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Best Onomatopoeia Poems

Below are the all-time best Onomatopoeia poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of onomatopoeia poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Crackling Hearts an Onomatopoeia Poem by Stiles, Stacy
Onomatopoeia day by Brjmohun, Seeyam
Onomatopoeia, Oddly Enough by flanaganwilkie, maggie

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The Best Onomatopoeia Poems

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


*****To the naked EYE, this poem may seem like gibberish,
but I assure you it is loaded with 24 palindromes,
3 palindrome phrases, 1 hidden palindrome phrase,
and is chock full with enormous wordplay...
oh and one more palindrome in this description. 
Can you find more? I challenge you word freaks!*****


Last night, around eleven or so, I decided to paint a pink castle.
To my dismay, on display, is what looks more like a pink asshole.
Picasso would've been so proud!
Today, upon recording nothing short of a colossal debacle,
I've chosen to
utilize the eyes of a hostile apostle.
Tossing docile scribble, I'm scribing.
Describing life like a diatribe conniving REVIVER at a revival.


Palindrome EYE to the side of my tribe.
Get in line, standing at the hands of HANNA.





We OTTO-matically 
DAD got so damn mad he DID the DEED
and split three XANAX with his MADAM and MOM!
(ALA the ABBA GIG way back in them AHA kookie KOOK days)

So anyways...
Back to peek hassle!
Do ya' think he might like ta' take a stab at my STATS?

*****(this was fun as fun can be:
hope you have half as much fun with it as I did:)*****


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

More great poems below...

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Punctuation and competition

Punctuation and competition

Why must we be competitive?
In every thing we do
Why do we always have to win?
Stand out among the few
Even when we write a poem
We have to be the best
Yet who is it that must decide
The winner of each test?

I here folk write on Punctuation
When a poem is it is created
It could be feeling, rhyme, and flow
Should get appreciated
And if some words they are in error
Overlooking them sometimes
Could be the order of the day
It isn’t such a crime

Sometimes I read a poem or two
By the experts on each site
And all their poems are perfect too
But they give me no delight
I love to feel those deep, deep feelings
And let words flow through me
And I don’t care if a words not right
I’m prepared to let that be

6 June 2015

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


John was as a free bird, happy,
Living his life, happy.
When others were sad John, happy,
When John did go no one, happy.
For life is not long at all,
And man is a shadow on a wall,
A wall of time.

John our dearly departing 
Death will end his suffering.
Cruel death will do him a favor,
As he will carry him to his Savior.
Writing his will he creates the kiss of death;
This kiss marks him till his final breath.

Here comes a pale horse click, clack, click, clack
Upon it sits Death click, clack, click, clack.
Death rides down the street,
He stops, he looks
For the man with no heart beat,
He enters more silently than the best of crooks.

Death left while carrying John,
Got on his horse and carried on.
John is now in Heaven;
Where no heathen
Nor sickness roam,
Sitting by the white throne;
Walking on the streets of gold;
Never to become old.
Happy... Happy...
Eternally... Happy...

Copyright © Isaiah Powell

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Ring a Ling, Ding a Ling

Ho. Ho. Ho. Here we go,
blow off the calendar 
for show.

Racy red, glazy green 
and bright white  
blaze into sight.

Hell's bells, boredom tells.
Yuletide pride takes a ride,

while leaves on trees
as yet yearn to turn 

and Turkey Lurkey is still
wheezing in the freezer.

Save your sales 
for a later date;
in return, you may earn

more green 
than you've ever seen.

Cha Ching!

Copyright © Cona Adams

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

The wind The wind

The wind or the wind                                                                                                       as twisting a vine the wreath                                                                                           breathing the breeze of the divine                                                                             sailors on the reef seeking the seas                                                                                 so intwined grows the anime rhyme                                                                                  wind in your sails as a northeastern blows                                                                         so through ages sail but when comes the time                                                                   searching the end will you last breathe be as cold                                                        rarer air fills the breadth of the land                                                                                 the way with healing in His wings                                                                             receive the breath of life again                                                                                      so you may overcome death's sting                                                                            rising again children of the Master's  wind                                                                    not grapes of wrath in the press they wind

Copyright © John Beam

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


When it rain, it pours
It's like opening every doors
Whizzing wind, Whispering breeze
Makes your senses at ease.

