Best Pings Poems
LATE AUTUMN HAIKU
they’re almost gone now
how brown, bare the branches look
some toys in the leaves
when rain turns to snow
how sad those two last roses
brave faces with tears
apples bruised apples
scattered on the frosted green
and this twiggy frown
music in the wind
late october’s final song
dancing red and gold
talk of winter now
old dog by a crackling fire
shutters rattle pings!
photo of dear dad
he loved that fulsome willow
fallen leaves marker
Dave Austin
Categories:
pings, seasons,
Form:
Haiku
The Duck That Lost His Quack
A Duck woke up late one day last week,
And all he could do was to squeak.
He looked everywhere and listened to different things,
Even heard sounds all around, from pings to zings.
For example, he tried many gates, stairs, and barn doors,
Then went and stepped on cracks in nearby creaky floors.
He visited several witches, doctors and some were both,
They prescribed everything from lemons to ginger troth.
In his travels, he came across a quaint woodshop,
Being so tired, he sat down with a solid plop.
A carpenter saw that the Duck was so very sad,
From behind the counter, he came to help the lad.
After hearing of the tale of a missing sound,
The carpenter leapt up with a double bound.
He said, “From within is where it comes,
Not outside, as most would sum.”
“I have made many instruments for music,
And what you need is something acoustic.”
He brought out a short board with a nail,
Then attached several metal strings to a pail.
The carpenter said, “Play away and listen to the sounds in your head.”
The Duck strummed everything from Enya to the Grateful Dead.
After a fashion, the Duck was soon lost in the tunes,
And started to dance and sing like a midnight Lune.
Who knew that this Duck had a knack,
And in the middle of it all started to quack.
So you see, it’s not external to what you seek,
In many cases, its internal and who you meet.
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015,
This, after listening to Bubbles the Mouse speak,
And hearing a long story composed of squeaks.
Categories:
pings, animal, cheer up, imagination,
Form:
Light Verse
Whatever turns your crank
Whatever tickles your pickle
Whatever dunks your donut
Whatever waxes your dolphin
Whatever buffs your Buddha
Whatever pops your cork
Whatever pets your monkey
Whatever frosts your cookies
Whatever spills your pills
Whatever trips your trigger
Whatever humps your camel
Whatever melts your chocolate
Whatever peels your onion
Whatever chafes your carrot
Whatever flops your mop
Whatever rocks your socks
Whatever teeters your totter
Whatever milks your goat
Whatever pings your pong
Whatever peels your banana
Whatever blows your nozzle
Whatever tips your canoe
Whatever flicks your switch
Whatever zips your zipper
Whatever blows your stack
Whatever... whatever... whatever!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
pings, humorous,
Form:
Narrative
Enticed by his faceted aspects
Political points show his honour
Policies opposed, David contests
Left wing woke folk admonished
Rawness of broad topics examined
Cowboy stories of recent history
Scenarios derived from within
Issues which play contemporary
David flavoured, his firm essence
Infuses my little with his lot
I honestly struggle to explain this
... never missed what I don't got
.. A man who won't take crap
Shallow hits roll off his jaw
My bull wouldn't just lapse -
He'd bleed it dry, peace restored
Faceless man tells me myriads
Written by unwavered conviction
Marathon stamina poem olympian
I, willing victim to his inflictions
Dreaming of David, strange concept
- exclusive, by myself for eight years
It's a choice to remain alone, heart kept
Relic packed away, oddly he endears
Hard nosed refusal to enter this century
Old school stance pings my deepest vibe
Unreasonable, how much it means to me
To absorb the jib of David 's scribe
Around three years his senior
In virus time, located overseas
I fixate on his strong demeanour
In lurid choc chip fantasies
12th September 2020
Categories:
pings, black african american, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
My auntie wears 'Bridget Jones' knickers
But last week at tea at the vicars
She’d purloined MY lace thong
It was morally wrong
T’was the cause of very loud snickers
My thong’s wedged between her butt crack
Stuck firmly between front and back
But it’s not a surprise
As it’s not in her size
There’s no room to cut any slack
Aunt waddles around like a duck
Like a chicken she begins to cluck
‘Yes I took her G-string
Get me out of this thing’
Stop gawping, help me get unstuck
The Vicar say’s I’ll get my pliers
On reflection it’s what this requires
The vicar doesn’t shirk
As he gets down to work
But after an hour he tires
My auntie’s visage is not pale
(Her embarrassment is off the scale)
When my G string gets cut
It pings clean off her butt
It’s a shame she’s the tush of a whale!
