Short Cylinders Poems

round metal object
placed inside long cylinders
drop shoot cannon ball

3/29/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018...

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Sorry, not operating on all cylinders lately
Been blowing it big time really shamefacedly
Could say age
Maybe disengaged
Minds slow down when we reach the last page...

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Clicking on all cylinders, must be the weather
Though wetter than usual, this summer's been better
For outdoor festivities
It curtails activities
Not as steamy, where do I send my thank you letter?...

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Tomorrow is another day
Miss Scarlet taught me that.

So on my pillow head will lay
in arch of back my cat.

My 'coutrements are washed and ironed
so I can hit snooze twice.

My cylinders are justly oiled
think I'll sleep well, that's nice....

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I'm wired for sound like I'm from another planet
Testing to make sure all's copacetic in my pumper gadget
If it's clicking on all cylinders
To determine if I'm still a sizzler
But there's a possibility they'll just discover I've got maggots...

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Just got wired for sound, like I'm from another planet
Testing to make sure all is copacetic in my pumper gadget
If it's clicking on all cylinders
To determine if I'm still a sizzler
But there's a possibility they'll just discover I've got maggots...

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Those who say life's a hoot, should be honored, whatcha say
A Hall of Fame for happy dudes, contributing to our fun filled days
Their influence is so inspiring
On all cylinders they get me firing
Hopefully I'm considered one of these dudes, I try hard every day...

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Hissing cars
Swishing trucks
Rumbling bikes
Life is a highway
Really?
Combusting cylinders 
Pumping pistons
Turning crankshaft
Spinning flywheel
Engaging transmission
Motoring drive
Tranferring power 
Rolling tires
Hissing 
Swishing 
Rumbling  
Crash and burn
Life goes on...

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dangling daggers of frozen spears
crystal cylinders tapering toward fears
the sun will loosen their icy grip
plunging to earth as frozen fingers slip
shattering upon the cold earth below
embedded into the melting snow
wondrous spirals once hanging high
careful below you could lose an eye...

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Redneck Car

my redneck car is no junk

eight cylinders,  what a hunk

beer cans over the floor

to enter there’s no door

the back seat is sometimes my bunk  



2/18/2016

Poetry Contest:  LIMERICK CONTEST II - FOR FUN

 Sponsored by: JAN ALLISON...

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Some days I'm firing on all cylinders it seems
Then it all goes kaput and it's nothing but steam
Try to muddle through
Not easy to do
Till I wiggle and giggle and once again beam


This limerick “KAPUT” was inspired by
my sister in crime, Jan Allison!


© Jack Ellison 2015...

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of course
very long stories
listen but you must not sleep
there are things you shouldn't miss

of course
pale photos
over the years
frayed leftovers

of course
broken roads
look,pain in feet
heavy conditions such as cylinders

of course
forgotten experiences
history is repeats
endless battles...

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I’m in my prime,
just now finding my steps,
working on all four cylinders,
I’m a pistol, as sharp as a pin.
I’m not Joe Biden
I look younger in aviators.
My teeth are brand new
and who needs hair plugs?
I’m a spry 71, almost limber
just a little less stiff than timber.
Mockingbirds wolf-whistle me
as I jump out from a bush
to force some sage advice 
down some 50-something
whippersnappers throat....

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seems the hunting
season is over
except buck

put your dollar down
let the roulette
decide what

what may be your
door or lucky
number be

counting how many
random rotations
one if six

feverishly figuring
trying to count
the odds are

always with the
house so how
do they know

suddenly pick up
a spun gun
cylinders

and click this
time how
long

until the click
becomes the
became...

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The start or St.Art?.
but where?

on the corner by the neon sign?
under the clock at Waterloo when it's
striking nine?

the third eye is my guess
but I improvise and
devise ways to bolt
lightning to the floor
and
always 
always want to do more.

easily distracted
I dismantle tall building
abseil from mountains
and fire on four cylinders,
the Saint paints in the 
missing figurines as the
menagerie dreams on....

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Spedding down the straight away as i make my way around
The wind is blowing by, drowning out all the sounds.
The rubber on the pavement soothing my grief.
The pulse of my cylinders handing me releif.
Lights, stripes, and people beoming a blurr.
The line of victory not much further
The horses gallop all the faster.
It could pay off or end in disaster.
But either way i will go down in history.
As the worlds fastest man or the biggest fatality....

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We hoard years, putting other faces
in place of the one
filling the mirror, the slug-like
double chin thing of us
that comes out at night
and then stays in blazing sun.

How silently we tiptoe
with those concealed cylinders
of salt cocked and ready
to fall, to pour that
sweet white rain so soundlessly
onto the slug of us
as we wallow
in our waspishness, twist
in a diminishing dance
as we laugh at those
mirrors, knowing they lie
as we do....

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Highway sliced
Geometrically whispered
Into your eyes
Silks down through your mind
A limpid sighted magic spell
Fibonacci’s stepping repelled

Bilateral storm
Trapped by duty
And boxed voids
That familiar smell:
Skyscraping cylinders
And footnotes

It zips aside
High-toned warning
Like elder numbers rhyming

Prepare for abstract cosmovision
Liquid language gasified into strings
Softly spoken touch
Of the sunset mist
Morphing everything...

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The key got stuck inside the lock
Securing our son's door. 
We turned and twisted but
It wasn't budging anymore.

The locksmith took a bit of time
But finally arrived
Since we were, from that entrance,
Most annoyingly deprived.

He nailed the problem 1 - 2 - 3
(The cylinders were jammed)
And now the door is good as new, 
Just waiting to be slammed.

Emergencies are costly -
That we really can't debate
And that is why the bill's
$143 (dot) 88!...

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I remember Cleopatra's moon,
as triangles of time 
unveiled pyramids embalmed in
juniper, incensing golden dreams.

While in desolate dunes 
of the sunrise Sahara,
I've engraved your initials 
with pearls and diamonds.

For in lunar silence 
when cylinders of stars 
embellish skies with hieroglyphics, 
destined twin flames ascend.

You’ll remain a musical~
maestro, choreographing our pilgrimage 
to attain heaven beneath  
henna herbs of love....

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5...4...3...2...1...0...
 Ignition...Rockets firing...
 Lift-off...We have lift-off...

 The three-stage rocket strains upward
 gathering momentum each second
 Firing away on all cylinders now
 gentle palm trees melt down in her wake

 All systems go... the capsule's on its way
 to the far side of Jupiter some day

 to explore rocky promontories
 and sizzling-hot lakes of molten lava

 to take photos and grab dirt samples
 for 'all that' this project's cost ~ ample...

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