Best Clappers Poems
Voices choral, chimes of clay ring out
oh so merrily to a wintry sky
And earthen sounds once silent, still, now shout
in harmony and majesty, they cry.
A brightness sheers the air as metal sounds,
long cylinders of brass clink in the breeze
like childish laughter each fresh note abounds
a thankful note the past year to appease.
In churches, mosques and temples they sing
as clappers sound the tone around their rims
forged of metal, or blown in glass, they ring
resounding as the hours of this year dim.
Rejoice, rejoice a New Year has begun
Goodbye they toll and sing here comes the sun.
I am frustrated and annoyed by his ticking,
or perhaps it should be labeled the 'tocking'
By the never-ending tongue wagging clicking
in the language better known as 'clocking'
Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammer yammering rhythm of strife
mocks the beating pulse of my human heart
What a wonderful fantasy my life would be
if for one day I'd not hear his unrelenting beat
I'd be stress free if time would stand still for me
for without his gonging life would be so sweet
In solace of night, I seek sleep and close my eyes
in need of escape and retreat from earthly chore
but I cannot find a moment of tranquil paradise
for his insistent knelling peals out once more
Each quarter hour his mallet chimes out to me
but his clappers sing off key in monotonous song
Not a lyrical lullaby, but a torturous rhapsody
whose tireless verses antagonize me far too long
I'm tenacious to put an end to his wagging tongue
and shackle the swinging motion of his pendulum
Each hour of the day and night would go by unsung
Being silenced is the price paid by the meddlesome
Un-Ringing the Bells
To live in the shadow of the steeples
the tintinnabulation of Poe’s bells*
tormenting the sinners as they slumber
wrestling the darkened dreams of childhood hells
following the path that led asunder
“the road less traveled”** challenging the norm
a vagabond in tattered memories
wandering through an endless self-made storm.
Awaken - the bells possess no power -
cold hands that call dead clappers to concuss
tremble at the thought the ropes are fraying
fear’s ancient tones now deadened under rust.
Yet their vibration lingers at days start
within the chest still beats their “Telltale Heart”***.
1/3/2017
With acknowledgement to
*The Bells – Edgar Allen Poe
**The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost
***The Telltale Heart – Edgar Allen Poe
submitted to – Sonnet about where you live – Poetry Contest
Seven cities sat* silently in the sandstorm**
Waiting as the wind whipped around wickedly**
Dun walls draped with dirt and dust**
And the darkened sun desperately seeking a dim scenery*
But as the unsecured boards were battered and broken about
Clapping clappers clipping** the next scene
The humans huddle in the hovels hiding and hidden**
From the farce of the ferocious furor, full of fear**
But then, as suddenly as it started, it subsides**
As silence settles** and the sand sifts** down
Down to the ground and gravel
And carefully eyes peek out of slits and keyholes
Seeing the first rays slice through the haze
Defining from pastel to watercolor to crisp bristle brush
Even if the voice of the cities are still hush*
There is a stirring of life
Of hope
In the end of stormy strife***
*personification
**alliteration
***metaphor
Among all beast from the Far East
This leopard is the beast of the east
He is so swift with clappers and claws
Claws that joy in breaking jaws
In or out of the many land laws
When you see him in a fare hunt he never withdraws
Until he gets his full fair share in the air,
However rare,
Flesh of his hare,
His portion and share
With all strength and broad length
He sets his priority in the dark though bright
Because he needs them right without a slight "fight"
He moves and writes women’s plight
At heart as he suppresses his might
Watch him on the telly
His steps are welly
As he faces his in-laws with his tail under-the-belly
Do you wonder?
Yes, you ponder and wonder
How this leopard can ever be shy
Of cause it isn't a lie
He never looks up in the sky
As he faces his mother-in-law for a bride!
