Best Pinging Poems
Smiling mirthfully, relishing amber twilit theme,
Bedazzled in musings, reveling memories agleam,
Oh! how you charm, gazing eve’s blushing arc,
Where scarlet hues delight, igniting love spark
When impulses, moonlit, passions playful cajole
As we stroll daydreaming trekking verdant knoll,
Ambling in romance, two sensuous souls extol;
Just after the setting sun merges with the sea
And sky above stages a concert of stellar glee
When seductive vibes on wings of zest spree
Questing for, stealthily, doting hearts’ consent
Chasing exaltation, love-struck hints augment,
Exuding scent amatory from emboldened heart
Intoxicating affection smitten feelings impart;
Clasping amorous moment together we found,
Where tick of blazing hearts is the only sound
But for the clues tiptoeing, arousing carnal bliss,
Pinging fervent longings yearning endearing kiss,
Enchanting intentions of eager, flirtatious night
Courting your approval, ecstatic reveries ignite,
Sowing dreams euphoric to bloom in fertile dawn
Aspiring love evermore, blossoming on and on.
July 30, 2022
Placed 1st: Rhyme Rumi Quote Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
(151 words)
Categories:
pinging, love, romantic,
Form:
Rhyme
I begin as a covet, dulcet demure
pure in play, unbound to a dogma or tablature, a luscious lure,
I find that nerve of passion's verve nestled 'neath narcissistic comfiture
a covey of tingles taunting the ambition you serve, swift and swill I swerve,
in you I introduce a tempo of truth trailing a kiss along your spine's curve
a persuasion of perversion purring patiently in almighty allure,
reaching your pinnacle pulse I assure,
Entwining myself around your libido with nibbling nurture
binding you to the alter of painstaking pleasure I relieve with analgesic swelter
hoodwinking your will with a delicate dominance I am the prima donna capture,
embellishing the envisage of eros, I burnish organs keen with aphrodisiac welter
you become a devout captive to me, the divine dominator,
I am the matador confronting your impulsive power
the target of your sexual tremor,
spear tipped with warm vigor
into you I pound a wonder,
vice and virtue surrender
to principle superior in passionate plunder, for you become the conquer's lover,
taking my spirit from specter to flesh victor,
I will make a woman the vessel of volcanic velvet,
revolutionize female thighs, simmering the sighs in eyes,
make the wrap of a man's arms a hearth of healing heat soul felt,
his tongue a torch pinging with paced pause within mouths magnetized,
A coup de tat taken to your Shangrila,
weaknesses my wayfaring, strengths the servants of my junta
my sweet magic of mayhem laid upon your lithesome lips, the coup de grace -
J.A.B.
Categories:
pinging, desire, lust, passion, spiritual,
Form:
Epic
Bend your eyes and ears around
the sights and sounds of a
world at peace.
A squadron of oak trees on
a hill, laughing and playing acorns
with unsuspecting travelers below.
A phalanx of bison, wind whipping
tired eyes, conquer prairie after
prairie, victory assured.
Dozens of purple martins, dive
bombing this way and that,
enjoy a dinner flight.
A herd of underwater manatees,
precisely pinging echo-location,
submarine in unison, towards
their night grove.
Shooting stars, without targets,
celebrate our celestial
hope,
Our
Celestial
Hope
07/18/13
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
pinging, analogy,
Form:
Alliteration
Now,
as the rain falls in tiny droplets on the ground
and the breeze is wafting scents of petrichor,
a soothing oil released by dried decaying plants
that longed in thirst for reprieve from the burning heat;
only
the rush of wind hustled high in the tree tops sings
brushing gently the leaves upon each branch
pining in oaken roasted acorns and chestnuts,
pinging and popping on the sun drenched fires of autumn.
Teasing and tantalized
the senses breathe in deeply
the musk of the forest
where leafy residue, pine needles and fronds pale
in the rise of autumn cascading arrivals.
