Best Clattering Poems
In riming realms
of crystal contemplations -
frozen water-vapor meditations
and chilled flutes
filled with zodiacal-light musings
of ancient cosmic dust
dancing in the arms of Sol..
windswept operatic reveries
rise and fall
as her stirring soprano
tickled by the chanting of icicle chimes
gathers momentum
in strengthening sprays
of frosted musical notes adrift in broken chords
she bestrides
a clouded steed colored mother-of-pearl
flowing with fury
within which beats a blustery heart
surging at jet stream speeds
on the clattering beat of hailstorm hooves
from streamer-skies of the northern dancers
they fly aloft
on arctic gales of lyrical laughter
igniting the imagination
of her freezing fire
burning now with a blistering whip
and a frostbite nip
that sinks its tingling teeth deep
sailing
a supernatural stage
amplifying—
her aerated soprano soars
in polar vortex arias
as an avalanche of glazed trinkets
—descendants of her fertile femininity
skydive
in shivering sixfold symmetry
falling
in fierce flights of fancy
as she cyclones on consecrated currents
with wild abandon
escalating
in twirling trills
of glass beaded squalls
swirling her iced eiderdown skirts aflare
baring tempest thighs
storming with a Siberian sting!
..and as her electric eyes spark
luminous with lightning
she buries you in a blizzard
of opalescent mistletoe berries
and wanton whims.
Categories:
clattering, passion, snow, winter, woman,
Form:
Imagism
Regally it stands, the staunch guardian of her lonesome heart,
Reminiscing in revelries of yore, treasured memories impart,
Defying glum turbulence of now, hanging on to seasons past,
When springs-winsome banished, doldrums harsh-winters cast.
Disheartened, the gate harkens back~ O, so young its master died,
Lamenting of distressed times, when grief stilled her teary eyed;
Yet, with resolve, it squeaks its hinges, resounding a voice of pride,
Beckoning to benevolence of bliss, fate had so callously denied.
With kindred vibes it greets her, vying elation of cherished days,
Suppressing aches and rattles of its rusting, clamoring, phase;
Preferring realm of time, when he was the keeper of this place,
As dutifully now it opens wide, exuding mirth of youthful grace.
O, how fondly the gate recalls, dance of duo beneath full moon,
Humming melodies intimate, passions of doting souls croon,
Embracing celebration of life, as heartbeats enamored attune,
To rhythms emanating song of love, strumming infatuated tune.
Despite groans and whimpers, blaring aloud clattering of pain,
The gate vows to protect her, refusing ever to wither or wane,
Unwavering through thunders, rains, vicious strikes of feeble age,
Challenging its steeled bones, to gallantly defy seasons’ rage.
Categories:
clattering, emotions, memory, missing,
Form:
Personification
I'm fifteen darkwater dreaming or drowning
adrift and alone on the ocean of the bathroom floor
tossed on tidal waves of pain pearled with perspiration
a clattering clutch of shells contracting
shingle shushing stifled shrieks
the shucked shell of my womb
emptying like an oyster snared
by umbilicals of seaweed Far away
hazy-faint through saltwater mists I see
a little pearl glistening floating and rocking in red sea
I'm all at sea without anchor on tides a boat floating free
seeking a mooring in the harbour of the doctor's consulting room
her voice a deep dive anchoring me with subtle sympathy
through muffled underwater sounds sea-shadowy fog shawling me
I want to tell her about the dream submerged stories of a tiny pearl
maroon-mangled and foam-spangled slipping slowly from me
into scarlet sea drifting away sinking to darkwater depths
Driving home my mother's rings clink like shells against the steering wheel
and a shaming sea of silence fills the car pretty shells shucked and shocked
Categories:
clattering, baby, loss, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Withered memories invigorate, rekindling rhythm of heart,
Grabbing hold of me to retrieve elation of forgotten past
Throbbing in enchantment, treasured memoirs now impart,
Where decaying house stands, bearing grief seasons cast.
Up the hill I trek, gazing pastures glistening in dawning day
As glint of dawn slowly scintillates horizon shrouded gray
Amid mooing calls of cows, where mango trees gently sway,
Waltzing echoes of yore, clucking~ clattering hens convey.