For a ‘sweet’ friend BB xx
07/22/21
Categories:
pings, clothes, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Pings on my window
Old clock hung with red and green
Strikes twelve sleepless times
Categories:
pings, childhood, holiday
Form:
Haiku
I think feel a breeze
A breeze and a touch of horror
Something makes my breath seize
The stings of inner torture
The beast of the dark just passes
I hear the pings of its awfulness
Horrible snuffs complementing terrible masses
Something grip me here – oh fearfulness!
Now what – silence…
The quietness of the graveyard
I sense trouble in disguise
Only that worse turns bad
Oh wait, I can see
Slow approaches of eye balls
The burning eyes of the black beast
Monster, you, coming for me or my pulse
This is it my adventure fiasco
In the ever-dark ghost room
I would rather die like a hero
Behind this locked door with my rheum
As I’ll lay my back on this door
Oh beast feast, on me feast
I can hear quacks as I fall
…the door open at least
Massacre! Oh massacre of the beast
Sun ray-the enemy of the dark monster
Came in for its burnt feast
Because the door opened
Categories:
pings, adventure, mystery, me, dark,
Form:
Quatrain
It’s quarter after six, Friday evening. He thought with a smile, besides the rain, everything is looking great. Table set beautifully just for two. Dinner looks delicious and minutes away to be served.
Annoyingly he hears his cellphone pings.
Seeing the name of the sender, he smiles and swipes to read it. Message read, RAIN CHECK, NO SUNSET IN THE RAIN. Instantly the smile fade and his heart sank.
He can hear the rain beating down on the roof, but too numb to move. Dinner is now left untouched. Disappointment weighs him down, yet again.
Alone again and much to ponder.
What is really us? Life doesn’t wait for no one. The rain falls whether you like it or not, sunset or not. The daily excuses are worn off.
At last, he sends her a reply that says, RAIN CHECK DENIED, I don’t need this anymore than you do. We are two different souls, we don’t speak the same language of love. Goodbye!
He packs his bags and drives away in the
NO SUNSET IN THE RAIN.
Akkina
8/25/23
Categories:
pings, break up, hurt,
Form:
Free verse
earth sings and swings through space
blue pearl's nascent sostenuto
sun's rouge reveil blush dusts her face
space pings as new world rings
angels praise God's high hopes
Lind 68868 format designed by poet Robert Lindley.
(Thank you Robert, for your kind critique, and helping me to correct the syliable count!)
posted 7th November, 2019
Note: Job 38:4-7
Psalms 104:5
Ecclesiastes 1:4
(The sustainable earth)
Categories:
pings, celebration, earth, sound, space,
Form:
Verse
MY AFRICA
A dusty street, commuters meet
A taxi crowded, a route decided
Street vendors sell, plastic from China
Fresh fruit, dead meat, flies from hell
A cellphone rings, a message pings
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Populations swell, polluted wells
Children dying, old man crying
Nobody cares, everyone stares
Gold, coal, a bloody diamond
Everything's traded, lives degraded
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Guns blazing, wars a raging
No rain, no grain, population with hunger pain
Wilderness retreats where humans meet
Malaria, mosquito born hysteria
Hyena calls, a lion roars
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Witchdoctor belief, the mans a thief
Muti making, money taken, knuckle bones shaken,
Throw the bones, skinny man quaking
Superstitious dread, powdered vultures head
Goats throat cut, ancestor pleasing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Habitats shrinking, a duiker drinking
Rhino horn, elephants tusk, money lust
Charcoal making, our forests forsaken
Aids, ebola, a broken molar
Africa dying, nobody crying
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Dictator for life, a stupid wife
Life is cheap, broken bodies in a heap
A leopard coughs, a baboon bark
Gangsters fighting, drug addicts scoring
Corruption, consumption, businessmen laughing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
The rains have come, a cowhide drum
Wildebeest mating, zebra migrating
The grass is green, landscape clean
Thunder clap, lighting strike, a stole bike
People sowing, maize a growing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Choking dust, untamed lust
Political lies, rugby tries, meaty pies
Little round huts, kids in the dust
Fat cows, little black pigs, a cockerel crowing
Turtle dove calling, a blood red morning
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Categories:
pings, africa, earth, people, drug,
Form:
Free verse
SONG OF THE EVENING
In a lullaby song of the evening.
In the background a cricket sings,
corellas fly past, to their resting tree
high upon silhouette wings.
