Best Jangled Poems
Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
Each wash-up, extracted, pegged, and hung up to dry,
To taunt and flap jangles for him, his readers and strangers near by.
Mister Joe's charm icons are processed, mulled over, distilled and wrung out for meaning within.
His jangles find meaning in bumps on smooth paper, read as Braille.
His jangles arise from stones skipped over calm smooth waters,
yielding meaning in the creases and ripples created.
His jangles rattle his sleep awake each night, with sky rockets of images and flashes bursting.
His jangles are a empowering, rewarding, revealing, enlightening,
and sometimes troubling and haunting, but can't be undone.
His jangles are his rhyme and reason, his friend and confidant, his mater and aether
His jangles are really what he's all about as a poet,
as a miner and peddler of ideas, and as a prophet and revealer.
Mister Joe's charms jangles the minds of his readers
His words cast nets to trawl up memories and concepts,
lured within the reader's mind with word play and twists.
Seas of dreams and memories are netted, prodded and poked
To yield twinkles, sparkles, hums, grunts, and nods of appreciation and delight.
His jangles finding meaning and echoes with links and associations, never before conceived nor considered.
Mister Joe's catch of memories once jangled, are returned to reader with care
Embellished and enthralled by meaning, relevance, word play and twists.
The reader now has new jangles to add to charm bracelet on wrist, or to jingle with loose change in pocket.
Mister Joe, the poet, and his reader, now walk and dance with jangles, jingling echoes within.
Categories:
jangled, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
jampacked city streets
that jangled and banged
in the raucous jarring day
shifted
from business to boogaloo
squeezing into moonlight
party lights
gin and lime-kissed
gimlet sequined dress
strutted
in studded six-inch heels
riveting flair
provoking jive and jazzy nights
to tame this lion of New York
The bed swallowed the evening
sucked-up in slumbered
sobering snooze
exhaling the drunkard’s stench
while the warmth of whiskey
and you next to me
laid dreamy still
popped up and propped up
restless and ragged
realizing the changing view
through the dirt-stained window
a pool of placid sunrise
igniting
colorless clustered towers
bulwarks and girders
scraping the sky
out of the easterly clouds
a creeping golden palette
arose
touching every crevice
defining each silhouette
your body stirs deliberate and slow
rainbow hued eyes
slenderly slitted catching
the new-found light
opening, tenderly revealing
the landscape of your smile
disclosing
a cozy contentment
waking with hello
as I fall into your dream
and a new day
Categories:
jangled, city, culture, day, new
Form:
Free verse
A prolific singer, you mimic songs of Blue Jays -
From the poem, The Mockingbird by Vijay Pandit*
BLACK SAILS
You charleton! I believed you when the full moon stopped overhead,
when the breeze like a quilt wrapped around me with warm heat, when
your fingers flirtatiously covered the holes of your flute, my pet —
you once were all that, and I believed you. What a fool was I
for the entreaty of love. Oh how those vibrating lips fiddled with my ears.
The charm, like a waterfall imbued with a rainbow. It sang like a buzzword
from Tristan — oh if only I had pretended black sails, forfeited your love
back then. Instead this slavegirl jangled her dowry skirt toward the storm.
Your puppy dog eyes, like a shepherd’s — I didn’t see the leper underneath.
The claws of your paws like a lion’s in manic kill. Yet, I saw what I wanted to see.
You’d stroke my hair at dawn ~ how’d I miss the threatening tug, the mock
of your arsenic tongue. No, Romeo, I’d not die for you; I’d kill for…
Oh but my eyes fill with cerulean skies, palm branches that cool me
down, your lyrical laughter, the brawn of your arms — robust waves.