Coated foliage colored rainbows
lilt hues of yellows, orange and reds,
disfigured curls browning in the last of summer heat
to welcome and bare the mighty sheaths and torsos
that the forest leaves behind in memory of spring.
An equinoctial sundial
marking the trajectory of earth and sun
the rise and fall of time and space
upon the earthen realm of seasons change
greeting autumn, goodbyeing summer, fireside winter hibernation.
Categories:
pinging, autumn, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
Is his cell phone dead? Is he dead? What is happening?
I stare out the window for the sixteenth time.
It is windy out there. I can hear the howling.
Has he been in a wreck? Is it time to call the hospitals?
Should I get dressed in case the police come to the door?
I press my nose against the glass, and then my mouth.
The coolness of it does not calm me in the least.
Where is he? Why has he not called? What is happening?
I cannot leave. There is no one to watch the children.
I stare at the cell phone. Check it again for messages.
There is nothing. Where is he? What is happening? Was there a wreck?
The bridge is treacherously slick in this kind of weather. Especially if it rains.
Rain begins pinging at the windows. It sounds like sand being thrown.
What is happening? Where is he? I get dressed, ready for anything.
Categories:
pinging, voice,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Acute.
Cloying.
Ulcerated.
Trying.
Enduring.
Pinging.
Aching.
Icarus
Night.
(Perhaps this should be titled something like: "When Love Goes Wrong" or something. - Inspired by pre-root canal up
all night pain from a few week's back)
Categories:
pinging, health, life, love, people,
Form:
Acrostic
The Bitter End of the Road
Travelers coalesce as if from as dense fog
about the grounds of the retreat.
The lodge shimmers silver-gray
amongst the changing autumn woods.
The gravel way diminishes in rearview mirrors
with the pinging sound of pebbles against
the metal horses of the day.
Civilization, ever trampling,
encroaches upon what ages ago
had been a pristine forest, now swarms
to the Lodge’s gates:
ants to the picnic
late comers in search of the scraps,
the leavings,
of much abused nature.
Slamming car doors, buzzing cell phones,
endless chatter accosts the forest’s skirt.
Beaten paths awaited those stalwart enough
to venture in, rushing ever forward
and upward
through the crunch of fallen leaves,
the snap of branch,
the distant warble of unseen birds.
Water, when near, adds
its own rush, and babble.
But, the smaller critters seem to have vanished
tracks and spoor, trampled
whether in reverence or disregard;
it matters not.
In our ever onward rush to enjoy,
the sounds of cricket,
cicada, the squirrels chitter,
the owls call;
we by our mere presence
destroy.
First Published by Poetry Quaterly
Categories:
pinging, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Percy was driving a long black hearse
Carrying a body which made him terse.
To unwind he tried singing
Which sounded like pinging.
But the corpse said he’d heard worse.
Categories:
pinging, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Turbulant radient red sky with sheet swirl mashed potato
cloud mush peered lazily through a curious brown
haze of dirty armpit fizz, enlisted somewhere
bewteen a prebeginning solar start dot deposit burst peak
and a futuristic nuclear waste singulsr hand mitten
all in lieu of a sadeyed slowburn glowing tuxedo-still
and looking on with rolled up flannel sleeve gross
passivity. I slurped around the grand gravel
entrance up and down brown round and rocky
pinging and jumping. Wide spaces
grappling with the refuse laden humo motif of
endeless manwomanchildpet pickings. I round the teetering
trough trench like curves unwitnessed to the sight beholding
ever present but none as gigted. Poor mouth
super excrement excuses like duct tape type at the end
of its reality roll---never enough for the final fix.
I watched as multitruck things silently
dispatchingly dispersed and unloaded their
grusome garbage waves on good mother earth.