When it rain it pours
It's like knocking every doors
Thunder here, lightning there
Awaking your sense somewhere.

When it rain it pours
It's like sweeping every floors
Homes are wet, walls have tears
Taking every dirt and fears.

Copyright © Angelo Faunillo

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Oh no too moppy ahhhhhh



knock knock knock
bang bang
tick tock


mish mash

ring ring



Copyright © Charles Rutherford

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

One More Day

Tap. Tap. Tap.
Shoes. Clicking against the tiles.

Cling. Cling. Cling.
Keys. Jingling against each other. 

Clink. Clink. Clink.
Cuffs. Clanking against the bars. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water. Smacking against the floor.

Whack. Whack. Whack.
A whip. Lashing against my skin.

One more day to go. 

Just wrote this out in a couple of minutes with my mind on the topic word of "prison". Enjoy!

Copyright © Euphonious Elysium

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Twang toot Fing Foo

Twang toot Fing Foo
Jingle jingle rattle boo
Tiger Tiger splash, squish
Skycrapper’s crashing swish
Wretched retches snorting  snuck
Timtimbuctoo’s belching buck
Whoosh whoosh Winnie Treetree murmur
Croaking frogie's hiss hiss charmer
Punipuni giggles growling grunt 
Oink oink  words' trilling witchhunt 


Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


Pleasure primes pain,
Wit wonders why?
Glimpse gutsy gain,
Style sanguine sigh.

Fancy feels faint,
Big blossoms bulge;
Queer questions quaint,
Ideas indulge.

Prompt payment plays,
Ask apt award;
Death delays day,
Reap real reward.

Action aids arm,
Buzzy blooms bounce;
Cherry cheeks charm,
Pretty play pounce.

Wanting woos wealth,
Migraine mulls meet;
Hurts hurling health,
Gloomy groans greet.

Desire dreams day,
Big blossoms beam;
Pure passion plays,
Dear dancing dream.

Sense sensuous surge,
Bright bearings boom;
Play plunders purge,
Greet glory gloom.

Bright blooming book.
Charm creams cherry;
Lasting lines look,
Love leaps lovely.

Soar sweet stanza,
Choice charms charade;
Apt agenda,
Poise primes parade.

Grab grouchy gaze,
Loss litters lull;
Doom defers daze,
Moments mimes mull.

Dare describe deuce,
Loose lines lessons;
Meet mindful muse,
Words weave weapons.

Leon Enriquez
29 Apr 2014

Copyright © Leon Enriquez

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


Ezra Pound
Flamboyant expression
Poetic modernity new.

Seeking no rifacimento
Confusing readers so
Intricate verses makes us blue.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
Schoeningen, Germany (November 22, 2014) 
(Double Dactyl poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Ogden Ash

I think that I may never see a
tree's sounds lovely as onomatopoeia

to see, to hear, just too profound
sound beats cool on worded ground

ain't it funny to hear a word
that IS what it is, coolly absurd

you may ask what constitutes onomatopoeia
can't say exactly, but hear it when I see it

© Goode Guy 2014-01-03

Copyright © Goode Guy

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


The cold night is awoken and warmed 
A family of excitement ready to release their arsenal
Stored under the stairs until the big night
Let the show begin:
Traffic lights – whoosh colour changing
Rockets – whoosh bang screeching
Jack in the box – whoosh bang-jumping
Sparklers – whoosh fizzle-sparkling
Catherine Wheel – whoosh dizzy-spinning
The big one at the end

Copyright © Alexander Seal

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Saluting King and his new World Order

Pulse facing, sweat racing
Light deafening sounds blinding
World’s waiting, stage blazing
Times nerving, ticking
All of this to Salute a King

Floors pouring, people raining
Eagerly participating, 
Constantly deliberating
Righteously anticipating
A new world order brought about by their Master

Finally, no more violence
Brought about by tender silence
The only nature of its science
Was fearing unrestricted defiance
Saluting King and Kingdom alliance

