Long Crank up Poems
Long Crank up Poems. Below are the most popular long Crank up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crank up poems by poem length and keyword.
Absolutely loved old Mickey Mouse
My all-time favourite character
No matter what my age is chronologically
Can't wait to crank up the projector
As he carouses round the celluloid screen
Fills my heart with great happiness
His squeaky voice rings out loud and clear
Always creating such rowdiness
Remember the Wonderful World of Disney
One in four was from Fantasyland
Of course, I enjoyed the other three weeks
But adored Mickey and his band
Life was filled with joy back then
Hoped we'd stay kids forever
Thoughts of getting old sometime in the future
Occurred to us almost never
Mickey and his band kept us chuckling all day
No worries, the world was in rhyme
Never concerned what the future had in store
Only fun till beddy-byes time
© Jack Ellison 2014
Sleepless, the body becomes
a mind map strung out on a bed,
color coded in degrees of pain.
Each movement sends an update,
a glowing patch of deepening red
or a lava line of heat solidifying
into a poker branding plunge
with a white hot X.
Staying still is only a temporary
reprieve, a lull for nerves to reset
and crank up for the next assault.
Inhabited space pressurizes
to send throbs pounding
on the walls of each weary cell
accompanied by waves
of relentless ache.
Thoughts clamber upwards
looking for a way out
but fall back into a dark
gravity, consumed by
that agonizingly slow countdown
when the next dose of oblivion
can be dribbled out of a pill
which, with any luck,
should get you through
until morning creeps across
your bed
with another installment.
Who knows whence the measurement
of time came about, though this chap
proposes the following general happen
stance. Perhaps psalm body named Judas
Priest arranged to congregate, but cohorts
restless (sans Quiet Riot), did Accept
a Mercyful Fate asper their Iron Maiden pact,
but needed to reassure doubting Tom us
(a petty detail), how to coordinate self
anointed Black Sabbath. An Idol Billy
Graham proposed a resolution (this
coincidentally enough would be calculated,
figured, and interpolated vis a vis
to happen on New Years Eve circa
unknown when. Some metal-heads
put their Smashface together, and contrived
a crude modus operandi, which in
vol vid each musician to crank up
and amplify to the max his instrument of choice.
No matter distance extant between
closest and farthest member, would be
barely faintly heard. The era re: these
bit players didst dabble with primitive
chronometers comprised hamlets a mere
shouting distance apart. Once a quasi
reliant (and affordable) methodology
evolved, one singer songwriter
upped the (space/time quantum theory)
ante by conniving, fostering (the village
people), inviting live onstage performances.
Quite a bit of fancy free footloose gimcrackery
reckoned to be sale-able to sell at audiences,
thus drawing a Crowded House. None
the less, there remained the confounding,
irksome, pesky quandary sans figuring precision
concerning how to segment morning
to night cycle. Perhaps the town nerd
might own the (get) smarts to tinker
satisfactorily until...PRESTO! The purported
impossible mission solved with refinement
propelling one geek after the other into
the klieg lights if only for a blink of an eye!
The new groom
Loved his bride so
One day she took ill
He took her in tow
I'll clean and I'll cook
Set you up with a book
In a day, maybe two
You'll be as good as new
To eat, what's your request
I'm at your behest
Tell me your heart's desire
And I'll crank up the fire
Hard-boiled eggs, she smiled
So he dropped two in a pot
Turned on the stove
But they didn't get hot
He waited and waited
The morning grew old
But those two raw white eggs
Stayed cool, if not cold
The gallant groom paced
Even stamping his foot
Yet all he got for his efforts
Was some dust and some soot
Up from her sickbed
The bride took her groom's place
Lit a match to the gaslight ~
Put egg on his face
(I wrote this when I was 16 - in covid lockup)
Which do you like better "coronapocalypse" or "coronapause"?
I like "coronapause".
Back when you could do such things…
I'm in the Ulta Beauty store, in Athens, Georgia, at the Clarins makeup counter looking things over - I pick up a 'Restorative Cream' - the little label says it'll make you look 10 years younger - I drop it like a hot rock - How ridiculous - who wants to look 6 again?
the other night
I was watching one of the “Final Destination” movies the other night and I screamed in horror at some gloriously gruesome death and one of my cats (Belichik) lounging in back of me atop the couch totally freaked out and attacked me.
I was shocked - and intrigued. It turns out that if I scream and run around the house he'll chase me - as if he were a lion and I were prey on an African plain - it’s so funny.
Belichik has gotten into it, as if he knows we now have new games to play.
If I crank up a playlist and sing and dance around my room he’ll go absolutely crazy - we’ve started having dance parties.
Belichik and I have been brought so much closer by these new and exciting activities that I find myself really letting go and telling him all my secrets.
It’s a lesson in love.
.
.
A song for this:
lessons in love by level 42
Bad sick brains/ A jolt to the soul Energy raw, untamed, a primal scream/
Then Blink-182, "First Date," pop punk dreams, sixty million views, a digital stream, what a bad dream/ is anybody makin’ money nowadays? But views ain’t loyalty, tour duty, the grit and the grind/
The scar tissue earned, a chair thrown at the stage, the battles you find. Punk Rock is divine/
We’d still take the bullet, stand shoulder to shoulder, for brothers, for sisters, getting older, getting bolder/ Still rocking/ Still old is new again/
Hear that echo, that roar? Punk, hardcore, and metal, smashing down the door/
Badass Undiluted Pure, untamed defiance/
They played the music, fueled by pure head-busting Punk Rock science… in believing in something, a brotherhood strong, while the world outside was screaming all along/ They had no clue/ No crystal ball to see Just how fractured, how ed the future would be/
Black kid in the late 80s, early 90s haze, metal and punk, his escape from those days/ Guitarist Rocky George, a beacon, a fire, melting the Punk genres together/ lifting him higher/
What band was the best punk/metal crossover the world ever made? Before the labels, the formulas, the games that are played?