How regally it welcomes me, my cherished childhood place
Beckoning as it peeks through the creaking old metal gate
That opens wide its fatigued frame, exuding welcome grace,
Lamenting of rusted hinges, squeaking of weathered fate.
Buoying on impulses serene, you enter boldly realm green
Fixated in pristine meadows~ burbling tenor of streams,
Holding my indulgent embrace, there you proudly preen,
For being blessed to own endearing piece of idyllic dreams;
Envisioning an intimate chalet, built on love felt and known,
Where cattle graze, birds built nests, animals freely roam,
Among paradise of orchards, vines, bedazzling as it’s grown,
While rusty old gate, loath to moan, beholds bliss of home.
July 1, 2022
Placed 1st: One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Categories:
clattering, home, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
I would sit there for many hours
Surrounded by my contemplative silence-
My senses as warm as my latte;
My mind as frosty as my cheesecake
The mixed scents of Earl Grey, cinnamon tea,
Mocha, and caramel macchiato would encircle me
Almost like they slowly become part of
My breath: breathe in, then stealthily breathe out
I would hear laughter coming from one
Corner and whispering from another
And each corner would seem to me more like
A different world, each as distant as an era
I would at times engage in a crossword puzzle
Or skim through all the contemptuous headlines
And at other times I would simply read, think,
Write, or just watch some cars indolently pass by
The sounds of music playing, coffee brewing, fork-knife
Clattering and people chewing would all form
A unanimous sound: Serenity
I swallow it down with every sip of my coffee
In these amber hues for hours I would sit
Amidst these faces, leather chairs, and empty
Spaces- the same coffee would brew, the same
Music would play, and my same mind would
In its serenity, so utterly subdue
Categories:
clattering, introspection, passion, peace
Form:
Free verse
Spooks were making love their bones were clattering
Fresh in after death sex they were a prattling
They missed the first session
How to spook the passion
And slipped to their graves skulls down saber rattling
Spooks were making love© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 14 November 2014
Categories:
clattering, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
Morning sounds wake sleepy heads in beds.
A thud against the wall...daddy's home, drunk!
Mommy must have given him that mommy look!
Sis and I rush to help mommy off the floor as
daddy flops across the bed with his shoes on
smelling of stale beer and cigarette's stench.
Mommy is too dizzy to finish fixing our sandwiches
of baloney for our brown bag lunch. With one punch
he laid her flat again. When will his cruelty end?
Tomorrow is Parent Teacher conferences but
they both won't show up... again. They never do.
Mean taunts from ugly kids at school, we don't listen.
We watch the clock on the classroom wall that ends
with a clattering of noisy chatter and beat up books being
joyously slammed closed then shoved into back packs
as the bell loudly rings announcing the school days end.
We walk slowly home together with dulled anticipation
to the empty sounds of no one home to greet us.
The television's voice is a welcoming distraction that
elevates our spirits with happy kids in family shows.
The best thing about T.V. dinners is no dishes to wash.
Mommy comes home from work at the diner after dark
still sporting dark sunglasses to hide daddy's shiner.
The last sounds of the day comes from mommy's singing us
old songs she remembers from her youthful years at home.
6-17-16
Connie Marcum Wong
Poem of the Day June 21, 2016
N/A
Categories:
clattering, abuse, childhood, mother, violence,
Form:
Narrative
STILL LIFE
Life – a gathering of things
Life – with warmth of movement
consciousness of being
sound color touch
aroma sight
for fun
I tap my collective unconscious
and
Nospace is filled with pebbles, pennies, nickels
dimes hammers chisels
hard stuffs
They all come clattering down on my kitchen
table
and
wanting to come together
take on a life of their own
Dave Austin
Categories:
clattering, senses,
Form:
Free verse
Once
these corridors
echoed with life
a citadel for restoration
of body and mind
a bastion of promise
for the tormented
to the outside world
it had many names
Forest Lawn Sanitarium
was its Nome de plume
I--- simply called it--- home
In its day
it was of grand design
cathedral ceilings
hung with crystal chandeliers
finest draperies form fitted
to spacious Windows
walls brightly painted
absorbing sun lights warmth
reflected off marble floors
yes--- it was exquisite--- so beautiful
Soon after my arrival --- I realized
that beauty often commits--- the grossest treasons
For beneath
these hallowed halls
there lay a world of darkness
a wilderness of living sorrow
doctors most vile
It was here--- that I came of age.
