Best Clangs Poems
WHERE THE CITY FOLK LIVE
At the confluence of the cultures
Where the politics ebb and flow
The tide of humanity crashes
Against their collective soul
The spires of religions
And posters of beliefs
Crush against each other
Through the weave of city streets
Registered colours of commerce
And trade mark tags of youth
Line the valleys of glass and steel
On floor, and wall, and roof
The constant clangs of progress
Idle growls of restricted motion
Drift across the green spaces
Invading every moment
The scent of communal sweat
Wafts upon the breeze
From the fires of exotic dishes
And the fumes of commercial needs
Feel free to swim the city
Frolic in the human flow
But be aware of the waves that break
Against your precious soul
Categories:
clangs, places,
Form:
Blank verse
What does autumn sunshine gloriously reveal?
When the sun sets too swiftly in the west keel
When a breeze said, "Sweetheart, I admire you."
Now moan the dying chords of the gloomy view?
The cold that begets each blurred leaf moans,
It clangs inside the veins and blisters the bones.
I loathe the mellowed tones of the clock thrum,
The hallway of time strikes a brilliant hoodlum.
I'm ridden that the fig's fallen leaves can't be undone,
I queried, yet has been unfit to mend the core bone.
Those dreary addenda appear to float on the vein,
And reflect my adamant dismay to me within.
He was fraught before dying startlingly,
A load of the burden of debt is crushing loosely.
Then, he learned a lot from this position,
Judge people who have plaid in fiscal coercion.
Hide behind the fig leaf, in the shadow,
Hide behind it your heart's calm to follow.
Never trust that fig leaf; it has a bark
Snack and taste from my oozy limp mark.
It's the fabled stint to delve into the spurts of life,
Lacking a fig leaf, you might swap bare in strife.
None left after the last leaf fell on the ground,
Also, each one saw it clearly, but no sound.
Written: March 28, 2022
1ST Place Contest Winner
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Categories:
clangs, analogy, appreciation, bereavement, character,
Form:
Rhyme
Likened to a beast of burden
I groan with back breaking strain
weary laden and fraught with pain
working mightily in vain
under this black powder rain.
‘Tween strife, sweat and stain
I pour out my waning strength
time drags on for hours at length
while black powder keeps a'raining
down on me.
For lo’ my weary, calloused hands
are ever searching for black gold
a toilsome task to mine and claim
dark riches from hardened veins
as I labor under black powder rain.
Buried in a pit of purgatory
I hear the clangs and cries
picks and axes, unrelenting
grit and odors, foul, stagnanting
low bending, beneath this
ominous black powder rain.
As I suffocate in darkness
I hear sorrow's sad refrain
ringing loud and all around me
as I beat earth's unyielding crust
trapped in god forsaken dust
slowly drowning, underneath
this black powder rain.
Written on 11/8/2018
Categories:
clangs, life, work,
Form:
Free verse
Snakes in loose tongues
Proclaim one message, doing the opposite
When lie bangs and sty clangs
Identify and typify the hypocrite
Who declares faith in one moment
Swims in seas of sin
Inviting the ferment of torment
The hypocrite in his din
Can’t shove away
Despite claims to sainthood
That conscience can’t slay
As sin neighbourhood
Captures and raptures pretence
Leaving in the shell of loose tongues a yawning gap
In every single sentence
That in a loose tongue traces the map
In need of prayers
To bring about greater understanding deep within
That faith lies not in pretence layers
Concealed in a thin
Façade bereft of true faith
Where the chasm between light and darkness
Needs to lose its strength
To make a way clear to the meekness
In which faith lives
In both form and substance
Although in the end God forgives
Hypocrites whose loose tongue pleads for silence
As salvation sought
Salvation granted
For Jesus bought
Salvation for all even for tongues loosely slanted.
Categories:
clangs, poems,
Form:
Free verse
If your headache is bad,
It's about to get worser.
The fun that you had
Is just a precursor...
To the fun you won't have
Once it's time to clock in.
There's no balm and no salve
That can quiet the din...
That clangs in your head
Once the work week's begun.
But at least you ain't dead,
And the man hasn't won.
So shake your fist and stick it to 'em.
Mondays, we all have to go through 'em.
Categories:
clangs, funny, on work and
Form:
Sonnet
What Remains
by
Rick Folker
June, 2017
Kansas City, MO
When the crowd clamors
And the tocsin clangs
When the mighty and powerful
Crush the weak, the vulnerable,
The poverty that chains and shames
When fear fights fiercely
With the menacing gang
Silencing the prophets
With their poisonous slang
When the refugee seeks safety
Those sojourners are met with a
Door slamming
And a deafening bang!