Just raw, honest power/ a message so clear/ We’re here, we’re fighting, banishing fear! So crank up the volume, let the riffs ignite, remember the Punk Rock heroes who stood in the light/
Still rocking/ still good/ We’ll take that bullet today/for the music, for the message/
That punk music lights up the way.
March 10, 2019 - Daylight Saving Time Starts
The homey nimble storied wisdom of
Benjamin Franklin still
admired during hour time,
especially noteworthy, for slime
molds, the second Sunday of March,
when theft linkedin with
(Ides say) most innocuous crime
re: stealth of precious sixty minutes, hence
a flash in the pan idea to expound rhyme,
which notional whim came like bolt of lightning,
while daydreaming 'bout (what else...but)
flying a kite during stormy (Daniels) clime.
thus, once again twilight
takes quantum leap
forward hut, our humble keep
sake hour hand of time
grudgingly advances without beep
ping, ewe know who of little lamb fame,
what with barely audible lil bo peep
predicated, asper in taking away thirty six
hundred seconds of sleep
subsequently marking
second Sunday when e'er deep
into Lion of winter month o' March rolls
around with least amount by Dickens
plaintively asking Uriah Heep
to crank up AC/DC dirty
Harry deed done dirt cheap
cuz, this tradition of sorts
supposedly doth reap
economic benefits plus
Circadian rhythm less steep
difference with contrivance
issuing Whatsapp hapt'n when leap
pin lizards such Iam
motioning carillon to alternate between
sepulchral and refulgent chime
creating less discordant
dilly dally dichotomy
reverberates all the way to Siam,
while aye blithely tapped out here
yours truly 'ere at his Schwenksville heim
taking poetic life (in hour hand)
liberty at pursuit this prime
mate takes to hash feeble
verse to eke out a dime
probably more realistic for me
to ply blimey hands with grime,
now suddenly bedeviled what to do
soundlessly communicating woe
whiz mere (mein kampf),
sans displaying mime
as a last ditch effort before time
to call quits with this futile rhyme.
All the others row the boat slow while I crank up the motor....
Here we go let's start the show, I'm the show boater.
The entrance of the eminent,
with ability that's evident.
Poo fills your pants
as you now know you haven't a chance.
I've had it with those who flow with a transparent talent,
the thumpy clumpy rhyme and rhythm of an elephant,
regardless of their age they should think about retirement,
as a skill that's transparent is a skill that they haven't.
I'm the standard setter and I lack compassion,
my skills unmeasured and better than the competition.
Your rhymes are rotten,
that's why they're forgotten,
you're not the dogs bollocks
you're just the dogs bottom.
I rhyme with a rhythm representing Great Britain,
you rhyme like you've been bitten and are disease ridden.
My hyperactive mind will leave you behind,
I am not being unkind but simple minds,
can't even begin to find the words to bind,
people like you often tend to stumble blind
over the simple single syllable rhyme.
I started writing and I'm unstoppable, it's easy it's natural,
you're a hangover fart that lingers like a holocaust chemical.
I am the only poetic superhuman that's causing confusion,
it's amusing how you need the supervision to point out you're losin'.
You need to train your face to look HUMBLE when defeated,
if you feed what it needs your brain won't crumble depleated.
I'm on a mission to book first place, so when I'm awarded,
I must be applauded, stand and clap don't remain seated.
You need to accept it and expect it,
or quit while you have time to forefeit.
You will blunder under the sound of my THUNDER that goes round,
but if it's misheard,
I've got a box of frost to start biting,
but if that's squandered
and you carry on like a fighter,
I'll strike you with lightning,
one way or another you will not win top writer.
Respect the perspective that my rhyme is perfected,
and to conclude your rhymes are rejected.
Not to be rude but your seat's to be ejected,
it's not that you're bad it's that I am majestic.
Give me a song to sing,
Give me the words to write.
Give me the path to walk,
Point me in a direction that's right.
Play me the sound to dance,
Let me feel the bass under my feet,
Let the music take control,
Let the rhythm feel the beat.
I got you forever,
The rhythm to my song.
The music is my life,
Play it loud and sing along!
Crank up the sound,
Feel your body flow.
Lose yourself in the moment,
Let yourself go.
Give me the air to breathe,
Give me the voice to sing my song.
Give me the people to hear my words,
Together we all sing along.
Let's dance this storm together,
Punching our fists into the air.
Let the music take control,
It's for everyone to share.
Shake it out on the dance floor,
Feel the vibes in your soul.
Now scream it loud and clear,
I live for rock n roll !!!
The weekly bus that carries
the old ones from the village
to do their weekly shop
fills with shaken umbrellas
and eager tales of morbidity.
You know those water tablets
that Jane’s been taking for her blood?
Well they’ve affected her kidneys now,
and she’s got oedema.
You should see her ankles:
like balloons, they are.
The rain has stopped, the sun
dazzles the seats around me,
warming the air and our faces;
beads glisten down the windows;
the driver hums a tune;
the journey smiles.
Janet found a growth –
it turned out benign but
she fell and broke her wrist.
I’m doing her shopping.
And as for Billy’s verruca . . . Well!
The sun has failed to shun
the cloudy conversation,
gives up, ushers back the rain.
Rain is happy here: cheer is so obviously
no substitute for this bus-time babble.
Sickness over health is preferred.
I push my earphones further in,
crank up the volume and enjoy
that radio hospital drama
I downloaded yesterday.