Cranked up the victrola to max damage
Put on a little Zeppelin, so savage
When the neighbors got mad
I played Sir Galahad
Come play pickleball ~ first we’ll eat cabbage
I went out in the sunshine
to feel a little glow~
but Texas cranked the thermostat
to way above “too low.”
My forehead felt like frying eggs,
my cheeks began to bake,
my brain said, “Girl, we’re melting,”
like a marshmallow on a stake.
I tried to walk with dignity,
but staggered like a mime~
the sun was doing the hokey-pokey
with my sense of space and time.
My vision wobbled sideways,
my thoughts turned into soup,
I swear I saw a tumbleweed
perform a hula-hoop, loop-de-loop.
And if you hear me muttering
about dancing sycamore trees~
just pat my arm and hand me
a cold drink, pretty please.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dash says -10°, please refuel,
but the squirrel merely laughs~
her paws grip the wheel,
a trail of acorn shells
spitting from the tailpipe.
The wind is a dentist’s drill
through her fur, but
she’s got style,
she’s got nuts,
she’s got a convertible.
The trees watch in dismay~
Look at that idiot!*
The squirrel grins back,
tossing a half-eaten walnut
at winter’s face.
Let the humans huddle.
She’s got the heater cranked
to glory,
and the radio tuned to
KNUTS105 FM.
Hey girl, I know you’ve been feeling blue
For believing that he really wanted you
Instead he hurt you after he was through
Now you need to knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, I know you gave it all
But your soft heart took the fall
When he pushed you away and put up his wall
But you must knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, I know you dreamt for more
When he acted like loving you was a chore
You can’t be chasing him anymore
Best for you to knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, I know you tried to understand
Why he crossed that line and you took a stand
Asking for respect isn’t a huge demand
You gotta knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, let go of the thief who steals your joy
Who cranked you up high like a spinning toy
As you caught feelings for this little boy
A firm push will knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, you let him control your heart
He’s hiding again and you must depart
Self-love is now your journey to start
As you watch him fall off his pedestal
You are closer to me than a kidney is to a stone,
I love you more than your everything.
If you die before I do
I will have my own bags packed
and wherever we end up
will be just fine by me,
just as long as I can make you smile.
At night your cold feet on my back
help me dream of Polar Bears canoodling.
Sometimes your left hip creaks
in sympathy to my own cranked knee.
You are a cream for my rash
which flares up when you're not
100% around.
If you dent my S Type Jaguar once more
I will forgive you
besides it not that great, its old
though not as old as you, but you are greater.
I will forgive you
like an ingrowing toenail forgives
a too tight shoe,
or like a cold sore forgives
the soothing kiss of lip balm
You are my good right arm,
etcetera, etcetera.
© 1 day ago
I had glorious plans for my life.
Warm ink transforming blank pages,
destined to be a best seller!
I felt specially bound.
Printing press cranked out
a glossy-colored cover,
my name plastered
in bold black letters for all to see.
Signed inside by my creator
I only rested on the bookstore shelf
for three bitter hours
before someone adopted me.
Held gingerly each night by gentle fingers,
eagerly offering my very soul
until snores dropped me
on soft, disheveled blankets.
Word by word and line by line,
page by page, and chapter by chapter.
Night after night, I was dynamite
till shut tight.
Is that all there is?
I've slept for ten years now... in a box,
in a cobwebbed corner of a cluttered closet,
dressed up and no place to go.
I'm suffocating!
In the enmeddling clingsome widewoven cleavage
Of the windwrapped menacehugging road
Torchurtoting time turns dangler of slopesliding sands
You slitrap the solum to seek the hideous nearlocked nook.
The crackfested road twisturns over your sleekshoulder
Oops griplifts you on its saddlekradle oldie
The jeopordized jagged journey trottrots slothened
With the time’s dustrapped flagcart cranked.
At the edgeend of the ruinrubbled road
Tormentrudged time turns terminist in blinkinstant
Chasetrack you till the twilight sundown duskdark
You longwish to restep on faden footstamps.
