Best Harping Poems
Your words lance through to bone, acid sizzling into every hole
I haven't filled in, yet I dig, and ponder, and dig, filling in.
I still rock where the echoes of door slammed shut, bounce around
like a crazed nut of truth, crazed distorted view, walls where none existed.
The lifeline of my life was a frail strand on the morning breeze
I could pull into view, ride like a youth jumping the ocean waves
that you sucked into the cold vacuum of your jealous ways
and not ending there, you stole the skate board, stole the waves
locked me into a endless stuffed food binge where doubt could be sweetened
but locked me further into a closed room, like a finished book
that no one wanted to read the first time or the last or ever
because it answered no questions, kissed no lips, hungered for nothing
gave nothing back to the children of the wave, children of the clouds
and then squished all the children into little mushed piles you ate
and then complained they had no blood left. I dig, with this trowel
wanting a mirror of burial, where the skies can rain down upon the muck
and quiet your words, quiet your harping, quiet your blows upon pride
and leave me a trowel upon which I can live out or die, piling scar tissue
over endless lies, over the cries of hungry children, over the cries
of forgotten waves and restore someday the laughter and surprise of life.
Tell me of hope for the world is sad enough
Without my complaint to make it more tough;
Find new faces to give the heart cheer
And hold close all those who are most dear;
For earth knows the perpetual drain
Of persistant sorrow and unceasing pain.
Tell me of faith, for the world's better without
Your dreams of folly and melancholy doubt;
If you trust in God and not in yourself
And will be able to put your doubts on a shelf
To give peace of mind so faith can come
Then no one will mind if your mouth is dumb.
Let's speak of health, this sad endless tale
Of human troubles that are boring and stale.
You cannot win or profit or please
By harping on the dischord of stubborn disease;
Say you feel fine, the world is good to you
And before you know, it will all come true.
Having heard the harping howls
of a hungry herd on the prowl
I realized reticence is a revered gift
like the sweet love song of a swift
Disorderly,
His confusion organized,
Grotesquely haphazard.
She never stopped complaining,
Harping him to distraction.
Even now, he had to search
For a miserable hammer.
Cellar dark,
Hands outstretched,
Light switch elusive,
He hit his head,
Against a beam.
Till he found
That for which he needed.
He hung her portrait
Smack in the middle
Of a bare wall,
Above her beloved dresser,
An antique piece which he abhorred.
He bought a lamp
And vowed it would be lit
Below the face
That looked at him
From high above,
Imploring urgently,
Almost begging him
To do better.
He took up the hammer again
He fixed the small bronze plaque
As level as he only knew how
And read the words there written:
"My beloved Mother".
He smiled.
No! Cut this piece here!
No! Not there!
Why didn't you cut it right?
says Princess StepSister's
hyper-ventilated syndrome,
jonesing for her next pork chop.
I would have finished
but you bellowed me away
in your Ugly StepSister voice
demanding from open refrigerator door
that collard greens must stop evaporating
behind your eyes.
Ugly StepSister?
Did you just call me a StepSister?
I'm just saying
you think you're a Whatever Princess
but you don't act like one
because, as you know,
princesses are always kind
and say please and thank you
and not whatever,
and seldom if ever bark and bite
at the hands created to lovingly feed them
for the next several years;
while Ugly StepSisters
act like whatever bullies,
talk like ballistic assault weapons.
Which is why
Cinderellas are selected to dance
with Prince Charmings,
and thereby become kind Princesses,
rather than stuck in Ugly StepSister roles and rules,
harping at Prince Charming Dads
to cut their pork chops faster,
and better,
and now,
if not yesterday.
Oh...
Would you cut my pork please, in smaller pieces?
and not take your usual gimpy time, thank you.
Why of course my Princess,
I love to live your Prince Clumsy.
Everyone is forever searching for love
Some find it, then lose it, for some it lasts a lifetime
They are the fortunate ones waking up each morning
Knowing that special person will always be there
Through all that life has to offer
Rainy days as well as those bright sun filled days
When it feels like absolutely nothing
Will ever bring us down from our high
I often feel these wonderful days
Days of love, happiness, and quiet contentment
Nothing will ever equal them
They make up for all the days of turmoil and strife
I am a very loving, passionate man
Overly sensitive at times but that's not a bad way to be
If you can tolerate my constant harping on love
Then we will definitely get along swimmingly
They say it makes the world go around
Don't think a truer phrase has ever been uttered!
Here's to love!!!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Parallel parking on a private stow
For every row there was a foreign road
Waiting for night, my thoughts roam
Straightforward, straight towards her
To...say.. find another, another home
Goodbye my lover, goodbye my love
A voicemail harping and a dial tone,
Went to your door yet no one's home
And all my beliefs lay there on your wreath,
Intertwined with stems and leaves
Fastened to a... ring
Goodbye Hanna, goodbye home
Goodbye forever, forever I'll roam
Contrary to the popular consensus
Poets in general are very well grounded, well adjusted
As opposed to the general population
It's the average Joe or Jillian out there that are in question
It's really not their fault, it's due to the state of the world
The constant bombardment of negative news
That we constantly receive daily
Negatively affects us year after year, decade after decade
It never gets any better... in fact it's worse AND scarier
But I've said it before and here I say it again
Rise above it and carry on in spite of all the negativity
In my experience, it's really the only way to survive
I seem to be harping on this theme a lot lately
But in reality, I'm just trying to give you the benefit of my 79 years
And what I've found has helped me get through
Really I'm no great stinker... uh, thinker
Just passing along what I've learned!