Red sky widens and covers the west
with half sun glowing and gold,
there’s stark contrast between heaven and earth
as life in a pondage unfold.
Bullfrog! Bullfrog! Clearing your throat,
reed warbler should be going to sleep.
‘Sweet pretty creature,’ call of willy wagtail
and crickets continue to cheep.
In a lullaby song of the evening,
new stars are beginning to shine,
plovers’ static call fills the growing dim sky
and the reed warbler's calling decline.
So when the changeover’s completed,
and day has now turned into night,
these lullaby songs of the evening,
are now hidden well out of sight.
Bullfrog! Bullfrog! Clearing your throat,
and crickets continue to cheep.
‘Sweet pretty creature,’ call of willy wagtail,
the ringtail awake from their sleep.
A red fox is yapping, then a mournful drawl,
the mopoke hoots steady and soft.
Radar pings in flight of the wattled bat
echo with it flying aloft.
A koala growls in the manna gum tops,
a sugar gliders’ stealing its space,
maned geese flying blind from dam to dam
moan ‘gnow’ for the night to embrace.
The lullaby song of the evening is dying,
where hunter and hunted exist,
for the art of survival is simply relying
on mute vigilance in their midst.
Bullfrog! Bullfrog! You are silent now,
reed warbler is sleeping at last.
Plovers’ are quiet, crickets no longer sing
the moon in a stillness drifts past.
Categories:
pings, nature, peace, , Lullaby,
Form:
Rhyme
Bent tune
Fast, slow then slow,
Excessive and dull notes
Vibraphone dings and pings to beat
Irritable
Jazz tune
Categories:
pings, anger, music,
Form:
Cinquain
My Life as a Car
Rusted and busted see my orange face
Used to grace the showroom place
See these broken eyelights that shone so bright
They saved your life one darkened night
Edsel body, wet shell to forget
Dear little voices asked “Are we there yet?”
And still my memories are mildew clear
Now through the busted fenders to yesteryear
Down the road we'd go far and wide
By rolling hills of still countryside
Uria finally got his license one day
So, in the back seat, he and Neat did lay
Taking lunch on a hunch by the road
Early moving morn and those three trunk loads
Days soon came with the clanks, clinks and pings
Can’t start, what’s wrong? everything
As grass grows up under my lowly gears
Road memories are crystal clear
Categories:
pings, age, car,
Form:
Acrostic
Call me silly
But I enjoy being on a beach with a good book
Minus the worry about chargers or glares on my screen
It's just me and my handsome hero, his beautiful love
In that far away land, in the middle of that intricate mess.
And what is the point of a family meal when all you hear now
Are beeps of Berries or tunes of GaGas
Call me silly
But I prefer the pleasures of a snail mail letter
In comparison with emails, pings and tweets
Instead of worrying about internet connection and hackers,
I do not need to worry about the internet service provider
Who can one day take away my precious memories
Just because his terms and conditions says he can
Yes, call me silly
But these are my memories of love and failure
Peace and turbulence, that will be my gift to my children
The silly letters that my best friend wrote to say
That he loved me for better or for worse and I believed
Without worrying that he may have another wife
That I will one day find through online Spaces or Books
Call me silly
But even as I am fascinated with the wonders
That the world of social media can give me
I worry more often about how I am misunderstood
In a world of instant travel and friendship
Where rules do not exist
And when they do, are rarely followed
Call me silly
But in a world where everything seems so easy
One click, everyone says
We spend so much time on the whole world
Instead of on those who really need us
In a world where rumours are a trend
And truth is an afterthought
Call me silly
But why do people trust what this online world says
When all it takes is this,
I have a secret you see, says this person
Let's listen, say another hundred or more
Who cares if its true? Who cares if it hurts?
Simply nobody you see
Yes, call me silly, if you will
But I think this is exactly, what it means
When our parents told us
Too much of a good thing
Can actually be a bad thing.
Categories:
pings, computer-internet, confusion, funny, life,
Form:
Free verse
Arsenals of axes brought by the crate
Pedals increasing experimental
Trashy dissections of raw cityscapes
NYC rockers gone transcendental
Static blasts shredding the off-key high pings
Maracas hit toms to keep structured pace
Drum sticks wedged under alternate tunings
Meted by contrasting booms of the bass
Dissonance anteed raises the ceiling
Shaping sound by analog disruption
Searching/defining an urban feeling
Stark layers of beautiful corruption
Sweet ballads sung without being pretty
Growls and screams about something gritty
Categories:
pings, guitar, integrity, music, sound,
Form:
Sonnet