Battles can leave muscles working as man and time spitspent
slowcuspocus appendages working at top mph
pushing shoving shoveling piling before the light
pace calls it another disgusting dillday.
without the slighest the remorse--my stomach began
to wrenchabit and my eyewells passed be free
me. The gulls some truck lenght away were
spuriously sifting smilingly through the
human wreckings in a last light meal
remedial refrain--as intense as
the dumpers became the dumpees. I angered as
the populace as myself delivered my putrid parlay
and proceded to the mass exit as if it were
OK. The quality of messy mercy stops at the buck. I need not squander the dull likings of my kind
of indifferenleunce on the hapless mis constraints of
a well informed psuedo citizenery. I hope the land rebels
someday and eats us all by the very
seeds we so sow. Garbage is as garbage does
but it's the tidy attitude of human complacency that
wipes my ass so clean---look to the trash cans for---hope.
Categories:
pinging, change, environment, how i
Form:
Free verse
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Categories:
pinging, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Distressed I awake to an empty bed
Your form is imprinted on duvet sheet
Still silhouetted and cold to my feet
Urgent abandonment as clothes were shed
Oh, why should you cry and sob in your sleep
My heart is in turmoil as to your faithful love
When once everything fitted as a glove
You push away, as eyes through lashes peep
In wracking my brain sleep deserts me too
At work she hates me to send her text
In my love I shall be a better man
If trust is lost on both sides start anew
So many times I have been so perplexed
To think of losing you my Kellyanne
Showering, I hear mobile ring alert
Eight o'clock, who could it, be maybe her
Towel draped I scoot out thinking beware
Taking time drying I reach for my shirt
Pinging text message followed closely on
Wasting no more time I checked mobile phone
It was Kellyanne saying "stay at home"
So urgently texted back "what's up hon"
The outside gate creaked on it's rusty hinge
Time seemed to stand still for a little while
Then a white Ford sedan came roaring by
Kellyanne alighted, long hair and fringe
Rushed into my arms with a beaming smile
"LOVE YOU", no need now for a private eye.
Categories:
pinging, feelings, girlfriend, i love
Form:
Sonnet
Game Changer
On the farm, rain, that essential element,
became the most welcome interruption
in our work-worn days.
If we woke to the sound of rain
pinging on the old tin roof,
happiness flooded our dreams.
Rain flooding over water troughs,
settling dust in dry, thirsty gardens,
splashing into puddles on dirt roads,
filling barrels placed by the back door.
“God is washing the earth,” Mother
would say. Dad would frown, clear
his throat, grab the milk bucket,
and head for the barn.
Pets and work animals alike, settled
in for a day of leisure. We joined them
in lazy anticipation of a “do nothing” day.
We greet rain today with worry, facing
traffic congestion, wet feet, and a long,
slow drive to work. No longer do we enjoy
such a thing as a “day off” because of rain.
But I still love the sound of it
pinging on the roof as I fall asleep.
Categories:
pinging, rain,
Form:
Free verse
During the Second World War
A decision was made
If brothers were to be lost
The last would be saved
The story below
Is the truth in a way
For the search of a soldier
Before he becomes, theatre pray
The US Government declared
A mission is in plan
Sending a squad of Rangers
To save this solitary man
Capt. John H Miller
With his handful of men
Their dedication to search
For the last of them
For his brothers were lost
In the theatre of war
At Omaha and Utah
In the Pacific, so far
Into Europe they head
From cities through towns
Looking for Ryan
Before he's gunned down
He is eventually found
With Paratroopers, holding onto a key bridge
As a Panzer group advances
Will this be their last ridge
Bullets zipped, pinging
Ricocheting
The flesh of the living
In screaming sing
Their mission was, to
Save Private Ryan
But Capt. John H Miller
With others, died trying
My entry into Frank Herrera's contest
" Describe your favorite performance by Actor or Actress in a movie "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-7.php
Tom Hanks is my favourite actor, and his role as Capt, John H Miller to me
was one of his best, his hunger to complete his mission showed in his acting.
The film was based on a true story, about Fritz Niland who lost two brothers
in Normandy, and a brother M.I.A. in Burma. He was later found alive.
But the military rule about sole surviving son's being allowed out of combat is true.
