Best Rattling Poems
SHE’s COMING AGAIN!
There’s a chill in the air
There’s a word on the street
Be afraid have a care
Put the children to sleep
She was gone, bells were tolled
But the body’s not cold
For she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
It was safe to suppose
She was due to be crowned
Then a young wizard rose
Had them all spellbound
With a look really cool
Like a kid from high school
But she came back again
Yes she came back again
Then she’d surely reside
In a white stately home
She’d the right, qualified
With two X chromosomes
She’d be in with a song
What could ever go wrong
She was coming again
She was coming again
But an old wizard now
With a strange style of hair
Took the stage took a bow
And with her almost there
She was pipped at the post
Cross the states, coast to coast
She was numbing again
And succumbing again
Without power came the crash
Sans connections she’d plied
Then the flow of the cash
Disappeared, nearly dried
So she needs to dispense
With some new influence
So she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
Feel the chill in the air
Hear the word on the street
Be afraid have a care
Put the children to sleep
So you thought she’d depart
With a stake through the heart
No she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
6 August 2018
Ride of the Scarecrow Clan
(To: Mittens)
She was born in the corn on a cold misty morn,
the most beautiful cat on the farm.
(I must keep her from coming to harm!)
The most beautiful kitty inspired this ditty
with whiskers that whisper her charm,
wild white whiskers that whisper her charm.
But the angels grew jealous, much too overzealous,
they schemed up a dastardly plan,
that they stole from a medicine man.
They would use and abuse all their magic, so tragic,
to conjure the Scarecrow Clan,
for their devilish dastardly plan.
The Clan owed them a favor for past misbehavior,
behavior so foul and so cruel,
they would ride when moon became full!
When the moon elevated they rose animated
to drown Mitten’s in the cesspool.
As they hunted they started to drool.
Hunting high, hunting low, riding ‘round to and fro,
the Clan frantically searched helter-skelter,
for young Mittens who found a safe shelter.
As they howled and they growled all the air became fouled,
but they couldn’t find Mittens’ safe shelter.
“When we find her, in acid we’ll melt her!”
Could these four scarecrows stoop to even new lows
as they hunt by light of the moon?
(Better hurry the dawn will come soon!)
Long they hunted and haunted but she was undaunted,
she laughed at the bumbling buffoons,
while she purred out some kitty cat tunes.
Curled with grace in a space near the warm fireplace,
for the Scarecrow Clan fears the fire.
(Just the thought of it makes them perspire.)
Low they lurched as they searched in the fields near the church,
growing desperate, dejected, and dire,
for the sunlight will make them expire.
Then dawn broke Night's dark cloak with a big puff of smoke
as the angels’ black magic was shattered,
and the Scarecrow Clan riders battered.
Under natural law the Clan turned back to straw,
and their straw o’er the cornfield was scattered.
She'll be safe now and that’s all that mattered.
13-March-2020 (Friday the 13th). First Place in "A Rattling Rhyme" poetry contest sponsored by Nina Parmenter
Everything had gone well and the night was still young,
she had made her intentions quite clear,
home alone we're not walking, the drink was now talking,
and the score was one-nil to the beer.
So we flagged down a cab, made a ten minute trip
hoping none of the neighbours would see,
helped her walk down the drive hoping I wouldn't slip
and then she turned round and came back for me.
We crashed into the hall, and both leaned on the wall
in an effort to regain our breath,
altogether uncertain if this nights exertions
would not end in premature death.
In the bedroom she tore off her blouse and her corset,
her lumbar support and her truss,
left her ankle support on, did she just forget
but I thought I'd not make any fuss.
After I had stripped off with the help of my frame
and rolled onto the bed in the dark,
we lay side by side, now with nothing to hide
and both waited for that certain spark.
As we stared at the ceiling, a terrible feeling
was finally now seeping through,
that the worst of our fears, after all the long years
we'd forgotten what we're supposed to do.
8th August 2018
For contest 'A rattling rhyme', sponsor Nina Parmenter
(*- This is not autobiographical. Yet. )
St. Elmo's Fire
'Twas a fall eve on our flight to the coast
Dressed in my livery this journey I'd host.
A storm was predicted, we would fly 'round
With instrument help from cockpit to ground.
No form of the storm yet could be seen
Our 747 flew like a queen.
Suddenly arose the storm we would fight
It was going to be a bumpy night!
As turbulence began rocking our plane
Cans and bottles fell again and again.
I tried to secure my cart on its tie
Withholding some fear, I won't tell a lie.
Captain announced for us to be seated
His urgent tone need not be repeated.
The lightning storm caused us to fly higher,
Cockpit windows glowed with St. Elmo's fire.
The contrast between bright white and deep blue
A frightening sight for first time to view.
