a longer spinner shaft

If you were there and listened to the ensuing natter

I guess that you would know that size does really matter

I did actually write another ode whilst in Hamilton - Ode to a Renault. I'll put it in the "naughty section" as 1 line could be called "risque".

Vivian and I were both touched (in a COVID-19 appropriate way) and impressed by his poem that we felt that a congratulatory response was in order:

Writing poems isn't easy – in fact it can be hard

So it's great to know that Peter F's a first rate bard

I'm delighted knowing in his poem Viv and I have starred

Even If the content means my reputation's marred

As I am now quite aged and retirement looms ahead

My life can now be simple - Pete can function in my stead

No more need words that rhyme bounce around my head

There's a chance that I can fill out entry forms instead

It seems only right and proper in this situation

Given how much we enjoyed reading his creation

To let the author, Peter F, know of our admiration

And offer him and Judy our heart felt congratulation

Paul Daley in publishing one of my poems in one of his most interesting editorials in "Brass Notes" referred to me as the poet laureate of the Australian veteran movement. Peter Fitzgerald, a man with a great sense of humor, and who often throws me a poetic line, responded to that in the following manner:

Ode to the Poet Laureate

‘Tis the bard from New South Wales that has a Vivacious wife.

However, when they go to rallies he gets them both in strife!

‘Tis a simple task they share, Viv handles hers with ease,

Yet when it comes to entry Doug simply fails to please!

They quickly crossed the Murray, a grand sight to be seen.

Their accommodation was ready, their entry form unseen!

'Tis not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last,

For when it comes to entering rallies, Doug’s learning's not so fast.

Just in case you hadn't heard I somehow forgot to book in to the recent Hamilton 1 & 2 cylinder rally although, thankfully, Vivian had booked our accommodation. I probably should hang my head in shame as it's not the first time I have overlooked actually entering. Anyhow Andrew McDougall, a wonderful wag,, approached me and asked if I took commissions to write poetry. You can possibly guess what was coming. Would I write a poem about a chap who forgot to book in to a rally? So this is what I came up with.

AN ODE OF APOLOGY

I wonder if a poet should include amongst his verse

Reference to his actions which might seem a tad perverse

In this case perhaps I need that last line to retract

For in this instance it was more that I had failed to act

The saga that is detailed here a year ago began

When I thought I should enter a rally veteran

I scoured through the calendar and promptly settled on

An event for one and twos set down for Hamilton

The notice recommended that we book accommodation

And so my wife quickly made the needed reservation

In ‘Clem’ she owns the type of car so entry rules were fitted

So in my mind to that event we were full committed

And thus with my now aged brain I forgot to look

For the then as yet to come, entry form to book

I happily confirmed to friends who asked me could they know

If to the run at Hamilton we were booked to go

The night before we had to leave although I looked and looked

I could not find any sign of where or how I’d booked

I looked and found a booking form and so decided then

To send a pleading email to the listed contact, Ben

We rang poor Doug whilst headed south and he was very kind

I’m grateful that those two forgave my aged mind

I will learn for failing to book for this rally

And I shudder to admit that three is my tally

This story reached dear Andrew Mac who gave me a commission

To write a poem all about my act of clear omission

And then tracked down for payment by a Mrs Holding

Who had to hide her wish to laugh whilst giving me a scolding

I don’t know if for entering late there’s any penalty

Or if in this circumstance it applies to me

And then I had a naughty thought but wouldn’t dare to try

To ask if there’s a discount for entering ‘stand-by’.

When I read the poem out over dinner there was a very definite response of "No!" at the end.