Long Revving Poems
Long Revving Poems. Below are the most popular long Revving by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Revving poems by poem length and keyword.
Zooming around the room in wheel chair-moves
our child greets us by his beeping toy’s cheer
allowing pets to bark and meow freely.
Gesturing to hush us midst vibrant shhh
our son mumbles his morning prayer list
murmuring our names, gasping in between.
Then he enjoys yummy breakfast crunches
gulping milk and slurping yoghurt gladly
thanking Mom for sizzling eggs served with bliss.
After gargling menthol-flavored mouthwash
he likes warm splashes in his awesome bath
concluded with spray of baby cologne.
His learning zest includes snapping fingers
clapping hands, stomping feet, and zipping bags
while perfecting oinking and quacking sounds.
He watches revving cars in racing spree
ecstatic with the frenzy howling crowd
screaming that blends along screeching vroom-vroommm.
In animal shows, roaring beasts startle him
but he’s glued to hissing asps, hatching eggs
and calmed by chattering, chirping birds’ choir.
For play time, he’s popping balloons with glee
jingling keys in counting one up to ten
as well as ringing old phones and gadgets.
Mindless of pattering rain upon roof
he conquers boredom with clanging cymbals
Strumming ukulele till he gets tired.
Needing rest, he expects my humming mirth
of sweet lullaby against clock’s ticking
as I thank God for heart that throbs with love.
The Wonder Of Life and Time
by Lemuel R. Griffiths
04/12/2,017
It's night..,
Some would say late.,
A revving car engine -
I rise - view the horse power
At the gate.
From this window,
I wonder, who perused this view before,
Where does he race off to now..,
At such a speed..,
What's the noisy human aiming for?
In three thousand years,
The road won't be there..,
The Victorian children who lived here once..,
Now..,
Share no more.., a care,
Where my beloved home.., now stands.,
A dinosaur breathed her last,
So won't anyone awake with me
And at least smile..,
In the knowledge..,
We're all., already passed.
I must say that in my four score years I've done it all and seen it all,
But in the autumn of my life, noxious noises drive me up the wall!
I like the soothing sound of most music and birds trilling in the trees,
But, Lord, spare me the wheezing of those bagpipes, if you please!
I like the sound of thunder and the rain falling softly on my roof,
But I could strangle the neighbor for letting his mutt yap and woof!
I can tolerate classical music until the prima donna Madame Zaria,
Begins to belt out her raucous contralto in an intolerable aria!
A most trying nuisance and I suppose one of my biggest gripes,
Are kids with boom boxes and their jalopies with those roaring pipes!
I don't mind the occasional rumbling of a train or the screaming jets,
But when dining I suffer acid reflux hearing inane cell phone vignettes!
I've got a bone to pick with the inventor of the wailing saxaphone!
That and the squeaking of a clarinet are more than I can condone!
I like western musical harmony sung by "The Sons Of The Pioneers."
But spare me those "She Done Me Wrong Songs" - they aggravate my ears!
Why can't folks keep their cats inside so they aren't yowling on my lawn,
And a hex on the dude revving his Harley Davidson waking me at dawn!
I reckon before I blow a gasket or worse yet lose my poise,
I'd better rush out and buy some ear plugs to stifle that noxious noise!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I'm finding myself
Inside many sanguine moods
Inside many inviting worlds
All in anticipation
Of love
Not for anyone
Or anything
In particular
Just looking deep within
And deep beyond
The surface matters
That clog our anemic hearts
That jail our vapid senses
From welcoming epiphanies,
Ecstasies and
Electric declarations
That await our famished souls
From stoking incitements,
Boisterous joys
And elegant, mystical memories
Burning to lash out
Into indelible grins of
Happiness and you-so-deserve-this
Maybe it's this music
Charged with classical tantrums
And movie-like maudlin exclamations
Maybe it's my past revving up
With ghosts more handsome
And meaningful than ever
Or maybe it's my dreams
After years of desperate confusion,
Fractured esteem and salty embraces
Finally granted permission
To live in vividness
To dance the hues
The conniptions of color
Drooling endlessly from the mouths of our precious ids and willing egos
Summoning self, compassion and sacrifice
To adrenalin's edge
To flesh-removing, death-imbibing levels
This is where love resides
Here is where I visit
Here is where I wish to stay.
(7/2/12)
I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings
I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo
I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire
Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords
Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat
With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned
We used to call it Pit City.
Section eight housing.
My mom called ahead—
I was sixteen and still scared
to ask for what I needed.
I was on work-study
at a clean family practice
just around their corner.
A freak snowstorm.
They still lived there.
My mother’s friends.
Less lucky.
Sue was the daughter.
She’d shown me a bong
when I was nine.
She was cool in a way
I didn’t understand—
but I knew she knew something
I didn’t.
I hovered around her constantly.
She tolerated it, mostly.
Once, when I let myself in,
she wasn’t dressed.
She screamed.
The door smacked me in the face.
I bled, but didn’t complain.
It felt deserved—
for being curious.
That night in the snowstorm,
twice as far from home
as Sue’s bedroom,
I thought about how far I’d come.
I tried getting snotty with Anna once—
Sue’s mom.
Corrected her grammar on the phone
while asking for permission to go to the pool.
She corrected me back, said,
Have fun with the cool kids.
I did.
Trotted off in my XL two-piece
thinking I was all that.
