Long Crews Poems
Long Crews Poems. Below are the most popular long Crews by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crews poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s sail away to Acapella,
A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller.
I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella
When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella.
It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl
But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill,
Acapella compares well to old Casablanca,
As you will observe once we have dropped anchor.
Their libraries don’t hold any musical score,
Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore,
All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas
And whistles restricted to football referees.
So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar
Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller.
Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas
Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s.
There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream
Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team,
The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp
And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp!
Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves,
Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves,
They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties
But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties.
Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht
And by all accounts he deserved what he got,
He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword
Then his vintage viola was flung overboard!
On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo,
But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo.
Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps,
It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps.
So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet
Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it;
Those instruments go to a processing plant
Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t.
We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars
Where the locals all sing without playing guitars,
Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys,
Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys.
So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen
Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene,
It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller -
The remote principality of Acapella.
So let us sail forth across the briny
In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny
To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly,
And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.
When you speak to an audience, who are you talking to? The people in front of your screen or those trapped in your dreams? More than thirty thousand people are watching you simultaneously and the language that you portrayed is interpreted in many different ways. When you are on screen, you are not speaking to one person; your multitude of words can rest heavily on the soul for those who absorb them.
I don’t know who you are talking to when you are on the screen unless you place me in a private chat room and direct the conversation to my dream; the universe is blending with you and they will tell you what to do; over a million voices have heard you and ten million ears understand you.
When you leave this place, you will be a better man and a better woman, don’t ever take me for granted because I have ninety-nine lives and I have died and risen many times so get ready for the next journey because we are going to break the box office record and then we dance the shimmy.
I saw you on the screen yesterday with a burden on your face; it is not the regular excitement that I used to see, it’s one mounted with fear and anxiety. It was as if you were speaking and thinking of the journey you have to go, but all the reporters on the scene add compliments to the show.
You use a lot of energy to present the news, do the commentary and analyze the prosperity; the ship is waiting in the dock and the passengers and crew are watching the clock, the cameras are rolling, the makeup is on and you must be on the set before the break of Dawn. The story is just unfolding.
When you speak to an audience let them know what you mean, your body language and tone reveal your countenance for the entire day and even a subtle eye movement will show you the way.
When you are speaking to an audience, you must show variation in your tone. If the point is directed to me, let me know through the constant movement of your little finger because the audience is the art of the show.
We are getting ready for the summer “shots” and we are going to give it all that we’ve got, the equipment is on board the crews are rolling in, location scene shots are identified, analyzed and scrutinized. Security arrangements are put in place for you to completed this final phase, the heat is on and the sacrifice has begun and the queen of the sea has landed.
Somewhere over Europe
A B-17 flies
Strafed and damaged
In her enemies skies
The flak has taken
Its toll on the plane
This crew so brave
In this theatre of war campaign
Many hours have passed
With no sight of the channel
Only land ahead
Is it our instrument panel
A shout is heard from the rear of the plane
A Messerschmitt ME-109, beside us flies
We are sitting targets for another kill
The pilot turns his head, as i look into his eyes
He is making a gesture
For us to turn 180 degrees
Do we believe our enemy
But we eventually agree
He continues to fly
Like an escort of question
Were we right to agree
His degree of suggestion
For up ahead we see
The glint of blue water
Our horizon of hope
Are we saved from slaughter
Moments later
As i turn my head again
A wave from the German
As he banks his fighter plane
We are now well over the channel
As we sight the white cliffs of Dover
Our B-17 in struggle
This mission near over
On the runway at Kimbolton
The fire crews stand ready
Will our plane take the landing
Is our undercarriage steady
Touch down we make
As we talk of our flight back
About the German fighter pilot
Who refused to attack
It is now many years later
For we were lucky, we grew old
As we assembled on anniversary
Our story could now be told
For he had kept it his secret
But now we have to say
Franz Stigler and his German fighter
Is why we are before you today
He was scrambled to intercept
The enemy that we were then
When he arrived we awaited
The fate of us men
When he viewed our plane
He couldn't believe his eyes
Why something so shot up
Still flew in his skies
When he returned to base
In his reports he states
It went down over the sea
And sealed our fate
After all these years
I am so happy we have met
We have lived many years
While our lost colleagues have slept
I thank you Sir
For sparing the lives of my crew
As we stand together for peace
We salute you
This is a true story from WWII, written by request for Sara Kendrick,
who loves to challenge me, and i thank Sara kindly for the opportunity
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-6.php
HOOKEY DAY
So you went off to school son and what did you learn?
will it make the world better the next time it turns?