Yellow majesty and glory
Was witnessing this sacred story
‘See and reap in my Kingdom’ say He
With certainty, destiny foreseen
Praising their Lord and the freedom to be

Eyes listening, ears watching
Feet whistling, fingers shuffling
Sky groaning, thistles moaning
History’s waiting, future’s debating
Hail the King and our new world order

A spurned kiss, a tender brow
Were actions thought to be allowed.
Optimism of this golden Crown
Was the only sober thought that ushered the crowd
As beast and men all salute the King

Copyright © Sizwe Hlabisa

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Carolina Wren

Where this time?
The pair makes several tries--
my hard hat, a can of nails, window ledge
all filled with leaves.
How do they judge
those inferior, this one prime?
It's predetermined, 
I don't know how.
So too their songs--
he two-notes or three-notes,
and she chirrrs along.
Same songs, same positions, 
morning in and morning out.
I wake to their repetition.
If they watch me, no doubt
they'd see my own routines,
but neither they nor I can find
what isn't wired in my genes.
Why does this human mind
hear Figaro, Figaro, Figaro
in his operatic voice?
Or is it video, video, video? 
It's his song, but my choice.

Copyright © Wallace Kaufman

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

An Horological Dunce

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."--Einstein

"what's time," asked the tyke
"just pick any time you like
since they all happen at once"
as knows any horological dunce
and dickory up my clock and strike

Copyright © Thomas Martin

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


An Apology to T.S.Eliot

Let’s drink and be merry and dance on air
Friends and foes of Sindbad, in the dragon’s lair
When the Rock will sit on the rock Norfolk
We will find him under grumble stone -Mr. Prufrock

He was settling a pillow and throwing off a shawl
Set about on eternal questions with Pablo and Paul 
Drank a cup of Horlicks followed by ammonium sol
He was older than his legs and slender like a doll
Squeezed the universe into a bouncing ball.

Let’s drink and be merry and dance on air
Everything is fair in love and cab fare
Have you gone to Country mall? No, it’s rare
I have earned already the lion’s share
Nobody was there to watch out with a vacant stare.

Let’s drink and be merry and dance on air
Move in on to enemy territory a solitaire
Don’t panic; don’t be scared, I am on down stair
I‘ll join you if I can care.

Let’s drink and be merry and dance on air
Till I dare.

16th October, 2014  17:57:00 IST


Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

My Monster

My Monster

Every week on Good Friday I get restless
Palpitations rise for my week end disasters
A monster boldly barges into my silent abode
Depriving me of my peaceful slumber
Crash! Now which crockery has ended its life?
The moment I reach the dreaded site 
Littered  remnants of mugs and glasses 
Sprayed on the kitchen floor 
Having an afternoon nap is a crime indeed
The dining tablecloths are scrooped  down
And I curse my heavy eyelids for drugging me
I wake up to run and my shoes are not there
The good Lord save me! My kitchen cabins 
Are invaded, explored and ransacked
The bright packages are crushed and ripped
Salty and sweety snacks carpet the freshly scrubbed floor
I pads, mobile phones, remote controls vanish
I magically recover my drowning hopes
When their batteries are over
My heart beats louder than the speakers
Strumming the beats of nursery rhymes
Till tiny flakes start peeling off the quaky roof
The iridescent walls showcase
The world's finest art repertoire
Nothing short of  an international gallery of art
The monster is finally trapped on the garden swing
Smiling gleefully with an outstretched arm
All frowns erase when the two year old
Bob cut tomboy dramatically wails
Granny! Granny! Granny! Granny!

Contest: My Monster
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen

Copyright © Balveen Cheema

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


     (Apropos A Visit Home )  	

Tired shrimp boats sit moored  
along the muddy banks of the Brazos;
their day’s catch iced down and waiting.

Tormenting mosquitoes flew
from puddles of water
pooled between blades of salt grass,
feasting on the fresh blood
of buzzed home comers.

The aroma of seafood gumbo pots 
saturated the salt water air; and the clinking
bottle caps signaled the gathering of keno players.

Olympian domino players slap their table tops
with rhythms that rival the best of Art Blakely’s
drumming on a full moon Afro Night.