This leopard needs a ride
He will no longer hide
But slide and glide
To meet his in-laws
Though slow, to glow and follow
His bride on the other side
To unhook his bide through good guide
On the other side of the site and sight so wide
THOUGHTS OF A JAMAICAN CHRISTMAS
I remember Christmas of yesteryear
Of John Canoe dancing with fife and drum
Horsehead would approach, it was scary but fun
And Scrippy scrappy looked like a real bum
Of Christmas breeze and Poinsettias red
Mixed with white Euphorbias in the flower bed
A visit to Nathans for cloth to make dresses
And drop curls all round my head for my tresses
I liked going downtown on Christmas Eve
Where the bustle of King Street was hard to believe
With balloons and horns, and pretty hats to choose
And noisy rattles to drive our parents to booze
Vendors lined the sidewalks their offerings laid bare
There were shouts for attention but nothing to fear
Next came a visit to Dixon’s Toy Shop
Where I didn’t want the choosing to stop.
Christmas Carols rang out through the air
Then at church the next morning with voices clear
Back home we were greeted with eggnog, and were free
To open our presents that were under the tree
At Christmas dinner our relatives we’d see
As the Miller clan gathered it was exiting for me
There was exchange of gifts and the joy of giving
It was really a great and wonderful feeling
The food was a spread of delectable flavors
Of turkey, rice and peas, sweet potato and lamb
Ackee and salt fish, roast beef, salad and ham
And I just can’t forget the Cranberry jam
The variety was great, too many to mention
And the carving of the turkey got everyone’s attention
But best of all was the sorrel, Christmas pudding or cake
Which gave us kids a chance to get tipsy or flake.
At night we brought out our starlights and clappers
The boys would light thunderbolts and we would run backwards
These memories are happy, in my mind they will stay
And I blend them with those we are experiencing today.
Winsome Miller-Rowe
Season's grumpy greetings
Santa's humbug helpers
Sleigh bell's clanging clappers
Snowman's creepy carrot
Shifty carol crooners
Seldom enjoy eggnog
Sullen new year nonsense
Entry for the "Merry Christmas and happy new year pleiades" contest
Written 4th January 2017 - after the Christmas season
Who the hell rings bells anymore
whether in a Capitalist society, a Theocracy, an Oligarchy,
or a Dictatorship
the DING has sure been taken out of the
rama dama ding dong
No ones home, the juries out
G-d is dead?
Shell, Chevron and Texaco
have reduced the life expectancy of people in the Niger delta
to 50 years ......
The Oil companies are fracking the hell
out of the water table ....from here to Canada and back
and guess what..then they can up the price of
BOTH oil and FRESH? water??
Who are the bell ringers [Ask Jessica Ernst how the water is in her well?]
Where are the bell ringers [hmmm, Canada?]
[Strangled in the nooses of corrupt governments]
DO say! Do doubt! Do think....
Take a whistle blower home for dinner!
Blinded by the stars [lulled into limbo by Flamingo dancers]
living vicariously ..voyeurs
peeping through the key holes of ****-holes
Pull yourselves UP..OUT, declare COMMIT
re-remember what it means
to have YOUR WORD mean something
re-remember what it means to be a friend.
Free yourself, for no one else will.
Fallacies RING true to the disempowered
there DONGs removed, their clappers plucked
Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll was the mantra
of MY age, and HELL NO I WON'T GO
our calling card.
*Thank you to my muse and friend Rueben O.
for inciting this ancient ding-dong :)
Please read his excellent write [Didn't Don't]
As clappers strike, the tones spread
To all the places where man might tread.
Saying to him, "Come~Draw Nigh",
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
People everywhere hearken to the beat
Whether by car, or bus, or walking feet.
All come forth to answer the cry,
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Joyfully they sing in the chapel aloud
A single voice now composed by the crowd.
Even those whose soul is unwilling to try,
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
But what of those who sing no more?
Whose life is now at that distant shore.
Can we hear them again, if we try?
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Here, only the earthy tones of a single bell
Mark their passing with each somber knell.
Yet, they sing to Him with the souls on high,
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
When we finally meet them across that ravine
We shall join voices and again together sing
The praises of Him, the Lord Most High ~
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky!