And as I die, poisoned by the arrow of heartbreak, this poicephalus cues
a prolific singer, you mimic songs of Blue Jays.*
4/13/2020
Poetic lines from a Poetry Soup poet - Vijay Pandit Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Note: A poicephalus parrot is not very smart
Categories:
jangled, anger, imagery, love hurts,
Form:
Verse
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splattered upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clingling shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the splash of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue
Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
Categories:
jangled, life,
Form:
visitin me aunty Cushla
For the first time in Ballybay
I found meself beside a signpost
An I stopped to find me way.
It was then I spied a little feller
Laid behind a bale of hay
He was prepared to help me
but wanted to know what I was prepared to pay.
Well I couldn't believe what I was hearin
He's a tight fisted scallywag
but he wouldn't listen to reason
and jangled the coins in his money bag.
Would ye do that to a feller Irishman ?
I hope yer marry a sour faced old hag
He said , Why do yer think I'm chargin yer
Shut yer gob an get out yer swag.
He rubbed his hands as I counted me money
Just like Ebenezer Scrooge
Gigglin like an hyena
With his cheeks the colour of rouge.
Twenty pieces of silver
I thought his price was huge
The guys a bloody comedian
an I am to be his stooge.
He stood up from behind the bale
An dressed in so many shades of green
With his funny hat and his little pipe
On his shillelagh he began to lean.
Now where was it yer said yer were goin
Ah Ballybay , Well to prove I'm not too mean
I'm gonna walk there with yer
Aren't I the most generous leprechaun yerv ever seen?
As we walked I told him about me aunty Cushla
an me bein on holiday fer two weeks
He handed me back me money
I'm so dumbfounded I can't speak
Ah to see a leprechaun yer must believe
He said,So yer must forgive me cheek
An its luvvly to see a young Irish lad
Who didn't treat me like a freak.
Well Shamus an me became buddies
Fer the duration of me stay
Downin pints an eatin colcannon
an dancin in the Irish way
He could really play a fiddle
An no more did I have to pay
I loved me visit to see aunty Cushla
On me first trip to Ballybay.
Categories:
jangled, funny,
Form:
Narrative
My fingers fly fast on the typewriter keys.
I'll leave her a note, my land-lady to please.
We've had some long talks as we wait for our men,
and she doesn't know when she will see hers again.
Mine's coming home and I'm traveling to meet him.
I know he's been hurt, but I'm eager to greet him.
I can't really believe I'll soon be in the sky.
Common sense tells me those big things can't fly.
I'll reveal the secret that he doesn't know,
not a secret much longer, I'm beginning to show.
Cigarette in my hand is burning my fingers
as smoke from the last in small room, still lingers.
I empty full ashtray of butts, some stained red
and look again for lost earring under my bed.
The lone gold earring still lies there with no mate
but my taxi has come, looking for it must wait.
I put my ticket in it as I pick up my purse,
still wondering if I am his wife or his nurse.
I talk to myself as I close and lock door,
reminding myself again, how much I hate war.
Categories:
jangled, war,
Form:
Rhyme
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splattered upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clingling shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the splash of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue
Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
Note: This is not aimed at anyone in particular; surely not humanity!
Categories:
jangled, life
Form:
The alleyways within the maze are paved with rats and mice.
Evangelists with moneyed fists collect the sacrifice
from losers scorned and rubes reborn, and promise paradise,
while in the back they cook some crack, inhale, and roll the dice.
A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter,
the passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads and mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to wash the lanes, to clear away the clutter.”
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.
Though rip-off shops and crooked cops are paid not once but thrice,
the painted girl with flaxen curl is paring down her price
and loosely tempts cold hands unkempt to touch the merchandise.
A crazy guy cries “where am I”, a schizo titters twice,
and double quick a lunatic affects a fight with lice.
The jungle teems, a siren screams, the air is filled with meth.
The Reverent Priest and nuns unleash the Holy Shibboleth.
And Righteous Jane who is insane, as well as Sister Beth,
while telling tales to no avail of everlasting death,
at least imbue Hagg Avenue with whisky on their breath.