Teams of bid whist players
played musical chairs.

Over chattering voices, echoes of howling dogs
faded into canine whimpers
as Gulf Coast breeze blew sweet memories:

Indeed there’s no place
like home.

Copyright © millard lowe

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Walking Seven Steps Together

(Walking Seven Steps)

Catching the last shot of the sunset sky
Even more rustier than before
Delayed my departure.
I asked my friends to go ahead 
And I would catch up with them, but
The perfect shot took longer than I thought.
Packing my bags I hurried downhill knowing
I was lagging far behind the others.
The thickness of the night engulfed me
And I knew I had lost my trail.
Stumbling over a stone I had also
Lost my torch, and started walking blindly
In the darkness of the woods.
The pitch black trees seemed statued
To the ones that breathed life
When I had often trampled 
Through the varied wooded parks.
The autumn leaves were crackling 
Under my light footsteps as
The tiniest crescent moon smiled
Through the bare leaved branches
Welcoming my partnership on our lone journey.
How long I walked, my feet knew not
How long I would walk, my heart knew not
My map was dark and my eyes could read it not.
But my ears were sharp to hear another crackling
Under footsteps many times heavier than mine.
From the dark slope above I saw a shadow enlarged
Hurrying down to my path as if to lead me out.
My breath was calm, my eyes happy, and quietly
My adventurous spirit followed him wherever he lead.
The woods became denser and our pace quicker
With a click of his finger the air became fresher.
So intoxicated was I with the heavenly air that 
It perfumed my soul, my very breath and
Every transient thought that fleeted in, 
Till I stood before a very flowery welcoming cottage.
I extended my hand to my shrouded partner and said:
'It takes seven steps together to make a friend.
We have walked more than seven steps together to......'.
My hooded companion most divinely intervened:
'It takes seven steps together to make a friend
It takes seven hours together 
To make any journey most heavenly'.
Without raising his chin,without accepting my extended hand
He turned his back to retreat into the woods 
As mysteriously as he had entered it.

Copyright © Balveen Cheema

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

The Real Poetry

With eloquent verbosity,
and pompous grandiosity,
he'll voice his bellicosity
to show his intellect.

Devoid of any symmetry,
he'll pass it off as poetry,
but may I beg to differ,
though I mean no disrespect.

Blank verse is what he'll call it,
but no matter how you drawl it,
Mister Webster says that verse
means metric writing.

Since blank means lack of color,
I'll bet two cents to a dollar,
it's not poetry at all
that he's reciting.

Way back when I wore knickers,
there were even then traffickers
in this beat-less rhyme-less writing,
goodness knows.

But things were simpler then, you see.
We never called it poetry.
If there's no rhyme or rhythm,
it's just prose.

They say I'm no romanticist,
and surely I'm no fantasist,
but somewhat a semanticist,
who loves to turn a phrase.

I like to rhyme in meter,
and for me there's nothing neater,
than a rhyming meter-beater,
bringing back those good old days.

Copyright © Warren Dickman

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Mixed Senses-Evening

In the purple smoky collaged sky 

The birds swam home 

on flaky water colours,

carrying his rainy perfume.

I prayed for this one night

He would evenly spray my garden,

Without the rumbling accompaniment

Of his hurly burly friend flashing

nightmarish psychedelic lights, but let

Little Sue dream with her angels in peace.

Balveen Cheema
September 15, 2015
Contest: Mixed Senses
Toipic: Evening
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud

Copyright © Balveen Cheema

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |

Among The New

I lived like them
And they liked me
Then I fell into dark waters
They were glad
To see me struggle
So they hid their lamps
Only then that I knew
That I had no friends
Amongst the new.

Copyright © Mawunyo Adjei

Details | Onomatopoeia Poem | |


RAPIDFIRE POETRY smashdragging words across searedpage shattercrystal ticklish sharpshards bloodboiled behind each starkphrase airswept flaws painting pictures false facade whinenudging highpierced whingecall rockmocking rapid fire poemshatter dawncracking hot sun at duskfall deepdiving twirlwinding brainmatter © Kim van Breda—24 August 2015

Copyright © Kim van Breda