No I didn’t go to school ma, I played hooky today
and I learned that it’s time to throw the books away.
I went to the cities and I walked down the streets,
and talked to the graduates where they work and compete.
I looked at the systems that they have contrived
and it’s hard to believe that we’re still alive.
I heard bankers scheming financial plots
to turn all of the haves into have-nots,
to place the whole world under total control
in endless poverty with no hope of parole.
I heard doctors and lawyers speaking in tongues
to patients uncured as the innocent hung.
Big pharma was addicting whole populations
as wall street convulsed in financial elation.
I saw shadows behind men high in power
as the world grew darker hour by hour.
The light at the end of the tunnel seen
was in the hands of an interrogation team.
My thoughts became knots, all tied up in the hype
that the media weaves through the lines of it’s type.
Life was distorted by camera and crews
***** called art and fiction called news.
Did you study your lessons and pass all your tests,
will you use what you learn to become a success?
I learned that the minds of those studying there
are molded by evil for tools of despair.
They're captains of industry, the corporate select
who ravage the earth and cause human neglect.
They measure success by raids and attacks—
and the depth of the blade in society’s back.
They control the planet and technology
that could energize earth, pollution free,
but they profit more from machinery
that fouls the air, the earth and the sea.
Go to their schools and you’re taught to agree
with the policies of the powers that be.
To aid and abet them in criminal goals
of pillage and plunder and global control.
To cast aside all conscience and sense
and leave the future to pay the expense.
To covet and hoard, collect and amass
and consume the earth to the last blade of grass.
These are the men of letters and worth
of corporations destroying the earth.
Go sit with their scholars and sully your brain
I’ll pass on the classroom and keep myself sane.
it all began with a lazy man,
who on his least lazy day was certainly more
lazy
than you or i,
and on one especially lazy day,
this rotund sloth
sat in his own filth one late afternoon,
after not showering for days,
with crumbs crusted in his chest hair & the
stench of stale beer flowing from his mouth
every time he opened it to yawn
this man focused on all the domestic
errands that he needed to make in a day
(every single one which made him heave his immense
disgusting body &
try to catch his breath while sweating out the
alcohol through his
pores),
from taking a piss to making something to eat
(which he never did, if in fact he could waddle to the
phone, call and order some food to be brought to
him),
and he found himself sitting in his stained recliner,
staring at his yellow-toed bare feet
as the feet seemed to stare back at him,
his mind drifted to all the time he spent finding socks to
wear, as well as the
time he invested in pulling them over his feet &
it angered him,
knowing that he would never get those moments back---
he wondered just what he could have accomplished,
from stuffing his fat face to watching whole seasons of canceled
programming---
so he came up with a solution
he put on his unlaced old sneakers without socks &
picked up all of his socks that were dirty,
including all those on the floors in his prospective rooms,
then
he went outside behind his apartment building and set fire to all those
socks that he had nestled in a large smelly pile---
the stench lingered down his street
this sloth had a buddy who did tats,
he lived in the neighborhood,
and so to the tat-man went the sloth---
sooner than later he was sitting in a recliner there
being asked by his equally fat & disgusting
(but beautifully tattooed) friend,
just what exactly it was that he wanted done &
where
the sloth in question replied
“give me a pair of white hanes cushioned crews,
one for the left & one for the right”---then
he raised his bare feet up so that his fat-tat-friend
would be able to see the canvas on which he was about to
paint
long thereafter,
the fat-tat-friend shook the hand of his sloth friend who
scratched under his armpit & then
walked out with two new sock feet---
some time in the following weeks he gained employment as a
sock model for hanes---
the end.
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.
One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.
What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.
None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.
All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.
Having been too many places to count.