When these omens and portents are
The normal sturm und drang
Of a soul-less people clinging to
Myths of endless positive change
When all of these mindless, pointless,
Endless
Strife-filled days
Divide and dwindle down
To the ashes of the last
Death pangs
A Remnant Remains
A Remnant Remains
And life and love are reborn and return
Again! and Again! and Again!
Categories:
clangs, hope, inspiration, political, power,
Form:
Alliteration
the chimney stacks
of the old power station
claws at the belly of the clouds
and with its sulfurous billowing
it bellows its stench
tinting the clouds, yellowing nicotine stains
as its cadaverous fingers clench
and releases, as it pleases
the painted nails
sport red flashing lights
as the bellowing smoke
for airspace fights
the dawn is cracked open
under the grey steam-pot lid
like a rotten egg
and the horizon is broken
into blocks
between the pedestal legs
of the spindly chimney stacks
progress clangs and clacks
on blood-rusted
unused train-tracks
the scars of progress on an old landscape
- weals healed over in ageless veldts
whilst weeds pimple between the stays
a last gasp of green displays
the gangrene death
of nature
oozing from the suture
as we break the past
to build the future
Categories:
clangs, nature, technology,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
This is what I remember
something sits on my brain
a heavy pile of memories maybe
(lingering still)
freshly brewed strong coffee
mingling with last night's bouillon
the clangs of covers permeating the stillness
wools of sleep tangle the brows in obscure shadows
nothing seems to belong to the past anymore
like the yellow grin of tobacco and warm old arms, reaching
could it be that the youth in you disappeared into me when we embraced?
you know what i mean; laughter flying from your neck
patting my head as I lay, a grown woman on your lap
telling you of things I'd love but cannot seem to bring myself to have
and you smiled, that funny smile, closing your eyes
how drunk I felt laughing with you!
condensing my uncertainties to some foreign 'be well' feeling
and this is what I remember...
dimming lights and pleading eyes
your fingers to my lips gripping into my chest
ah, how I felt deserted then and now,
drowning into losing you
and then you surrendered
just laid there and broke free
while it rained over my heart and all that was, sank
toppled over but never laid to rest
this is what I will not forget
as memories and loneliness swarm the nights of my days
and I yearn for the warmth of you
Categories:
clangs, dad, death,
Form:
Free verse
I was awakened by the sounds of clatters and thumps
as a whoosh of breeze made my window blinds thud.
I rose with a groan and felt the rise of goose bumps
on my skin. Frigid morning air was chilling my blood.
Far in the distance was the boom of thunder's roar.
No cockle-doodle-do would I hear at break of dawn,
for the wise rooster knew rains would soon begin to pour.
There'd be no more sleep for me as I stifled a yawn.
I shuffled to the kitchen as the wind began to howl.
While coffee was brewing, my new pup started to bark.
I whispered, "Alright, boy. It's just the hoot of an owl."
Creaks and clangs always sound scarier when it's dark.
A tempest wind rattled my windows with a loud clatter.
The rumble of more thunder caused my heart to flutter.
Rain splashed against the panes with a resonant splatter,
and then I heard "WHAM BAM," and off flew my shutter.
I hushed my dog when he began to whimper and whine
and decided to build a fire, all the while humming a tune.
Finally, he relaxed when the rain stopped, just before nine.
We slept until noon, after enduring that dreadful monsoon.
July 18th, 2022
Onomatopoeia Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
checked with rhymezone
Categories:
clangs, storm,
Form:
Rhyme
First class brains
Streets populated with them
Flaunting certificates--useless
Plus innate knowledge practical,
But unrecognised
Tightfisted bourgeois;
Alienated job opportunities
Reserved for own kids born and unborn
Capitalism overblown;nauseous
Grab and keep philosophy elevated
Who do you know?Who don't you know?
Keys to haven
You could trudge to the Sahara,
Build sand dunes,clamber atop
To reach the top and maybe sunlight
Slight wind,and you are on the floor:
No foundations
Pack sands,feed on them
Who cares?
Hollow eyes witnessing a party
The favoured few,on Owambes
Overfed.Toothpicks in mouths
Dogs too,fed fat with flesh
Dogs now reject bones
Leftovers left to sour,thrown away
First class brains,crawl in dustbins
Vultures competing
Some days,vultures feed too
On first class brains' corpses
Hollow-eyed pleas.Unheeded
Gentle songs of plea,
Didn't make them yield
Clangs on empty sardine tins
Music violent,tempo risen
They glanced at them,and looked away
Then one day,hunger and anger fired desperation
Bread knives came in handy
Well-fed guts are carved apart
All energy used
Denouement.
The vultures came in the evening
And held a huge feast
Categories:
clangs, sad, class, class,
Form:
Narrative
The call comes in,
the bell clangs
and off I go
to try and rescue you
from people and things
in your life
that are hurting you
and setting your emotions
on fire again.