Warm wind blows on bells,
The clappers pick the movement,
The sound joins the breeze.
Advertising has us in it's wrappers
here's the bad stuff ~ here the clappers,
it seems the product needs the jabbers
like a potato chip ~ the grabber!
but for the quaintness of the blabbers
I could not focus ~ or react thus
now here's a cute phrase ~ DIPPLE DABBERS
they're not like "p r i n g l e s" ~
They're just "ADAPTERS"!
Note ~ Hi Mark Pringle (our poetic benefactor) Had to say something that could
separate the wimps from the "snappers!"
SIX AND SO SICK
into the eternal. far from the real
saddened by six bells which no longer peel
six clappers stand now, stilled and so quiet
death took them away and life could not deny it
extinguished were six flames, flickering names
players were they in such dangerous games
equestrians, gamesmen, strong upon steed
but unmounted and showed did their need
gone into the eternal by me they'll be missed
gallant they rode into smoke of the mist
my eyes saw as they rode, and a tear did I form
their end, although painful, was far from the norm
choking and vomiting, death was not calm
did once all they wanted was a shot in the arm
paid they the price for their weakness of soul
now six of them lay six feet deep in a hole
© 2012...copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
The wind wolfed through the back porch
setting chime clappers to gong,
seething with ferocity, dropping power lines
swacking the gutters against the clapboards.
Window panes rattle, chattering with the storms,
conversing with the tic tap and ping of the plumbing.
harmonizing with the trill of whistling wind.
The wind wolfed down brittle branches,
worrying twigs, spitting sidewalk sand salt.;
gnawing at birch bark, unraveling bits.
The pack whimpers behind the gale
tucking tail as they herd writhing shadows
toward the morn.
When the wind breaks the silence and the grains hit the glass, yesterday is forgotten and thrown into the past..
Sobbing violins will soundtrack the streets, with the crackling of hair and distant door creaks.
Rainbows of rust shall cast cloaks of iron onto a sun absent sky and a blackening horizon.
Gardens bloom spines from roots of confusion, for all the spineless decisions and a life of delusion.
Swing's sing a melody from an ash covered park as carousels spin emptiness in the burnt, lonely dark..
Fragments stream alleys in a solitude waltz, of needles and wire, of powder and bolts.
Flushed are the landscapes of their canvas colours and wrung are the stars of their luminous drip,
As moments of silence seep through in and out, hope is engulfed by terror licked lips.
As the bitterness of winter chills night into a coma, glimmers of summer are lost in a blizzard.
Frost covered towers scrape the air in a screech forming patterns of anguish on the skeletal beach.
Moans of misfortune fill the meadows and the forests into a charcoal haze of sarcastic mist.
While trees lay strewn and smoke climbs the sky, ruins haunt remains of evening's burnt.
In an age of the ending, no leader nor law, where war turns to peace, and peace turns to war.
Shattered are the memories of lives once lived, puzzled and scattered, and tossed to the wind.
When the clappers in the bells have wrung their last ring, angelic choirs will no longer sing,
When the mouths on the mountains have sighed their last sigh, they'll inhale the trees, they'll drink the oceans dry.
HEY CJ….. EVER SEENG IN SEENGAPORE?
I heard you sing in Singapore
And begged thee to sing some more
And so thy song traversed lips of red
A lullaby you sang till I lay my head to bed\
I heard you sing in Singapore with virtuosity and in voice
‘Twas a twist of fate that fate had no other fateful choice
And so you sang fluidly and ne’re dare distractions
While the musical mosaic and your voice were the nutual main attractions
Then Singapore stilled its clappers and silenced all the bells
As each listener was entranced by divergent spells
being mystified by your beauty and beatitude combined
While men had visions of he and you meandering in his mind
Thusly did Singapore and I beg for one more enchanting song
And on that Asian stage is where a lovely like you should belong
Quite frankly my dear it’s your silhouette and song I cannot ignore
And the perfect time iswhenever you agree to sing some more in Singapore
©2011.…free cee!