Sex bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent jobs, traffic
tickets, judges' chambers, out houses, wedding banquets, boiling
teapots, frantic centuries, facial tissues, presumed innocent, clear
intentions, stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate zone.
...The bigfoot poked out again the next day
with the little one not that far behind,
came lunch time Julio put out apples,
before each he would stop and make the sign.
He did this for days, an entire week,
each day the two creatures came for the snack,
then one day he kept the fruit in the bag,
the beasts got anxious for what they now lacked.
The older sasquatch was agitated,
but Julio just made the sign with his hands,
the beast hooted and growled, still upset,
though the little one seemed to understand.
He tried his best to mimic the motion,
so Julio tossed an apple to him,
the mother then noticed, she did the same,
so he gave one to her with a grin.
From that day onwards, when on his lunch break,
he’d make a sign and point at an object,
the creatures learned fast, and got their rewards,
even seemed eager for what they’d learn next.
For many weeks this pattern repeated,
until one day Julio ran out of spruce,
the crews would come soon with trailer and truck
to pick up the trunks and put them to use.
Julio figured that the job was done,
so he went home to rest up for a bit,
didn’t think he’d see a sasquatch again,
until one night when his dog threw a fit.
He walked to the back door, where the dog barked,
determined to see what caused all the fuss,
in his backyard he saw shaggy, black forms,
in disbelief he shook his head, awe-struck.
The two bigfoots had followed him on back,
and they signed for him to come talk to them,
with a shrug he went out, signed to them ‘hello,’
and like that the friendship started again.
It’s even said that they learned some syntax,
and pronouns, the younger one claimed a name;
that the juvenile outpaced the mother,
the plasticity of youth in his brain.
For twenty years they lived near Julio,
until the female passed on from old age,
two years later cancer took the logger,
no one knowing the breakthroughs he’d made.
Now I know that this tale must come as a shock,
most didn’t think sasquatches could exist,
but now that you speak of who gets credit
I had to come forwards and insist
That all remember the lonely logger,
that you put his name on the walls.
Julio Jones taught my mother to sign,
that’s how I can even talk to you at all.
Deer Colette,
Thank u four the sweater. Eye did knot no it wood cost that much. It was hire than eye thought. Eye love it! U or such a suite heart.
All sew, thank u four the pitchers u cent. Eye can knot bee leave how big you’re brother Johnny has groan. Pour Johnny, he used two wine a lot as a kid with his snotty knows, lol. Girl, eye steel remember how much Kim used two teas him, an that thyme he fell off his bike. Man, that brews was bad, but it heeled pretty fast.
Win he was younger he wanted two bee a male man, is that steel sew?
Buy the weigh, how or u? Eye mist seeing u four you’re birthday, sew eye am souper egg cited an looking four wood two hour family reunion this weak inn. Eye herd the whether will bee cold, sew eye no u or glad yall or flying this thyme. The plain is much quicker, eye like flying. Eye flu two Knew Orleans, Atlanta and Lost Vegas. Each thyme the whether was just write. The sky was blew with beautiful, wite puffy clouds.
Anyway, Uncle Gem, Ant Lisa an the kids or driving down two day. He tolled me it takes ate ours, but heel bee hear inn fore. He said he was filling week a few days ago, but knot anymore. He’s much better, sew that’s good two here.
Wee wheel meat them at the maul later. Eye do knot have thyme two waist. Can u bee leave inn a few daze it wheel bee Christmas? Eye knead two get sum shopping dun an out the weigh two day. The stows better have sum good sails, bee cause eye want two bye my gifts an rap them up quickly without any won seeing, witch wood bee impossible two dew bee cause nosey Lilly is coming with us.
Win u get hear, u gotta get inn that kitchen an cook. Yeah, eye steel remember u maid that apple pi. O, it was sew good. Eye took the biggest peace. Eye wood have eight the hole thing if it wasn’t for Johnny, lol.
Colette, eye was thinking, next year eye want two take a crews. Eye want two travel the whirl. Eye all wazes say it, but never due it. Eye scene a grate deel on this web sight. U no sum web sights lye, sew eye hope the price is what it says. Eye wood love four u two come with me. Let me no what u think.