a place
where the rooms
festered in the putrid scent
of decaying dust
where the floors
where like walking
on shattered
brittle-- shards of glass
the broken sills
of cemented widndows
entomb the fragments
of yesterdays tormented souls
if only
the towers
could reverberate
the echoing wails
which pierce the silence
so thick
not to chase away
no--- but to call
the slithering shadows of doom
a place where torture
became science--- and science
a medical break through
but to me--- it was still home
Where despair
screams of stone cold fear
of ghastly ghosts
imprisoned with clattering chains
of morbid madness
lurking in secret skeletons
where charcoal coffins
resurrect in the curtain
of lethal skies
bloodletting and chilling memories
Blasted shrapnel of
crimson smeared sins
of hollow skeletons
buried beneath
the godforsaken guillotine
where harrowing horrors
howl mournful cries
and demented demons
putrify on crosses
Persecuted in the bars
of their endless eternal torture
Hope you like my home--- cause
no one gets out alive
This is a collaboration which was written with the poetess Midnight petals on another poetry site. This piece was written about a year ago...
Categories:
clattering, betrayal, death, horror, mental
Form:
Free verse
"Whispers In the Night"
Good night my Love. Good night is where the heart whispers.
Sweet night...lovely you, awesome me...LOL
Good night is where the whispers sleep in silence.
Sleep well until the silence is broken.
Good night until tomorrow. Sleep, sleep well until there is no more to say.
Now sleep well until tomorrow.
Sleep well my Love until tomorrow...
Morning has arrived bringing "Whispers" of the heart sweet daylight....awesome you, lovely me...
"Whispers" awaken, awesome with speech of gratitude and much delight...
Silence of the night is now broken with the awaken of the Sun, the chirping of small birds, rustling, clattering of slippers as the New morning of another day begins...
Deborah Vines 3/15/2019
Categories:
clattering, celebration, emotions, feelings, good
Form:
Free verse
Gradually the crystalizing dawn -- more hardened
Than folded steel --- more sharper than
The blade that cuts!
Wisps of thin vapour, once loitering insidiously
At the steps of each staunch door,
Swirling away -- seemingly almost alive!
Coiling and uncoiling. Has all the litheness of a
Dancing girls weightless silken ribbon.
Until, retreating back, high, into some lofty,
Inaccessible mountain...
Dissipates as if just abandoned dragons breath.
The trees and streams are no longer so solemn.
Circling over the temple, above the brittle lands
Frosted chill, red-beaked choughs noisily engaged
In agitated clattering...
But now the temple bells are commanding those
Monks to prayer.
The blind and withered monk, who sits alone
In his unassuming corner, reminds us:-
"An emperor who abuses his power unsettles the
Equilibrium of the whole nation, the workings of
Nature,
And the livelihood of all people;
His responsibility is to maintain harmony in
Himself and the empire...
By acting in accordance with Confucian principles".
It is for them to contemplate what we cannot
Comprehend:-
We are peasants and it is not expected of us
To understand such wise things; nor should we.
We understand the fish and their ways, and the
Ways of the Blue River...
Just as monks understand our gracious lord Buddha.
Rouses the sun. Slowly lifts an enormous sky.
Glistening hoarfrost spun from bramble to
Bush -- strung from bough to branch like
Giant spider web;
Stiffened grasses that so pleasingly crunch
Underfoot;
And from these grasses, droplets of moisture
Ready to be released like slow weeping tears;
They will join with and sweeten the vibrant
Spring waters -- clearer than quartz --
That stream in tripping rivulets over yellow rocks
To splash from shallow cup to pouring pool...