That night, Sue answered the door
and handed me hot chamomile,
a change of clothes,
a pink sweat suit—
top and bottom,
obviously new. They matched.
We had moved on,
but not up enough
for pink sweat suit money.
I told her it’d do.
I was the best version
of my worst self in that suit.
I left early the next morning,
still wearing it.
I was store-bought cake with ganache,
climbing into my two-hundred-dollar car,
the smell of hot exhaust
me revving it up,
shouting promises to return
over the highway noise.
Sue kept calling for her sweats,
long after
it was polite.
At sixteen, I was embarrassed
she didn’t have the pride
to let it go.
She was thirty, and still cool.
I didn’t understand
why it mattered.
She died seven years ago.
I couldn’t return them now
even if I wanted.
But I would—
if I still had them,
if she were still alive.
Instead, I’ve folded
everything I owe her
into this poem.
I still think about her.
I just don’t know
how else to make it even.
Fuzzy and hairy that is what he was, a cuddly big bear. She
Undressed shyly before him while he took his own sweet time
Zesting it up with cologne before a mirror, what a nervous boy
Zorro mask in place he naughtily asked," can I use my whip ?"
You can do anything you want but leave my feet alone
So there they were two hotties revving for the big big night
Oh Oh Oh she wailed and moaned, " how I love the big wild horse"
Caressing her like a velveteen he croons into her ear, "Oh dear "
Kiss me, canoodle me but don't look at my feet Tiger, cuz if you do ?
So slowly ever so slowly he peels the blanket off her quivering body
And as he looked at her feet he took in the blue socks and crocs
Nascent desires squelched, she was no longer a sexy wench ,
Darling, what in Gods name made you wear something like that he cried
Cuz I wanted to be hot stuff for you, but my feet are always cold
Roaring with laughter he took off his mask & she noticed his brows
Oh my stars you shaved your brows! "Didn't want to be a
Caveman my dear. She giggled and squeezed him tight. I love it
Sexy Zorro. Two lovers doo whopping it, with hot sexy love...
A big hurray for the Yankees
for their stunning victory,
and a parade of confetti
to celebrate their twenty-seventh win
in the World Series on
November sixth in New York City.
Fans tossing shredded paper they saved in their offices
for that unexpected event, revel in their triumph, cheering up
their heroes whose faces glow with glory from Battery Park
to City Hall as they ride down, " The Canyon of Heroes"...
and all the streets seem a scenery of snow as Bloomberg
honors them with his poignant, thought-provoking wit!
The cheerleaders dance and the band wearing
their famous, colorful Scottish skirts,
don't mind the nippy weather...
what a joy to pay their tribute playing
their happy, memorable tune for
a great team who fought against the odds.
The crowds can't get enough
of their charisma and these rejoicing players
accept this honor with smiles...
and they know that there are
many more to come in the near future,
so let's cheer and hail our handsome champs.
A parade of confetti tossed down by fans
weeks before Thanksgiving Day,
when the jubilant, vibrant city forgets
all the worries to indulge in a carefree day,
revving up its passionate spirit and be jolly all morning...
a celebration indeed for every fan engaged in fervent hailing.
Wrapped ...
In dark wonder
Lost to the moon
In mists of madness
We ...
Are conflagration
You burn my blood
The fiery chaos, coursing
Molten forms in synchronicity
A libidinous engine, erotique
Revving inside you ...
I, the sudoric hand to your glove
Crimson nails rake my chest
You grind me, pestle-on-mortar
Eyes above me rolling back in carnal bliss
I stop, and wait ... teasing
Your gaze returns the moon's delirium
Seeing my vexing grin ...
You squeeze my cheeks like a naughty child
Trembling ... anticipating
Eyes pleading ...
I wait ... building tension ... need
Milking your desire and intensity
And when the want in your eyes is unbearable
I relent, and push you slowly up
Arching with renewed passion and depth
Your hair and soft places lilt
Hypnotizing me ...
Coy, sexy smile ...
Letting me think I'm in control
When we both know
Otherwise ...
Wrapped ...
In dark wonder
Lost to the moon
In mists of ...
US.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Picture Prompt" Poetry Contest, Brenda Chiri, Judge & Sponsor.
My broker sent me a letter
Saying my insurance was over due
So I looked around on the internet
To see what I could do
I came across a web site
That really caught my eye
It’s called drive like a girl
Oh’ what a big surprise
I drive my little baby
And treat her with respect
I keep her clean and tidy
And her engines always kept
I love my little Betsey
And drive her like a girl
Burning rubber always
And revving hard as hell
Oh’ well, what the heck
Now, I’ve got a bleeper
Coz’ I went to drive like a girl
And got my insurance cheaper
So the next day I called them
On my mobile phone
I got a lovely girl
Chatting all alone
I said I'd like some insurance
For my latest star
She answered very calmly
Oh’ we can’t insure that car
Oh’ I said that’s funny
It does say drive like a girl.Com
Are you trying to tell me
That, I’ve got all quite wrong
She answered very sweetly
But oh’ you’re not a girl
I said I dig, I wear a wig
Now would you like a sale
I drive my little baby
And treat her with respect
I keep her clean and tidy
And her engines always kept
I love my little Betsey
And drive her like a girl
Burning rubber always
And revving hard as hell
Oh’ well, what the heck
Now, I’ve got a bleeper
Cause I went to Drive like a girl
And got my insurance cheaper
© Copyright 13th March 2014
K.C.Leake
All Rights Reserved