Passengers gripped the armrests of their chair
Sweet babies held tight by mothers with care.
Passengers viewed on crew faces...no fear
Which put them at ease as coastline grew near.
We landed safe and as we taxied in
Applause was heard with appreciative din!
8-20-18
*Note:
Like lightning, St. Elmo's Fire is plasma, or ionized air that emits a glow. But while lightening is the movement of electricity from a charged cloud to the ground, St. Elmo's Fire is simply sparking, something like a shot of electrons into the air. It's a corona discharge, and it occurs when there is a significant imbalance in electrical charge, causing molecules to tear apart, sometimes resulting in a slight hissing sound.The first step in generating St. Elmo's Fire is a thunderstorm.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Stop right there for crying out loud
Plagiarism is not allowed
You'll be lynched by the P.S. crowd.
Okay, to be or not to be
Now come on you're being silly
They'll complain and they'll be suing
Ask you what it is you're doing.
Start again and think real hard
Don't be stealing from the bard
I'm struggling, need some inspiration
To create a rhyme sensation.
Grey brick upon brick, I'm on my way
That sounds good what do you say
I think I've heard that one before
But don't stop now do give us more.
Problem is my muse has flown
She's left me struggling all alone
I've placed an advert in the Times
For a muse who's good at rhymes.
If one replies and answers back
I'll be on fire, back on track
But until then I'll have a rest
Then I'll be up there with the best.
For the purpose of this rhyme I've used three lines from three famous poets listed below.
William Wordsworth
William Shakespeare
and Louis MacNiece.
Written on 13th August for Nina Parmenters Rattling Rhyme contest.
The Baby Creep
Here in my Pampers. They took off my bib. Then they turned off the light, laid me here in my crib, yet I still see some light from the sun sunken low, but because I’m a toddler, to bed I must go? Well, I WON’T go to sleep ‘cause I just want to play! And I’m NOT a dumb blanket that just wants to lay in this crib! Should I cry? Should I NOT make a sound when I hear in the house they are moving around? I could cry. I could whimper or maybe I’ll scream, make them think I feel bad or I had a bad dream. What to do… what to do? Now my rattle I see. It will have to make do! Weren’t they nice leaving THAT there for me? So I pick up the rattle, I shake and I roll. I will shake that thing silly. Let THAT be my goal, ‘cause it’s stupid to sleep when there’s light still outside, so I’ll just be a creep, cause I’ll shake up a storm till they hear all my clatter and come to my room to see what is the matter. I’ll lay here and rattle. I’ll rattle, and though it’s till dawn, I’ll be rattling and rattling and rattling on!
Aug. 20, 2018 hopefully in the popular style of Nina Parmenter
(I actually gave my parents quite the grief as a baby since I would not sleep till midnight, same as today!)
STORM ELECTRIC
Over there
in the hills
There’s a flash
Giving birth
To a sound
Like a pulse
In the veins
of the Earth
Echoing
From the crags
As a drum
Beat ahead
The condemned
On his walk
On the morn
He would dread
Then the fire
in the sky
As it comes
ever close
With a crash
and a roar
Turns a tree
Into toast
When you walk
through a storm
Head held down
Is it dum
To survive
Taking care
Not advice
From a nun?
If you’re one
Who is blest
With a top
Like a dome
Thank your god
That your not
One of those
With a cone
Million volts
Coming down
from the sky
To the ground
Will select
To anoint
Pointed shapes
Never round
Crises come
And they pass
So all storms
Will be still
As the sun
Shall illume
Linen clouds
Wrap the hill
Should we fear
Tempest break
In our world
Bringing strife
Or perhaps
Lift head up
Rather dread
A bland life
4 March 2020
probing defences
the bear at the border growls ~
the west stands ready
Written 25th January 2022
I can't help but wonder, what am I supposed to wonder about?
Society has put certain rules into play, that I can seem to wrap my mind around.
To think a certain way, to speak a certain way.
And to do this with no question about why we are being controlled every single day.
So, what does the world want me to do now?
How am I supposed to wonder, if I don't know how?
When does the mind control end?
When will the people of this world get too unhinged?
Everyone needs help, but they are unaware that their thoughts are not individual.
Because society makes the mind control seem normal.
All people think the same. Fighting back is useless.
For how are we supposed to fight back if we are clueless?
Thus, the people need to know,
To beat evil, we need to grow.
Unite our minds, together we flourish.
To take down our commanders, means our minds will perish.
This is why the world has to resort to violence...
To bring our minds back to silence.