Once you have tasted these waters you would
Have little more need of wine.
Wine is for idle men, or for our warring masters
To drink when celebrating great victory;
What use have we of intoxicating wine?
It is better kept as an offering...
Lest the river Gods grow angry and
Spoil our catch.
Categories:
clattering, appreciation, creation, environment,
Form:
Free verse
Now the villager’s are waking from the dreams inside their heads,
They’re locking doors and windows, and they’re hiding in their beds;
It’s a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun…
You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone.
It’s a legend sprung to life, and it’s a horror story true,
You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too,
And the sound is getting closer till it’s beating in your bones,
And it’s hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones.
Yellow Rider coming
Through the early light of day,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Too late for you to pray.
And the Rider’s coming closer still you stay inside your room,
You’re looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume,
But you cannot see his face because it’s hidden by the brim,
Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him.
For it’s silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,
His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan,
And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France…
And there’s nobody escaping, everybody’s had his chance.
Yellow Rider coming
Like a bandit through the rain,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Till they echo in your brain.
Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came,
He’s taking someone with him and I will not tell his name,
But it’s either you or me or maybe someone else we know…
Now the Yellow Rider’s leaving as the sun begins to show.
And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors,
The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores,
And the villages will make believe he never came at all…
But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call…
Yellow Rider going,
And he’s taking someone new,
Someone we’re both knowing,
Is it me or you?
Is it me or you?
Categories:
clattering, fantasyme, me, yellow,
Form:
Lyric
They enrich life day by day.
By ones side they'll always stay.
We only notice when they depart
The paw prints they left on our heart.
Looking back, there's a special joy...
The canine with their favourite toy
The clattering of excited paws
The scrapes they made on wooden floors
Their wagging tails, their messy eat
Their obedience for a treat
The way they sensed one feeling sad
The lovely bond that once was had.
Each a character of their own,
One of the family. A part of home.
These furry friends of ours will roam
In treasured memories til our time has flown.
Categories:
clattering, dog, memory,
Form:
Couplet
Amid a stretch of darkness ,
You are my only hope ,
I know I have disappointed you ,
But with that I was even hurt.
I want to cry but nothing comes out ,
These unshed tears are waiting to be consoled by you ,
I regret my life ,
For I stand helpless .
Begging for forgiveness ,
My legs have given up ,
But I won't .
You say you won't look at me ,
Then why do I see your silhouette ,
I know your standing at the window,
Waiting for me to go .
But I say it very loud and slow ,
"I won't leave unless you forgive me ."
I know I have wronged you,
Misguided by my conscience.
But I promise you that won't happen again,
The heavy downpour ,
Is the reflection of my emotions ,
Standing here I know I deserve worst .
No one comes out to look at me ,
But I know you will ,
I am freezing here ,
Clattering my teeth I wait for you .
Categories:
clattering, 1st grade, 2nd grade,
Form:
Free verse
He discovered
how to connect and merge,
or such discovered him.
His five senses did not become six,
but a number closer to one.
It came upon him,
that he was one with everything,
all that his mind and eyes perceived,
be they an ant or a mountain,
nothing was separate from him.
All was his mind.
Water drooled over mossy stones,
he smelled the splash of foaming atoms,
the explosive opening of watery buds.
All was an energetic flow of synchronicity.
His body resonated to the mineral dance,
the vibrations within rocks and pebbles,
a living Word of light joining all things.
A swan rose up, wings clattering,
aural ligaments pulling white wingspans,
through a Catherine Wheel of sound.
Senses flew together,
forming waterfalls of reality.
He understood that these imaginative insights,
expanded the creativity of the universal.
Sunlit raindrops bloomed like new-birthed planets.
The instinctive thoughts of voles and frogs,
revealed as a singular cosmos,
of co-terminus existences.
As he looked upon this seamless world
he knew he had the potential.
to leave footprints on the sky and sea!
This revelation
turned his consciousness upon a diamond-sharp laith,
creating the radiance of a holy grail,
one great enough
to hold all the innumerable Sons of God.
Categories:
clattering, poetry,
Form:
Free verse