Well cousin, its knight thyme inn eye have two get up early, have a safe flight. Aisle sea u soon.
Love u four ever,
Emily
Antiestablishmentarian inherent malevolent violence
wracks human species, a most brutish and nasty beast.
An embittered nihilistic teenager
grown haggard and old,
hence not surprisingly yours truly
crafts pseudo dystopian reasonable rhyme.
An evangelized atheistic adherent,
I aver evolutionary theory
posits prelapsarian Eden
of astonishing plentitude
gone to hell in a handbasket.
Ever since human species stood erect
exhibiting prehensile appendages did allow
cupped fingers upon brow,
whereat vista unveiled to succor chow.
Dawn of consciousness begat
superstitious vagaries daunting
present day Democrat
and/or Republican to issue fiat
denouncing extremist militant uprising
raging across Capitol Hill habitat.
2021 presidential inauguration
today January twentieth
(broadcast right now)
augurs horrific repeat January sixth,
when bedlam and mayhem
rocked Washington District of Columbia,
where hoodlums ran amuck lionizing violence.
Lawlessness bled constitution white
marauding bands of hooligans
bombarded, desecrated, fueled,
harmed, jackknifed, leveled, nailed,
pummeled, rioted, terrorized, vandalized...
with glee and spite
yielded windfall regarding
headline grabbing newsnight
motley film crews recorded
gangsters scaling storied height
(cue spiderman/woman)
think rescuers quick
as greased lightning they did alight.
If only real and/or
fictional life action heroes/heroines
came to the rescue
to avenge forces of evil,
where virtue dispensed,
and trumpeted courtesy better angels.
Meanwhile indefatigable defenders
of human rights
dole out just desserts
upon the heads
of self styled lawless brigands
militaristic thugs hell bent
to wreak havoc
upon cradle of liberty
including complex edifices
linkedin and embody
blood, sweat and tears
of freedom fighters
arrayed against merciless
demonic forces upending
foundation upholding enshrined
nearly divinely inspired principles
quantum leaps since
early man/woman trod
across terrestrial firmament.
I experienced exhilaration
upon witnessing confirmation
genuflection, liberation, restitution
espoused by Joseph Robinette Biden Jr.
forty sixth president of United States.
Some pin memories delicately
and precisely like butterflies.
I, however, use railroad spikes.
This morning was spent well,
walking along a high desert trail,
close to some old railroad tracks.
My sister had shown them to me yesterday.
I am looking for signs that I was ever here before
today.
A boot print, perhaps, to match with my own
today.
Some lightly crushed sticky poppies or some low
purple lupine or yellow cactus flowers to bring back
the remembered scraps of yesterday's conversations.
Note that spring has passed with a large ant mound, bigger than
yesterday. Did I really climb to the top of the rock outcrop
moments ago?
Looking North down the valley, sun at my back,
Arkansas rippling nearby, and I'm moving along the tracks now,
Paralleled by old fashioned telephone poles, so low to the ground,
pottery and glass connectors on each one sparkling in the early morning sun.
Memory take note! This could be a decent poem.
Old rusty metal parts everywhere piled haphazardly by a thousand repair
crews running these rails forty, fifty, eighty years ago.
Are there any still around to remember those days on the rails?
Making my way back to my niece's house that I left some hours ago
and I pick up one of the railroad spikes in my path.
I'll put it in a drawer next to the spike that I and my young son found
near to his dying grandmother's house some years ago.
I knew that we would never be back and I wanted him to remember
those times.
I mean to ask my mother when I get back to my niece's house if
her "Popdaddy" ever prospected these hills.
I imagine him coming out of the hills to share a cup of coffee
with the railroad repair crew some eighty years ago.
My mother fades in and out of consciousness, unable to connect
her random disjointed memories. Will she have an answer?
Or will she ask me again just who I am and
what part of her life was I.
Two spikes to mark the passing of two ladies
and myself.
I'll put them in a drawer together, and some time, someone,
perhaps a grandchild,
will ask about them,
and I'll say,
"You know, I picked them up somewhere,
I just don't know exactly where,
or why."