The Reverent Priest combats the Beast, they’re kneeling down to prey,
to fight the truth with fang and tooth, to toil for yesterday,
to etch their mark within the dark, to paint their résumé
on shrouds and sheets which then completes the devil’s dossier.
Old dan, he's drunk and in a funk, all mired in the mud.
A Monk begins to wash Dan’s sins, and asks “How are you, Bud?”
“I’m feeling pain and crying rain till soon there is a flood.
And no god’s there who seems to care I’m always coughing blood.”
The Monk, he turns, Dan’s words he spurns and lets the bible thud.
Well, Banjo Boy, he will annoy with jangled rhymes that fray:
“The clanging bells of carousels lead blind men’s minds astray
to rings of gold they’ll never hold in fingers made of clay.
But crest and crown will crumble down, when withered roots decay.”
Continued
Categories:
jangled, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
As we walked towards the festival
We hear the drumbeats and the chanting
Soon we were close enough to view the dancers
Fantastic costumes - red, blue, green, yellow
All the dancers were wearing feathers and pieces of metal
which jangled at they danced
Surrounded by onlookers the dancing
reached a fever pitch
The winners were announced
Later, buffalo burgers and a look around
at Native American crafts
Great way to spend a warm Saturday in June
Categories:
jangled, dance, native american,
Form:
Ballad
A clatter of human hooves
drums on through an after- dawn marketplace…
the wide tunnel of mouths
reel from the splintered chorus
of jangled tunes bargaining and rattling
papaya, arabica and sushi roll orders: a fiesta
of succulent aroma whisks mid-air,
talkative faces sampling potent crops
on weaved baskets , hanging neatly
before slurpy hands condemn
them to boiling pots: the errant
noise loose like gander and hogs.
How much is this and that?
The slithering, crumpled bills drop
their tongues on purses scraped from
one week’s abominable toil.. oh, darting
fishes jerk their bellies while the array
of chicken hunks glaze under lights, frozen
and lumped from farmers’ harvest
rites... morning so luscious with grapes
colored velvet skin, lettuce tips
pulped by shiny green: and the procession
of lapping mouths reach head tone pitch,
dishes, dishes for salivating tongues,
taste buds for citrusy fruits, on one delirious
mecca to a market, market day!
......................
A Poem You Enjoyed Contest of Lewis Raynes
Entered 9/13/2016 (Old Poem)
Categories:
jangled, places, space,
Form:
Light Verse
Dreamy eyes command my stare
Fingers tangled in my hair
Magical allure
Chemistry galore
Quivering happening everywhere
Lips lock as passion lights from within
Yearning to feel skin on skin
Clothing disappears
Nothing interferes
Causing an all consuming tail spin
Arms and legs sweetly entangled
New positions delightfully angled
Fervent desire
Appetites afire
All senses blissfully jangled
Totally surrendering to blazing bliss
Flames ignited by a sweltering kiss
Relinquished control
Amazingly whole
Drowning willingly into sweet abyss
Wondrous moments triggers trance
After effects makes cells dance
Intense connection
Passionate perfection
Finding match does pleasure enhance
11/14/2015
* Life should be full of passion, excitement and moments that take your breath away, living and loving life to its fullest I will always continue to strive for.
Categories:
jangled, passion,
Form:
Limerick
The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek
The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
as the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far peak
Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
like they had grown there
Dusty spurs jangled as he trotted into the sleepy town
A saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat was stained with sweat
from the hard ride
Reins dangled in the dirt
The horse hung his head, relieved to not
be moving anymore
A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory
He pulled a cigarillo out, and with one smooth
movement wiped a match on his pants, the tiny
flame igniting
He puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the night
Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door
The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch, the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back
He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time
Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and entered the saloon,
honky-tonk piano music played
The doors behind him whispered back and forth
The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman
The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze sidling away
Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked
Show me your coin, the barkeep growled
His days were numbered
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch would find
him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree
Categories:
jangled, horse,
Form:
Free verse
'Twas the month before Christmas
When inside the house
The housewife was quiet
There's no sound, not even a grouse
When all of a sudden
There arose such a clatter
Even the Chihuahua came running
With tail tucked and in a chatter
Our grandson came running faster then Santa
In his magical sleigh
We all converged in the hall with this to say
Was that my husband, PawPaw or ???
