Best Rang Poems
The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we never overcame her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only managed with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things, arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes,
we sniffed her scent, which, more
than her familiar face, identified our mother --
a smell we never could mistake for any other.
It went quickly as her body cooled.
The rouged and pickled carcass they
displayed was more a statue than a person.
We planned to bury her with homely tokens,
like an ancient mummy: a family photo,
a brooch she liked, a pink hairbrush --
and the brass bell she rang to call
her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not
bear to see her leave so finally.
I took the bell from her metal box.
Now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.
He dialed his home number from his cell,
it rang twice,
a man’s voice answered as far as he could tell,
he hung up without answering back,
in his mind, everything went dark, and suddenly black,
when he got home,
he was all alone,
there was no sign of a man anywhere,
not here, nor there, he looked everywhere,
but what seemed odd,
was the fact that no man has ever been there,
no male clothes in the closet,
no change on the night-stand,
no evidence of any man,
nothing was found,
even the toilet seat was down,
he then heard a bump and then a bang,
he called his house again, and it rang,
he couldn’t find the phone,
but this time he wasn’t alone,
it rang twice, but it was coming from the basement,
that was where the phone kept ringing,
and when he went down,
that’s where he saw his body swinging...
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
Twas for me, they rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
© Jack Ellison 2015
Spring field
Fun filled
Green teen
Play clean
Forties
Sorties
Sink Pink
Drink, wink
Spread Red
Hot bed
Love Fete
Soul-mate
01.03.16
Holika, commonly called Holi is a spring festival celebrated in India and neighbouring countries, at the approach of the spring season, during the 3 or 4 days preceding the full moon day in the month of Phagan. Holi is celebrated by throwing colors and colored powder in the air. Colorful Rangoli pattems are painted at doorways to houses. Families assemble around a fire throwing prasad and coconut in the fire.The Holi festival marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring.
Essentially, Holi means the triumph of good over evil and conquest of sensual values by spiritual values.
Rang = Colour
THE DOORBELL RANG – Etheree
Ring!
Bother!
Ring again
An alien!
Oh, what a surprise!
He’s not what you’d expect
He’s not green with a small head
No he looks very much like us
“Hey! Your parrot pooped in my rocket ship!”
He says “Fly Me to the Moon,” sings Polly
Wedding bells rang this
Early evening:
We tossed seed
Into air hued
Lilac by shadow,
Laughing with joy though
Papa, he brooded,
And Mama’s red cheeks
Ran freshets of
Tears, brine for the
Years she pampered and
Loved, cared for her girl,
In hard times and good,
Knowing one day
Eros would call,
Tempting our sis, whose
Husband’s a fine guy who
Earned our acceptance and
Really deserved all our
Expressions of cheer and
Shouts of “Good Luck!”
Now, let’s move back to the bar,
Our newlyweds gone, let’s
Toast, again, baby sister,
One ravishing bride and
Married (believe it?)
On this fun, festive day, so
Raise high your charged glasses and
Roar with approval and let’s
Open more bubbly, abolish the clock, and
We’ll party like there’s no tomorrow.
November 8, 2016
Wild Acrostic Poetry Contest
(We Will Party Like There's No Tomorrow)
Julia Ward, Sponsor
Sisters
with a nom de plume,
Currer,Ellis,Acton-
Charlotte,Emily,Ann died much
too young
see their portrait by their brother Bramwell @ npg.org.uk/live/search/portrait.asp?LinkID=mp00572&rNo=0&role=sit
invigorating morning air
two-mile walk, local news, coffee, toast
enroute to work at daycare, checked on Dad
another rewarding day
then night, at home alone
She's forty-eight; her kids are grown.
Her husband left three years ago.
She'd asked, "What's wrong? Is this my fault?"
He'd kissed her cheek and told her "NO!"
As she lay resting--
Was it a dream? a vision?
smiling face, so real
Doorbell rang. Who could that be?
the smiling old flame she'd dreamed!
November 1, 2017, entered in Brian Strand's End October Standard Contest
Dada or Dadaism is a cultural movement primarily involved visual arts, literature—poetry,
art manifestoes, art theory—theatre, and graphic design, and concentrated its anti-war
politics through a rejection of the prevailing standards in art through anti-art cultural works.
This is my attempt at Dada.
Zring Zang
pinggity prong pang
jumping across from train to train
Bring Brang
sissity sis sang
circling round, round the storm drain
dring drang
ribbity rib rang
Trains and drains, over my life reign
This is copyrighted material. All rights are reserved. Reprints must be requested in writing to
the original author. © Alisha Groves
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
Twas me, they rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
the old church bell rang
then in the empty chapel
silent voices sang
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
Twas me, they rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
They rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
“Death can never separate us. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, It's my hand caressing your face.” By Mary Lucas
The first bell intoned its dreary dirge.
The feel of emptiness spread all around.
I was not afraid. I felt tall and steady.
Night began to obscure the light of day.
I began my lonely trek around the desolate place.
I met no one nor did I want to. I repeat.
I was not afraid. Some candles were still lit
All around the paths. Not that I had any difficulty
To find my way. I had walked that path too, often.
Suddenly all around a wild wind whispered all around.
Still, I was more concerned about names and ages.
How many die young! I feel tears brimming in my eyes.
Yet no tears fell. The light dimmed casting long shadows.
A lone raven cawed, a warming call. I did not care.
The dirge bell rang again, a mandate and a warning,
I pressed on, undaunted but free.
I entered the mausoleum as was my habit,
Lay myself down in my comfy coffin and slept.
Placed 1
they walk the streets
you hear the horn beat
on that nigh
of blinking lights
bell ringing
the crowd singing
on the wall the ball falls
everyone one largh gand
on
NEWYEARS EVA BANG AND RANG