The crackripped road crumbler of dayspun dreams
Throws wrecktrash you in dismaydark debris
The jocundgelled journey ends in hopesucked incompleteness
Captivetrapped in deepdown time’s eternal sucksack infinitum.
The second I sit my fingers begin clicking the keys
What are you doing, I ask, if you please.
None of your business my muse says, typing away.
Another poem or two, cranked out, on this weird ass Thursday.
Have you ever drawn a tree?
I am a cartoonist and a painter.
I have tried to draw them.
A tree is the most difficult thing in the world to draw.
Some artists say that perfect circles are impossible.
I think I have cranked some out.
They are not as hard to draw
As a tree.
A painter told me that horses are difficult to draw.
I can draw cartoon horses in my sleep.
All night long.
And unicorns.
But trees.
They give me the willies.
They are impossible to draw.
You would know this if you ever tried to draw one.
The workmen are here again today rebuilding our porch.
Their country western music is loud and proud
Cranked up to ear-drum-breaking levels.
I hear it in every room of my house and they are outside.
This might be their last day, or maybe tomorrow.
I do not say a word about their house-shaking music.
Workmen are temperamental, and I want them to come back.
I have played this game before and know it is best to keep silent.
Carpenters are difficult to find, and if they walk I am sunk.
Luckily I have an art studio, so I go out there – a bit farther away.
Can I hear it out there? Yes, but it is more tolerable at that distance.
The whistle blows, the chugging starts -
A steam train ride in France -
For those who like to try things
From the past, this is your chance.
Since when it’s time to turn around,
The leading car’s unlatched
And driven to a turntable
Before it’s reattached.
The locomotive then gets cranked,
By hand! one circle ‘round.
The engineer next drives to where
The once-caboose is found.
The train is reconnected
And goes back the way it came,
Passing trees and giant rock formations,
Looking all the same.
An aqueduct appears and there’s
An eagle in the sky,
But what impresses most on board
As we go zipping by
Is a trio by the river,
Down below and quickly viewed,
Being very French, relaxing
Near the water, in the nude.
Backseat bingo- such a blast!
Passion pit- made in the shade.
Fat City- cranked and crazy!
With dolly- cloud nine!
Talking to people
Circles of fear
Straight lines and queers
The conscious mirror drops narrator's tears
Never forgetting the bird with transparent wings
Zombies walking in and out of their mouths
Left me standing
No bottom
No escaping a loss soul bottom soul top
They love the way you make things worse so greater is great
So the better is undeniably good
Spinning their talk
Deafening me with Yoko cranked
Taken a stand
On the ceiling
A copy cat killer
A perfect dance
The normal down side of a meow romance
The absent prodigal
Speaking from the crypt
We won't be back home
Talk is about them
Famous bullock pills
Who runs the show
Is it crow
King of confusion
A city without a home
The paint loving train
Not difficult to hear the choo
Too crazy to salute
My sister had us over
For a special home-cooked meal,
With sauce and pasta made from scratch -
To me, a real big deal.
When we arrived, upon a nifty
Plastic-armed display
Were fresh-made noodles, gently draped,
With lots more on the way.
We watched as sheets of dough were placed
Into a cool machine
Which my sister cranked until, Voila!
The noodles could be seen.
Upon the stove, a giant pot
Was bubbling away
With sauce made from tomatoes
She had crushed that very day.
The dinner was delicious -
Meatballs rounded out the deal -
And I marveled at the effort made
To serve us such a meal.
We're born; we live-we take-we give.
We knead love while churning hate.
Love comes through the curtain unabated.
Then leaves with a clack, like the song of a raven.
We sashay into open hearts...
Unleashing a maelstrom of fiery darts.
God prunes the root of our pain.
Balms the burning in the brain...
In return we curse his blessed name.
We rage -we rejoice-aging ungracefully.
Every breath is a gilded blessing...I think.
The sundial is cranked up to full speed.
My circle shrinks into a salty singularity.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.