Here are a few poems collected from the members of the MG Enthusiasts BBS. To submit your poem, limerick, haiku or other writings, email me!

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“Steve’s MGB”

There once was a guy named Steve.
Through the canyons he wound and weaved.
In his MG he drove
Past orchards and groves
And never his smile did cease

– Steve Simmons

“Man From Nantucket”

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who bought an MG, a rust bucket
He tinkered and spent
Until all his cash went
And finally he just said, “Oh, f— it.”

…..then sold it on eBay.

– Collaboration of Gary Elmenthaler, Steve Simmons and McGonnigal

“Craving My MGB”

I want to roar,
I want to growl,
I need to drive
I need to prowl.

My MGB, it sits all poised,
Its ready to go,
To make some noise.

I have to drive,
to feel alive,
To feel the wind
To shift and grin.

I crave the speed
its such a thrill,
I need the twistys,
driving uphill.

I want to roar,
I want to boil;
I need the smell
of gas and oil.

I just can’t take it anymore,
I need the speed,
my foot to the floor.
But all these dreams are unfulfilled,
I’m here at work, paying the bills.
I’ll stop complaining,
when it stops raining!

– Ira Spector


Some folks say that Lucas spells trouble,
Their “Gremlins” will gladly work double,
But electrics I trust,
Over floor boards that rust,
With me looking like Barney Rubble.

– Kevin Smith

“Ode to my BGT named ‘Bitch'”

Bright eyes and high hopes
The poor dumb college kid had
The ’70 BGT had to be pushed out by hand

“The rust isn’t so bad he thought”
Just on the surface, right?
Two hours later, he bought.

On a borrowed trailer he towed
Back to Mom’s garage
On a windy, twisty road

Home at last, of course in Mom’s garage,
She took just one look and said
“What is this, a rust montage?”

All through the night he toiled
He tinkered as hours passed by
He threw out the interior – it was spoiled

Morning came and back home to Seattle he had to go
He waved a sad goodbye and started the trip up north
He couldn’t help but drive too slow

– Chris

“MGB Poem”

I’ve driven em all
and I’ve driven em plenty,
An MGB ain’t worth a penny!

– Rip

Editor’s note: Boooooooo!!!

“MG Poem”

“An MG at age forty would be fine,”
Said his wife over a glass of red wine.
“But if you make any passes
At the young village lasses,
Through divorce that car will be mine”.

– Jack Landis

“MG Poem”

With the greatest of ease,
My hair in the breeze,
My troubles unwind themselves
What can be wrong
When i here the song
Of ancient technology,
and feel every bump in the road.

– Peter Gooch

“A poem in honor of our Canadian friends, in call and respose format”

MG, eh?

– David Breneman

“A From Nantucket”

There once was an “A” from Nantucket,
That spent time as parts in a bucket,
Until lovingly restored,
By a man who was bored,
Who said “It’s easier to fix it than duck it!”

– Joseph Cook

“MG Poem”

Picked it up on a tow dolly,
Thought it would make me jolly!
After a grand here, and a grand there
She’s none the better for wear
my wife calls it “Tracy’s folly”

Two coats of re-sell red
with stainless sills and screw heads
As the rust I tried to hide
“But it runs,” I cried
I should have done a re-shell instead

Now the welder is charged
The sills I’m afraid I’ll bodge
Spot welds that look like poo
I need some help but from who?
Well at least It’s not a Dodge.

The BBS it’s free
They help hapless folks like me
Sticky valves, tappets and seals
oil pumps, timing and wire wheels
What can be better than working on my MG?

– TDHoward

“TB or Not. . .”

Sure like to buy that ’39TB.
“Nah,” said Joe, “buy my TC.”
Winnie said “smoke it with my TD.”
Performance and looks. . .it’s the MGB,
Or for a rare one, the BRG model ‘C.
Sally piped up, “Get my dad’s PB.”
Came a thought more powerful than these
As I looked down at my trembling knees,
“Hold it guys, can’t you see?
Be back in a mo-I gotta take a pee.”

– Ken R.

“My Husband”

When he bought a blue MGB
he said, ‘a great car, you’ll see’
now on weekends he tinkers
on that old clinker
he used to spend time with me!

– Wife of Boris


There once was a man from Dundee
Who fancied to race his MG
Spent a ton of his cash
It was gone in a flash
When he wrapped the damn thing ’round a tree!

– Bud

“MG Haikus”

Little green MG
Waits patiently through winter
Oh, to feel the breeze

Moss, Vicky Brit
Where has the checkbook gone to?
My vacation spent!

A package for me?
The UPS man visits
Just a damn car part!

– Wife of Brian

“A Haiku lifted directly from The MGB Experience.”

