Best Jangles 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.
The best part of vacations
Is they alter your routine,
Like giving up the tuba
For the jangly tambourine.
You leave your comfort zone behind
And venture into where
Nobody knows who you might be
And no one seems to care.
You visit places you have only
Read about in books
And taste cuisine created
By some unfamiliar cooks.
The scenery is different
From what you are used to seeing
And being in such strange surroundings
Might be somehow freeing.
The oom-pah-pah of daily life
Has all the normal angles,
But sometimes, just to spice things up,
You need to hear those jangles.
Jingle Jangle worker elf,
always did things by himself
He would work until the dawn
whistling his favorite song.
Little Jangles loved the snow,
his little cheeks would always glow.
Jangle had friends near and far
even on the Christmas star.
He loved the reindeer and North pole,
the holly and the mistletoe.
He is known for his great big heart,
his toy-making is a work of art.
Little Jangles loves to give,
that's the way he likes to live.
If you see a star shine blue,
It's Jangles watching over you.
Merry Christmas~
Mr. Jangles, circus clown
Sat in bar at edge of town
Wore a melancholy grin
As he sipped his sloe fiz gin
Grease paint face for evening show
Yellow wig and velvet bow
Baggy pants and pointed shoes
Comic Jangles loved his booze
Had a fight with cousin Len
Spent a year inside the Pen
Found a job with Circus Browne
New career as big top clown
Loved to make kids laugh and whoop
Riding pones through a hoop
Walked on stilts and trained a bear
Wearing purple underwear
Heard the crowds who'd cheer and clap
For this funny Bangles chap
But when the big top closed its tent
Back down to the bar he went
Lonely clown who hides within
No one sees through painted grin
Jangles lights another smoke
Snorts his ounce of stolen coke
From Latin and ancient Greek, English derived three words:
poesy is the creation, the art work of poetic composition.
poem is the created, with beauty of language and expression.
poet is the creator or maker, with the gift of poetic thought, imagination,
and eloquence of expression.
A poet is born with a troubled and jangled spirit within,
forced to express what is seen, imagined and dreamed in words
for themselves and for anyone who hears or reads their works.
A poet is a miserly wordsmith, in love with words, their meanings, sound and strangeness.
A poet is an artist, painting with words and expression, but not constrained by form or method.
A poet is a skilled craft person, creating and making works and compositions,
but is not restricted by tools nor craft rules or disciplines.
A poet is a skilled musician using rhyme, meter and rhythm to create word scores,
but can also use line breaks, punctuation and the words themselves to create sounds.
Often the sounds made are jarring and discordant to create an effect or evoke a response,
but not all poetry is for a performance.
A poet is a peddler of emotions and feelings evoked in the writer and reader,
eliminating from deep within and as reactions to what is happening or not happening.
Poets are free to use whatever verse and form they choose.
There is no right way to eloquently express their art and craft; it is the poet's choice.
The best description of a poet is a person with an eternal fountain of jangles.
The jangles of emotions, feelings and life's journey within must be expressed, written or spoken about.
Nature and the world about triggers jangles, metaphors, memories, responses and associations to be expressed.
The poet writes to be read and have their thoughts and mind outpourings jangle response in their audience.
Artistically rendering words, much loved and cherished, in ways to evoke intense emotion in the hearer and listener.
The poet seeks jam sessions of free improvised jangling with self or with anyone who reads or listens.
The poet a lover of words, a wordsmith, peddling jangles.
Scurry scurry, Skitter scatter
Tick tick tick
He found the cheese platter
Resting on jean
Metal in the air
Riding down Beach
Wind in his fur
He has no jacket
Nothing like that
Because he’s a tiny
Little white rat
want to hear from you
not with you laying it out
but in clangs and chimes
that evoke my own response ~
easier to write that way
Mister Joe jangles
loose change deep in his pockets
jogging memories
he washes, tumbles and hangs
up to flap for passers by
a lover of words
incessant with their jingle
riddles, rhymes, clangs, songs—
they taunt him and his readers
to add new charms to bracelets
words stir still waters,
claw rogue paths through apathy—
sifting good from bad—
dispelling glitter and rust
to forge badges for reason
Joe can dance for you
in ragged clothes, worn out shoes
with the old soft shoe—
if you hear or read the words
flapping washing on the lines