© Jack Ellison 2014
From the black canal,
I awoke into a beast of light.
Eager wishes through my very blood and soul,
an illusion as my memory told.
An illusion so real it seemed so true.
A beautiful woman with plenteous silken hair,
stood bare from end to end before my eyes and
flowered a smile, as my memory told.
The thirst of my soul rose, I moved near to touch her
and she vanish.
I turned and there she was bare from end to end before
my eyes.
She laid in china blooms,pure and simplistic,
as my memory told.
An illusion so real it seemed so true.
I laid next to her and she cradled in my arms
with eyes entire.
Her lips were sweet to my desire,
as my memory told.
The harping angels rose, devil passion wrestled the tides
of fate and drifted in.
She moved in circles, and the circles moved, moved, and moved.
My body mart to a motion not of my own.
In the heat of passion, I awoke from the black canal into a
beast of light.
Walk side with me to a valley,
And we shall be yonder pleasures of heavens light,
Of whose firmament, hills, groves, shining woods presume wonder.
And we will weight off our feet upon the hills,
Seeing swains tends to their torn flocks,
Quails harping to harmonic tunes,
And we shall made mat of Ambrosia,
With fragrant from Acacia, Aster, Azalea and Arum,
A hat of Begonia and a Larkspur crème,
Cross-stich with the bark of yellow birch.
Which through our intimate loving lay rest,
A metal slipper for the snows,
With buckle fashioned from alloyed silver,
An apple from Janna,
If suited thee
Walk side with me to a valley.
The tunes of heaven shall we dance,
A coffee for your morning
If such picture delights thy heart, move
Walk with me to the valley, and be my Joy.
I have come to the tree green with leaves
Amidst the brash blustering of winter and thawing
The prophet once the old green decieves
But he did not hear else but cold crow cawing
I am come to thronging of the voice
And the memory of years in shadows decayed
For there was no sunlight to rejoice
The heart, nothing bright for what we prayed
But there perched on a lectern like limb
On this gray day you find another voice to sing
The voice I thought I was dead, since dim
Light found you no where on your sovereign and sweet wing
Hark how it sings from Abraham to King
Hark the passion pelting the prodigal of faith
And our weariness melting, we cling
To each word, loving the song and knowing its late.
O but sweet today, and not sweeter
Before, this is the sweetest song you ever sang
Nothing in it for our hereafter
Just the reminder that dawn can still come fire-strong
As we love our leaders to be. Wet
My hope again with dew and set my love to bloom
And for this song I too shall forget
The coming sunset everywhere, the harping doom.
Verbal Attitude
Nectar from his vocabulary was oozing
Also spilling on the ground coinciding with ditch
Habits of my dwellers were like this
Have a ear to hear list sitting on first row
Blows of the leader and to pat the palms for show
Far the tin tin ton ton of the bell from the temple
Was removing pollution at least
But a symmetry of same string harping velocity tilting
Did not cause to swing a breath of peace like in solitary isle
Passing of grand ma pa father and mother burns at night in dream
With a question my child, do you have coolness in your field?
Luxury in the mood of head
Has romanced in meeting and seminar
Turning pages of hope,
Each time with a question mark
For next time, we reached
Access with man and matters of the globe shaking hand
Different optimistic attained approach
And path ahead dug with each step to field,
Dwindles, a flow of wish. Alas!
Me and my country’s last.
A pair was at newly bought suit, marching
Supposing to visit in wedding pitch at evening
Spray of volley grey veiled them to loose
Beauty did not see on road where they were for forecast.
Are arrows of afflictions aiming your soul?
Swaying you away from life’s goal
Are the armies of Satan attacking your fort?
With arms and ammunition of varied sort
Do problems crush like a twirling climber?
Sap your strength rushing ahead as a runner
Suppress you having clung for support
Alarmed, are you looking at their progress report
In vain, do you turn right and left
Seeking place to hide even in a cleft
Then seek help through prayer with hope
By Holy Spirit’s power even when you grope
The Lord is the Spirit, you must always know
And where the Spirit of the Lord is, acts are not slow
Immediately there is liberty found
Arising from where there seems no ground
Like the new ropes used by Philistines
To bind Samson one among the Nazerines
Satan could have bound you tight
Threatening and harping over his might
Plead for the Holy Spirit during the fight
He will defend and prove you right
And set the new ropes like flax on fire
Crushing the armies of that fallen liar
Dickens Had A Quickie Meal
limerick
Dickens had a quickie meal
And chilled out on a harp seal
Dickens was burping
The harp was harping
'Hey, you have not paid my hunch bill’
(C) Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
2014/12/03
Trifling juvenile players harping silly tunes
Guns and bling-bling, fake love and stuff like that
I'm no candy man, never been, but I know this
You will need to cut back on the crap
Or we will forever hear your lives going drip-drip
All over a collection of nick-knacks, I'll be damned
A finger snaps and the so-called snitch screams
In between sobs he hopes this in just a bad dream
Fake soldier takes a puff from the cancer stick
And draws a heart of smoke in the air
This, he says, waving pistol for emphasis
Is what happens when you go telling on a gangster
And the lost lieutenants nod their noggins
Some gang-banger somewhere is reloading
At the station a sergeant fancies himself a swiffer
Appointed by his conscience to make the streets cleaner
You kids are swift but the arm of the law is swifter
So play your lame game and watch him work his cleaver
Too many people think violence is a love song
But the moment you think you got it you're wrong
Go figure. This is not about pointing fingers
But a sense of ominous foreboding lingers