Wheelbarrow Poems - Poems about Wheelbarrow

Crossing the street in a motorized wheelbarrow. Drops of ice cream on the road that is narrow. Someone says I’m blocking the street. While I’m eating my cold treat. I found a nice spot in the shade. At a bus stop that doesn’t allow wheelbarrows, I’m afraid. While I innocently sway. Like a bale of hay. They think I should buy a ticket. Maybe...

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Hillbilly Bobby shared his snack with a chickadee The bird gave out some sounds a toot, a peet and a twee His relatives came by and wanted bird seed too. Bobby called in relatives to see what they could do. They baked up cornbread and threw it onto the ground. The smell of ham, beans and onions wafted all around. They...

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Wheelbarrow cat was the garden overseer Sitting above the plants year after year When buyers got closer, she would disappear Her owner never put her seat into gear She loved the butterflies with their wings so sheer Tried to bat them away when they got near Garden gnomes let out a thunderous cheer When the Germans brought out their exotic beer...

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I've built up such a thirst keeping it on course ripping words from ink stained pages Wil doth shake Charlie just a dick end I wrote whit i want Bleed your tortured visions Blur your softest word The Bring out your dead cart is back...

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Dexter John, baby calf was tuckered, he had been playing all day. He laid down in the Kansas grass, brown enough to be harsh hay. His fifteen-year-old human cousins picked him up without a peep. Placed him in a green wheelbarrow, comfortable enough to sleep. His mother was comfortable resting her teats for a little while The sun came out...

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The old red wheelbarrow is still standing there right next to my Grandfather’s fixed rocking chair. Though neither has moved in a good many years their presence revives former laughter and tears. As children, my Grandfather placed us inside the bright red wheelbarrow and off we would ride. Down rough country tracks to the orchard we’d go returning with plentiful apples...

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Walking down with my red wheelbarrow, I spied a blue jay and a brown little sparrow Flying across the golden fields; I went behind them on a path narrow To collect my flower garden's yields; Now, inside my red wheelbarrow, You will find some marigolds yellow, Pink roses, violets and white carnations, Green olive leaves and some fresh hedgerow, All gathered...

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How I loved spending a week of the summer holidays with my grandparents. Gramps would come and pick me up in his old pick- up truck, dad would bundle my suitcase into the back and I’d be on my way. Gramps would whistle as we wended our way along the winding country lanes until we...

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The red wheelbarrow with its cement smudges and rusty scratches dwarfs the white rabbit nibbling young lettuce covered in morning dew next to the flowering crepe myrtle....

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So much depends Upon a black coffee cup faded with use steam into the faces of us all...

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It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I...

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Note (Try to put your best Scottish accent on when reading this one) Disguarded fae the workplace, rusted red distorted frame. Mangled handles reachin' oot like a wee disguarded bairn. Were ye pushed aroon' a factory,heavin' loads or liftin' grain. Old wheelbarrow, a ponder fae whit walk o' life ye came. Old wheelbarrow, a ponder fae whit walk o' life ye...

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