Best Tinging Poems
How do I write my love in poetry?
Spin it around a needle’s company
I succumb to the wishes that’s displayed
Straight into my heart, a bed that is made
Words that focus not on the worldly things
Making love formed by surely everything
Almost all my chimed poetry is filled
Tinging of the bells on my window sill
My poems flow from my pen to your head
Allowing even the strange come to bed
Obstinate people combined with some change
Must read of my love, they will rearrange
My lovely other, sits upon the throne
Love ties us as one, prepares what is known
Russell Sivey
Stunning scenery in surrounding twilight
lists lissomly, touching corners of my mind,
bringing promises of the forthcoming night
with billowing breezes, of the serene kind.
In muffled silence, smitten by its splendor,
the Composer's tempo sets our feelings on fire.
Seductive sounds spool us with erupting ember.
Enticing eyes envelope us in burning desire.
Our visions of future euphoric foreverness
shine in the subtle colors tinging the skies.
Enveloping us with its muted tenderness,
binding us with its lilting lows, intense highs.
When we turn, the sun is gone, just like fine wine.
Its lingering glow highlights us in exquisite eternity.
Your slender, tender fingers entwine with mine.
We softly shift from sentiment into sweet reverie.
Then Thisbe stole forth as agreed upon
Unobserved her head covered with a veil
Out of city’s bounds edifice well known
Waited for Pyramus near a fountain trail.
In the dim light she descried a lioness
Nearing the fountain with blood reeking jaws
With a recent slaughter to slake her thirst.
She fled dropping her veil out of fright.
After quenching thirst turned back for her cove
Renting the veil in bloody mouth on her retreat
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Having delayed Pyramus arrived there
Saw footsteps of the lioness in the sand
And found the veil all bloody over there
Crying picked up the rent veil in his hand.
Thought himself to be the cause of her death
Covering the veil with kiss and with tear
And said, come ye lioness tear with your teeth
Let my blood also shall stain your texture.
He plunged sword into his heart with a shove
Blood spurted tinging the tree with red color
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Thisbe stepped out not to disappoint him
She noticed the change in the tree’s color
In the agonies of death she saw him.
A shudder ran as ripple in still water.
She saw her veil and his scabbard empty.
He has slain himself for her sake only.
She said, “I could be brave and follow thee
Death alone couldn’t prevent my joining thee
Love and death join us, one tomb be our grove”
She plunged the sword in her breast near the tree
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Envoi
Such tale of the self-less love presented
The two bodies in one tomb were buried
Pyramus-Thisbe tale our hearts do move
Berries serve memorials of their blood
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
===================================
Rhyme scheme : ababccddede Envoi- ddede
Small Summer Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake
by Barbara C. Agarwal
I left my chance when
A chance I did not take
When I saw you long, long ago
At Lovegrove Lake.
Do you remember per chance also,
Me perched on the wee porch there?
Me, dangling my silver sandal?
And sipping my white wine with care?
The blue chiffon band of my straw hat
Blowing in the river-lake air?
Me, sitting on a pink-coral rocking chair?
Me, focused and scratching out a poem to share?
You stood tall and out on the river dock
Of the lake. You stood wide-shouldered, as I recall:
A happy stranger, fishing, leaning against
The railing of the driftwood-grey quay.
I could hear you whistling, though afar.
I can hear you whistling still, by the song
I was won: “once there were valleys,
Kissed by the sun....”
Then—after some secret bless-ed
Moments of wonderful watching
I saddened to hear The Four Brothers'
Notes and your whistling cease.
But then you drew yourself together
With a sigh, to return
To your cabin, near and yet far:
Up the hill from mine,
Drew near enough you did
On the brown graveled path,
Near enough that I could see
The smiling creases aside
Both your boyish brimming
Brown eyes, barely shaded by
Your beaten tan angler's hat,
And you were coming my way
In that plaid musky-looking fishing shirt,
(Your rod used like a shepherd's staff,
With the metal lure clanking --ting-tinging--
Against your pail) you were coming my way
Near enough to me that I
Might smell that primal scent
Some sensuous men emit
After their hard days' work.
About to pass me by,
You slowed your step.
You paused.
Perhaps just for breath?
Or was it just long enough to wink
That well-and-wanting wink at me?
I smiled but put my eyes back to page.
You then continued up the way
To your cabin
More far away than hope.
It was then I think
That I stopped living
Or began dying from lost delights:
Reveries of what-might-have-beens,
There by Lovegrove Lake
On that Tuesday afternoon.
“Gone are the greenfields.../
Where rivers used to run.”
Agent Orange
Tinging lush, green foliage
Breath-taking shadow
Swallows mercurial moon
Invisible orb hovers
October 11, 2012
Global warming's changing our world,
as deserts increase, farmland shrinks.
And ancient glaciers have no ice,
the sea's dying and the air stinks.
Weather upheavals forecast gloom,
as rivers flood altered courses.
And torrential rains drench the earth,
a shift in natural forces.
Virgin forests scared by fire's flame
leave barren soil to rot and mold.
And mountains of water-soaked mud
slide down slopes, unable to hold.
Volcanoes erupt in the depths,
birthing tsunamis at their rim.
And waves rise to devastate lives,
where water is too swift to swim.
A spotted sun bakes the ozone,
tinging twilight, ocher, and rust.