What was he thinking?
He, cursed above all others
Previous owner

– Gryf Ketcherside, submitted by Eric King

“Ode to the Joy of Coupes”

It’s 15F outside, and my coupe is nice and warm.
I can drive and drive, and ignore the coming storm.
It’s toasty in here, I cannot wear my hat,
My feet are even warm, and who’d have thought of that!

So while other LBC owners are on the Internet,
My MGA coupe makes sure that my driving needs are met.
As long as the road doesn’t ice,
These long wintry rides are really quite nice.

And while my ragtop sleeps, all nestled in the barn,
My coupe still prowls, going all winter long.
Whenever the urge to drive a real machine hits,
The coupe gives me that feeling, that smile, that fix.

So here’s to coupes, especially the MGA,
They’ll keep you drivers happy, even on a Winter’s day.

– Ira Spector

“MG TD Poem”

There she sits, all broken parted
Two years of work, and I’ve only started!
“How on earth could you accept this task?”
“How could I not?”, is the question I ask

The Sistine Chapel was once too restored
And with each turn of a screw, I slowly move forward
Instead of rust, I see beauty before me
And when again she drives, you too will see

This gathering of ruins is more than a car
It’s a handful of yesterday, from lands afar
It’s a moment in time, with my father and me
A moment in time that again shall be

I drove her first when I was just sixteen
I couldn’t imagine Dad let me drive such a thing!
A priceless relic in the hands of a kid?
But it was the fondest of memories he gave when he did

Cruel to the car were the years that went by
What she was then versus now, I could cry
Sleek were her lines and firm was her gait
A scattering of pieces now is her state

But her soul is still there, it whispers each night
As I leave the garage and turn out the light
It speaks to me in a way others can’t hear
And says “be patient my friend, the day is near”

The months behind and the months ahead
Give test to my will, but I shall remain fast in stead.
Though my hands are tired and my back is sore
I’ll honor her destiny…she’ll live forever more!

– Robert May

“Three cheers for the Midget”

Three cheers for the Midget!
It’s pressed out of tin,
With a hole at the top
For the oil to go in.
And cracks underneath
For the oil to fall out.
Three cheers for the Midget,
Three cheers and a shout!

– Gryf Ketcherside

“MGA Poem”

My MGA is on the road today
As it will be from November to May

It’s wet and cold here in Preston, Lancs
But the old girl hums on and plays no pranks

Day after day she will take me to work
A journey she loves and will not shirk

When June comes around its off with the coat
Sun glasses on and down to the boat

Fifty years of the A and so much to do
Off to Le Mans with the racing few

– Steve Gyles

“MG Poem, no, MGA Poem!”

I think I’ll never see,
A poem as lovely as an MG

(OK, MGA, but it didn’t rhyme!)

Second try:

I think I’ll never see, eh?
A poem as lovely as an MGA

– Ken Doris

“MG Poem”

I have a Farina
That I think is much keener
Than a common ol’ Varitone
Rhyming only with Baritone

– Richard Cutright

“Glenn the Poet”

Glen writes to Steve
Another poem to weave

Steve, full of praise
Another website to raise

Dedicated to our expert Glen
For efforts with his fountain pen

Now where does that leave our A’s
Floundering on wet and windy days?

Back to the helpful and handy posts
That keep you going on the US coasts

– UK Poet Laureate Steve Gyles

“Many Years Have Past”

Many years have past
Since I owned my last
A tiny white Sprite
I would drive day and night
With life passing by
I did not want to die
Without driving once more
What I once drove before
So this middle aged guy
Was flying quite high
When I finally found
A Midget that’s sound
So with my wife by my side
We often go for a ride
To feel the fresh air
That once blew through our hair
The wind is still fine
The gears they still whine
When to top is not on
But my hair’s mostly gone
We love to drive by the shore
As we did years before
Once in the car
It doesn’t matter how far
When done with our run
Another day in the sun
We just want to shout
It’s so hard to get out
A twist and a moan
A push and a groan
Remind us once more
We’re not young like before
But for just a short while
We both have a smile
That we both used to wear
Before having a care

– Bob Scottaline (76 Midget)

“Night Ride – 3 AM”

Before the waking hour, too late for slumber,
Between the midnight and the unborn day,
In twilit green twin Jaeger fingers number,
Luminescent figures meaningless as they;
The lonely engine note is lilting thunder,
The landmarks loose their lines and melt away,
As ancient dreams lace weariness with wonder,
And thought spans farther than wise men say.

By flamethrown beams on curling catseyes gleaming,
The plunging tarmac tunnels out of night,
Winds on beyond the utmost verge of seeming,
To where, on wheels of energy and light,
Down lanes of stars the small dark worlds are streaming,
To cosmic cities infinite and bright.

– W. H. Charnock

To submit your poem, lymrick, haiku or other writings, email me!

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