The flames roar
as I break through one door
after another
with only have the water
from my tears
to use against tonight's fire
and it's not enough.
My emotions are also
becoming scorched,
so I pray more
and cry more
but, it doesn't
seem to help.
And I hear
your voice
while I race about
trying to find
what room
you are trapped in.
You're screaming
"get me out of here!"
as I knock down
door after door.
I yell back to you,
"I'm here, follow my voice!"
By now your life
is really on fire
and I'm crying more tears
trying to put out the flames.
And I scream
at our God,
"Why are you doing this!?"
Then I stop
and look
for some signs of you,
hoping you've heard me
or God has shown you
the way to safety.
And I see one room
then another crumble
to the ground,
and pray
you're not in them
then I start to feel the burns
on my face and hands.
If you don't
hear me soon
or can't get out
on your own
then this firefighter
has failed you again.
And this nightmarish dream
that has become all too real
may be replayed over and over.
Only God knows
whether we'll survive
these flames
or if we'll take too long
to get out together in time.
Categories:
clangs, angst, lovegod, god, me,
Form:
Free verse
I heard tell some folks think cowboys built the West.
The only thing I know for sure is I always did my best
to give a man a good days work for an honest wage
ridin' among tumbleweeds and dried brush of sage.
I wear a Colt 45 to scare off rustlers and killin' snakes
and I don't play cutthroat poker with tinhorns or rakes.
It ain't never been an easy job, the life of a ranch hand,
herdin' cattle near the flowin waters of the Rio Grande,
but it's the only way I always wanted to spend my days,
beddin' down under the stars, watching the herd graze.
I'm keepin' one eye open for those wanderin' lil dogies,
chewin' on the end of what's left of smokin' my stogies.
I lassoed a proud stallion, and gentled that big paint.
He's been a good trail horse, so I got no complaint.
I was in love with a rodeo gal, a pretty lil' barrel rider
but she told me a cowboy wouldn't be a good provider.
So I strum my guitar, singing a lonesome cowboy song
about findin' a good woman who won't do me wrong.
One day I'll be an old cowpoke, lying up on that hill,
but not 'til my last roundup, and my body's had its fill
of ridin' the range, mendin' fences, ropin' mustangs,
and eatin' chuck wagon beans when the bell clangs.
I've been thrown off a bad bronc, name of Buckin' Jet,
but don't put my name on that tombstone; not just yet.
January 26, 2021
Cowboy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Categories:
clangs, horse, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Do you think I can save all ships in distress?
How wrong you are! Times when I sorely pressed,
Times when my beacon was snuffed out of its glory.
Oh, I can tell you many an adventurous story,
Exciting exploits on the tumultuous and stormy seas
High waves span all around me, ugly with a heavy breeze.
Still, there’s one I would sincerely like to show,
Although it happened a long time ago.
The Greyhound had a young master, rich and mean,
And he dared cross the sea, oh what a scene.
The winds were high and the sky was overcast
Waves were high and terrible. The ship could not last.
Aboard the vessel, I saw the master of the merchant ship,
Carrying slaves and other goods, was a doomed deplorable trip.
Above the dim of wicked waves, clangs of iron I heard,
And screams intermixed with every offensive word.
The man drenched held to the mast, knelt and prayed
Let them be saved, he would renounce his trade.
Years passed and the man gladly his faith he did embrace.
He vowed he’d fight slavery with his “Amazing Grace”.
Categories:
clangs, prayer, storm,
Form:
Narrative
Falling diamond beads from sky
Clangs loud and so might
Watering everything with ice!!!
9:30 pm
o4/02/2014
Categories:
clangs, imagery, nature,
Form:
Haiku
If I could be but a breath;
Anticipating each sweet rhythm; watching the rise of my chest
Collapsing in sweet song, sending out just my best
Id breathe out I Love you, and forget all the rest
If I could be but a breeze;
Id whisper my love in a rustle of leaves, anticipating as they awake
New fall colors scattering my love neither here nor there, Id debate
If this breeze was what could describe my heart, as it ached
If I could be but a gust,
Id blast my strong gale, erupting in a clatter and loud clangs
I would howl out your name as the gust accompanied hard rain
Tears streaming down by thousands, rattling cold window panes
If I could be but a draft;
Id slip under doorways, slide in next to you as you forever sleep
Rest myself within white satin's, under boards as they creak
Be that shiver that reminds you, you are never alone despite what you think
If I could only be with you;
As a warm wind I’d soar to heaven’s gate
I’d stay there
I would forever wait.
Written by : Corrina
Categories:
clangs, death, devotion, emotions, grief,
Form:
Rhyme