And tornados chew up the ground,
vortexes grinding life to dust.
Earth rebuffs belated efforts
it's too late for token repairs.
For Man forgot one basic rule,
nature governs earthly affairs.
(Quatrain)
0/8/2016
At night I like to listen to the stars
They are like millions of tinging pieces
Their sound beautifully formulated
I listen to their sound enhanced thesis
Ping a ting a ling all around the air
A lofty feel they each bring in the night
Such a soothing sound to my tender ear
Complimented only by their small light
As the stars make their glorious music
Orchestrated by the wee-tiny bells
Softly they harmoniously align
And create a song deep within the dells
At night I like to listen to the stars
They are like millions of peeling pieces
Their sound beautifully formulated
I listen to their sound enhanced reaches
Russell Sivey
Contest: Bringin' in the Stars; Sponsor: POETESS DARKLY
4/25/2013
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk
Decaying leaves slowly becoming dust,
Scent of that Sixties patchouli musk
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk.
Breezes becoming somewhat brusque
Leaves still green but tinging with rust,
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk
Decaying leaves slowly becoming dust.
written August 1, 2021
We peek from ‘neath a January frost
Through windows tightly shut against its chill
Count a mitten and a hat among the lost
And carry on by simple force of will
The glint of light grows longer every day
As shadows strut their stuff in windblown play
Tinging the edge of snow a dingy gray
As silently a terror comes our way
A cold heart bidding us to candied dreams
To kisses blown across a frigid floor
For love is never really what it seems
When February knocks upon your door
And so I bid you even though you’re smitten
Keep your heart in that one remaining mitten
John G. Lawless
©1/31/2023
On the streets of Kamora,
a man sits at the Fountain of Angels,
eying the days offerings
which lie at the bottom
of the tepid water.
The man remembers when he was
one of the click clacking masses,
on their way to work,
in the Main Dome of Kamora,
ready to pass ordinances
which allowed dogs on leashes in the park,
bettering and improving the city,
keeping it cobblestones,
which were erected in eras past.
The man remembers losing his position
and being put on the street
because the cost of living in Kamora came too high.
He sits where he can,
sleeps where he can
eats what he can.
The underbelly of Kamora is paved with grease and dirt.
The great unwashed populate the parks at night.
No clickety clacks.
more ting tinging and swish swash.
The man notices all the details of Kamora,
what he was too busy to notice in “better” times.
The mosaics of the great buildings
with the echoes of it’s former prominence.
Not the tiles of the great shopping center
which resides in a newfangled
behemoth of a building.
The birds in the belfry
and still the click clacking of those who work.
The man swoops up a handful of silver and copper coins
and notices the faces of Kamora’s founders
on the bottom of the fountain.
Like an onion,
the city unfolds with new revelations,
while the man sits and waits,
watching the clickety clacks
and the ting tinging swish swashes.
Playing my guitar
playing Christmas songs
songs that echo from my childhood
songs of memories made
made in fantasies
made in dreams
dreams built from flavors
dreams built from stories
stories family told
stories in favorite books
books given to me by family
books given to me by friends
friends who understood
friends who shared interests
interests that made us friends
interests fascinating
fascinating and bright
fascinating and intriguing
intriguing mysteries
intriguing fantasies
fantasies of elves
fantasies of dragons
dragons are colorful
dragons are actually good
good mythical beasts
good characters
characters for stories
characters for songs
songs I create
songs I play
play on my guitar
play on my dulcimer
dulcimer rings
dulcimer chimes
chimes like bells
chimes ting-tinging
ting-tinging like bells
ting-tinging sweet
sweet music
sweet harmony
harmony for dance
harmony for peace
peace on earth
peace and tranquility
tranquility of love
tranquility that’s infectious
infectious as laughter
laughter
infectious
3-6-2021
ALL YOURS (Mar 8) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
silver bells ringing
holly bright among the pine
merrily dinging
bringing Christmas cheer to all –
scent of the outdoors
tint-tinging clapping
etheric among the greens
happy holiday
they sing joyfully aloud –
angelic voices
The sun rises on the distant horizon
Sending rays through gray clouds
Tinging them to a somber cobalt
Waiting to shine red and proud
The sound waves vibrate from crickets
As they rub their hind legs
They have double-fold in numbers
Spread like whisky bootleg_
The fog drapes its long tenacles
Across the hill and vale
It coats all the trees, shrubs, and homes
Spreads across like bride's veil
Dampness penetrates every nook
Reaches within crevices
Notebook pages become soggy
Wet with fog's devices
Who knew September would bring
A morning such as this.
Cool, breezy and a coming rain.
My lover waiting for his kiss.
Locked in a quarantine, not knowing
When we will ever meet our new neighbors,
Though we will, they will, and glorious leaves
Are tinging and hiding in fall's vapours.
Meantime our hearts are waiting
With hope the days will come,
Bearing red and Green and twinkling lights.
And sickness will be gone.
The road suddenly divided
I needed the river
Her two arms replete
with hyacinth of
empathy
Emptily
I kept looking at, now
at one direction
then at the other but
the envelope didn't part
I needed the river so much
Her foamy murmur
into my elongated ears
to interpret what
the cherry was
With the third
eye at the roses
tinging dry thorns
pricking my brain cells
I select the leftward turn
___________________
26 October 2022