Dear 'ole Claus who arrived to stay
They sprang into action
Found the backdoor jammed
Ran out the front
Found PawPaw whammed!
He had crash landed
And not on the roof
Driving grandma's sleigh
He tried to enter the den
What was wrong with him?
Grandma's wheels now undrivable
PawPaw embarrassed with this feat unsolvable
Tail-tucked Chihuahua scared out of his wits
Don't any of them know what to think of this
Well, when it is all said and done
My car was towed away
The den's damage surveyed
All the cost we still can't say
It has taken a toll on everyone
I think we need to go play
Nerves all jangled
Heart beating fast
Sleep eludes me
Somehow soon
It will all be in the past
Thank you, God
For your protection
I could have been in the den
In the push-button recliner total relaxation
The car could have kept going
That would have been a horrible end, my friends!!!
This happened this past Wednesday night at my home. That was on November 17, 2021. I have not been getting out much since the COVID outbreak and my husband went out to go to church then the next thing I knew the above was what happened. We are okay. No one hurt just scary, expensive and we still don't know what we are facing with all the repairs. Definitely not as bad as the picture. He said his foot slipped off the brake and hit the accelerator and he hit the house before he could get his foot back on the brake.
Categories:
jangled, life,
Form:
Free verse
He was sun-scorched, flame-torched
stood tall, strong as a brick wall
loose-hipped, well equipped
in for the count, without a doubt
expert tracked, surprise packed
spurs jangled, wild mustang wrangled
I should have, could have
but I was lost, dust-bowl tossed; in Trouble!
In a mess, I confess
as he turned, my body burned
fanned my face, acting chaste
he was endearing, God-fearing
a lop-sided smile, immaculate styled
I could have run, fired my gun
but I only choked, when he spoke,
he was ice cool, me more the fool; he's Trouble!
He tipped his hat, steel-grey eyes of a cat
heavy lidded, my heart skidded,
he said, 'Maam?', took my hand
his cornfield hair, his unnerving stare
I might have, right have
high-tail, hit the trail
the preacher grins, there's all my kin
now side-by-side, my downhill slide; into Trouble!
All curtailed, I in veil
'Do you take?, my mistake?
white wedding gown, two hearts pound
next the ring, my clammy skin
my Pa's tears, must squelch my fears
all too late, more my fate
the thrown rice, last minute advice
my Mama's bliss, that sweet kiss; of Trouble!
Blushing bride, our buggy ride
all alone, our log cabin home
white picket fence, it all makes sense
just me and you, the mountain's view
angels singing up above, it must be love
carried past the oven door, need I say more?
a four-poster bed, enough said
'What a Man!', to our life plan; without Trouble!
©25/02/2012
Categories:
jangled, cowboy-western, funny, happiness, love,
Form:
Rhyme
The cold hit me, it froze my soul
The last gasp of air knocked from my body
Down, down, down in some deep dark wet hole
I was lost I was gone, there would be no more me.
I opened my eyes and looked into known death
The eye of a beast stared back.
I knew that I was holding my breath
Yet desperately trying to claw my way back.
Its teeth the beast then did bare
The jaws opened wide and it expelled
The last meal devoured, how would I fare?
The last of the air in my lungs I held.
Bones and bodies of undigested food did surround
My eyes open wide, fear did abound
Was I to be the last meal of the beast?
Was it on me that it was now going to feast?
Prayers hurled through my jangled mind
Thoughts of would any of my body they find
My parents no funeral would they have for me
As the meal of this beast I knew I was going to be.
© GG 16/08/2103
Categories:
jangled, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme