Best Cranks Poems

Stood I there, that last day,
On an iron bridge...
An aqueduct by design,
Where, looking dreamily out over
The Ernes Lower Lough,
My compressed shadow 
Momentarily paused -
To contently recline:
Amidst coy Junes radiant beams 
of sweet benign!
All was stilled, all was hushed,
Save vast reed beds sided by the
Shallow hills...

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As morning glowed pale light over the town of Soup Creek,
Jenna woke with a start when she heard a floorboard squeak.
She raised her gun and took aim at a shadow near the door,
"Hold it right there, Mister, unless you're lookin' to start a war."

A familiar...

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A well-water pump cranks out its iron-water
    crooked wire remains -- once, sturdy chicken coops
  The brackish, muddy area over there, the cowshed
    some withered trees dot the hills, bereft now of their fruit

  A few young...

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He walks through  murky puddles cobble stone
    City full of busy sounds and movements
        Time advancing enhancing improvements.

Passer-byers in the youthful sunny' hours
    Social complexity of daily life
   ...

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One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out...

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"Beyond lychgate lies future death" she says,
cucumbered eyes slid back under cauliflower sky,
brimming smithereens of harkening demons.

Been in saddle some time since torchlight began,
a child's silent castle ago. Chaos-times cut alleyways
through rose-lettered circles, reads trashy maid.

The journey fell sword north along shield path.
Peninsula late to...

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"Music Box"
Wind it up to work her magic 
Memories in a box unleashed with a flip of the lock
Releasing a small plume, you dust it off and sneeze
Turning the key to see a little painted ballerina in action
Missing flecks of the dress she has donned...

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“Unicorns are Us” 

You can only imagine
the furore 
when magick
hit the score
the Party, not impressed,
was not for witches
too big for their
britches on brooms,
said all the high-brow
cultural dignitories
and low-strung 
toad hall politicians
pacing around the room;
so all negligible necromancers
and sullen she-devils transformed
and became the beautiful untouchables
quietly soft...

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(A Double Divine-form not include in your list) 

She digs into her pocket's hollow space
and snags a tissue, swipes her eyes.
Her fingers touch a bar,
a rich, dark treat.

She chooses dash as treasure's resting place
then cranks the key, gets a surprise
when heater in her car
melts hoarded...

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For The Love Of Coffee, I Tarry

Just one more cup of coffee before I have to go,
the weather is bad and the boss will surely know.
If I tarry along and fail to clock in on time,
no mercy there, excuses aren't even worth a dime.

Yes, one...

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Daddy’s a workaholic...
But what about the hospital stay... the loss of blood,
his ashen dignity
Slight prate about moving into a veteran’s home

Only in his young eighty’s
Workaholics don’t quit
Laboring healthward

So the tiller cranks for cultivating
and the garden is sown, 
yet during it's interval of growth
he’s... vigorously active...

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I've never understood how things work

gears turn and cranks crank

circuits connecting and forming a link

all of this stuff is out of my reach

its all so confusing, fuses and plugs 

that plug into sockets 

and HUDS that have numbers and belts that have notches

motors that whirr...

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A body of translucent blue spreads before him,
reflecting heavens of stark purity.
He flicks his shiny offering towards depths unknown,
and cranks the oiled reel.
Time  pours slowly,
as the reflective lure moves through crystal waters.
Again the motions transfix thought,
cast, retrieve, move, repeat.
Until abruptly, something strikes the silver...

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Clanks,

blanks,

cranks,

clash!

Slams in tank,

detours irate!

Ingenious infiltrates,

sojourns knocking,

indignation on the plank,

plutocracy dank!

Dotards are prate,

iridescence is just as late-

prime meridian,

songs obsidian,

and the incandescence great!...

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A lot of fancy gizmos befuddle me in this technological age,
Where perplexing computers, texting and twittering are all the rage!
I can empathize with the feller who renounced horse and buggy days,
To subdue the baffling horseless carriage that became all the craze!

Clyde Schlunk reluctantly retired his...

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