It was enacted after the five Sullivan brothers were killed in 1942 when the U.S.S.
Juneau was sunk in the Pacific. The rule of the surviving son is common to many
armies, the American, the Canadian, the British and the Israeli.
Categories:
pinging, brother, death, family, history,
Form:
Rhyme
INSIDE D DAY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
The weather is really lousy rained all day
I’m so nervous and edgy, I’m learning to pray
We are prepped and ready to complete our tasks
Now’s the moment, the hour, for the invasion of France
My buddy tall and skinny, we call him Guana
From some little town near Birmingham, Alabama
He talks funny with a southern nasal drawl
I’m from Pittsburgh, he’s teaching me to say yall
It’s 3 AM and I haven’t slept well for several days
Fully geared, scared, but with a positive gaze
Brother graduated high school may enlist this summer
Heard the last word a dying man says is mama
There’s 24 men in this landing craft, all are grim
Knowing survival of an amphibious landing is slim
Heads down, you’ll get a good look soon enough
I’m wondering how many will die scaling that bluff
Our section of beach has the code name Omaha
Noise, sirens, destroyer firing a constant pah, pah, pah
Racing to shore, any moment, a need to quickly disembark
I wonder if the red roses are blooming at Columbus Park?
There’s incoming ordinance, you hear it pinging on the boat
When I exit, if it’s too deep, I’ll drop everything, so I can float
The boat has stopped, quite a distance from the shore
Heart pounding, mouth bone dry, awaiting, drop of the door
I look at my buddies, all silent, some their eyes closed
Lips moving, a rosary, the hope of survival fully exposed
We’ve trained for this exercise over and over again
If we disembark rapidly, we won’t lose too many men
Door drops, men begin exiting, lives hanging on a thread
Wading their way to the shore thru the dying and dead
Got to the beach, looking for cover, I see my friend Guana
Suddenly I’m looking up at the sky: Did I come this far to die?
My thoughts all go childhood, I can only think of my mama
Categories:
pinging, anniversary, history, men, military,
Form:
Rhyme
A glorious sunset in an opening
Never before seen. Miles from nowhere.
Dimming iridescent sunset.
The forest shines light to the East
Eyes can't adjust to the shadows of the West.
The light of the day led to this throne
Breaking trails though walls of green
Opening like a curtain revealing anew
Wanted to leave early but decided against
Opting for just one more moment of awe
Faced with uncertainty direction is known
Only because backwards was in hours ago
First steps are easy as the forest denses
Ruckus of movement echoes away and back
Lumbering clumsily full of strength
Sticks breaking, leaves brushing
Thorns sticking, bits of bark blinding
Blackness of night dimming. Steps weakening
Shins stopped by logs. Bruises throbbing
Straight lines becoming circles
Faint remnants of twilight rotate on horizon
Ducking under widow-makers blindly
The tree fogs hums rising
Deer huff sightless upon approach
The lonely wolf between here and home
Draws out a far-to-close harmonious note
What was that? A sound I didn't make
Stopped abruptly, heal to toe tipping
Heavy breaths echo from mouth to ear
Holding breath with throat rasping starting to crackle
Ears perked pinging the darkness.
Faint white noise increasing in volume
Sharp cracks penetrate the silence
It's coming right at me.
Fear races, body tenses
Bear on a charge with it's prey in sight
Heavy limbs breaking, small branches twanging
Thrashing closer as hairs raise on end
Skin of scalp tightens sloughing from the skull
Legs begin running before being told
The brain is still interpreting failing senses
Gnarly fangs of timber tearing at cloth and flesh
Anguish escapes with a primal face crunching growl
As crag hooks foot in a hand-less fall
Ears ringing as pain numbs in anticipation
Louder and louder the pursuer above crashes
Veering right past me
Another wayward traveler surging aimlessly
Thrashing the darkness as if being chased.
Trying to find his way home in the Dark.
In the Dark
9/11/17
Categories:
pinging, anxiety, dark, eve, journey,
Form:
Free verse