Wasted words
Wasted words
Empty ink
Left alone
Just to think
Once you were
Now you’re not
Seems that most
Have forgot
Time you spent
On their page
Verses read
Center stage
Curtains drawn
Lights are dim
Views are gone
Comments slim
All good things
They must end
Matters not
What you’ve penned
Take your thoughts,
Stanzas too
Go away
That means you
We don’t care
What you write
Any day
Late at night
Poetry
for the birds
Empty ink
Wasted words
3/3/2020
11:43am
Nervous Hands
Did you know nervous hands can cause problems?
Let me tell you, folks, I know they can!
Hear my tale of a fidgety woman
and her equally jittery man.
At a conference, they became restless
as the speaker just droned on and on.
Though they tried to give him their attention,
they just couldn’t. Each stifled a yawn.
He began to drum HARD on the table
with his fingernails—thumpity-thump.
The presenter and others shot daggers
with their eyes at this troublesome chump.
Then he popped EVERY one of his knuckles,
dropped his papers all over the floor,
rattled change in his pockets—jing-jingle.
Sitting by them, I silently swore.
She was busy with her own distractions,
searching noisily through her huge purse
for her Bic, which she clicked with great fervor.
Could things possibly get any worse?
Yes! She rattled a hard-candy wrapper
in each hand on and on with true verve.
Then she “combed” her long hair with her fingers.
These two trounced on my very last nerve!
You must wonder why nobody told them,
“You can leave, or we’ll toss you head first.”
You just can’t eject business owners
even when they’re the absolute worst!
written in anapestic meter
July 30, 2018, entered in Nina Parmenter's A Rattling Rhyme Contest
?http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
Rattling Others Cages
Suppose what you said, I were to renounce
Would on my person you start to pounce
And again another game begin to play
Which was called, "Trying to Get Own Way."
Actually, accordingly to my latest prediction
You surely will have produced much friction
And projected to end up in pretty poor shape
Without any doubt at all, lack any escape.
So if ship shape is way you want to be
Reality is our perfect American Society
Become educated and others do bother
Who you find related to a Family Father.
Heavens to Betsy Ross and God forbid
Was wondrous things that ancestors did
Part of pages of sages through the ages
Who thoroughly enjoy rattling others cages.
James Thesarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Writing some words I now will begin
As I try to entertain you
I'll give it my all and with a grin
With that there's much more to do
I'll entertain you with a rhyme and a beat
With images beyond compare
My poems they are so very sweet
To avoid cavities I must share
With images that are beyond compare
I will expound on every word
To create a story oh so profound
That's nothing like you've ever heard
As I expound on ever word
I wonder if another poem will be
So if I make this one absurd
Perhaps it will further inspire me
I'm giving my all so please come back
To enjoy my poems oh so fair
Who knows what next there is to attack
But I promise I will not scare
Written 8/1/18
for the Rattling Rhyme poetry contest.
So you took your best shot,
but sadly it rimmed out
Rocket swish arc reached for the brightest star ...
only to receive
a missed blastoff launch tipoff
Got time zone sent head fake crash landing
to the parquet floor ocean bottom
Love is a heart rattling thing ...
net elusive,
and so very nylon tantalizing
And when you make the wrong call,
false accusations that fray
Out of the hoop pops the ball —
a certain love score
gets taken away
Now you’re muttering low,
back pedaling thru life so slow
Pounding your fist into your chest,
knowing that you never really gave your best
Ever looking to shoot for
the easy access escape route,
because the tight rim of iron doubt
always caused a falling out
And when the circular tears
would finally start to double dribble down,
only the comforting benched touch
of your leather sofa felt soft
Then faded backcourt memory fears,
became a slippery slope surface
for a failed playa pawn Globetrotting clown
It was your last shot to win,
but the sure aim drop just rattled out
To the high displeasure
of a mumbling, low-post peeved pout
Losing ain’t a sin,
if love
wasn’t a game
you were simply playing
The carriages sway and how they shudder
Rattling behind the one-eyed monster
A powerful beam lighting the tracks ahead
Piercing the gloom, onward it sped
Unaware, uncaring the driver slept
Was destination destined or would it be death?
Windows barred to keep cold night at bay
The passengers asleep where they sit or lay
The rhythm of wheels, fast and frenetic
The rock of wagons deepening their sleep
Belching black smoke, the behemoth thundered
Could death be averted, the angels wondered
Ere the train broke the night’s quiet
The countryside slumbered in the cold night
And after the train had thundered past
Birds screeched, freed from the spell that night had cast
Their banshee shrieks echoing ominously in the dark
Nature’s feathered creatures had gone berserk
Clickety clack clickety clack went the wheels
Changing tracks and terrain with no change in speed
Just when it seemed that all souls were lost
The pace slackened - speed and distance had extracted its cost
With limbs gone limp, the stoker collapsed and lay still
And the train slowed down, creaking and groaning as it went uphill