Best Twanging Poems
I was born in a time
When the thrills of a thriller
Did move the bricks
Of the thickest of walls.
I grew in an era
When the dynasty of an empire
Did expand to farthest of lands.
I adapted to a phenomenon
When the existence of a legend
Did drown the fame of mortals.
A fame in immortality
Bearing the impenetrability
Of Achilles himself,
Destined to march
Through the walls of Troy.
I twisted to the strings
Of a guitar, twanging
Spontaneously in my head,
In moves of invisibility.
I was opportune to appear
In a time, when the conquest
Of one king, did crest
Long lasting tattoos
In the hearts of many.
I was fascinated in a time
When the life within a man
Did blossom young,
As he lived unaffected
By the fading of time.
I lingered in an era
When the voice of one man
Could unify the sections
In a complex world.
I flowed in his guidance,
Dined in his glory
As though I existed
In his peak of enthronement,
His conferment of Grammies.
Bedazzled by his flexibility,
I was blessed by his power
To rein in anointed glory,
Unending immortality.
I was born in an empire
Governed by a king;
The king of pop,
A king in the world,
Father of offspring
As multiple as stars.
Electrified by a star,
There shall never be another;
Another motion slider,
Another shining star.
And though he passes on,
I shall live to declare
That I was born in a time
Ruled by a legend,
Guided by an immortal,
A world of Michael Jackson.
Howdy friend, I'm new in town.
I think I'll jot a few things down,
which, I hope, might take a frown
and turn it upside down.
OK, now let's play a game,
to see how much we are the same.
These are things that make me smile:
a new bride walks down the aisle
the radio plays my favorite song
a child has a place to belong
fish in a clear mountain stream
being part of a team
I'm weird, I like insects and bugs
but I also like kisses and hugs
a funny, animated cartoon
a cute face on a red balloon
a caring nod, a holding hand
the twanging of a rubber band
a sunny day on the beach
biting a juicy, dripping peach
riding the crest of a wave
climbing into a secret cave
I like to scratch my dog's fur
and the voice of Karen Carpenter
In the morning it is fun
to see a flower meet the sun
a kid on a hot day with a hose
a fly when it lands on his nose
I like to watch a top when it spins
and when the underdog wins
the smell of fresh baked bread
a good story to read in bed
to see the shining happy glow
of a child's face in a talent show
I like munching raisin scones
and wild animals that no one owns
please note, I am also smitten
by a week-old big eared kitten
Paul met John twanging banjo, singing a medley
Awed at what he heard playing by The Quarrymen
Five became four struggling to reach a destiny
Boarding a plane on an eternal trip since then
Street players, dressed in poverty's finest,
beg for recognition and a few coins.
Their unique rhythm is intoxicating,
seducing me with its audacity.
Trumpets, offset by the twanging of strings,
harmonize, in a release of passion.
And setting the beat of their homespun jazz,
youthful bravado sets the night on fire.
Revelry and pathos, played in tandem,
one speaks to the heart, the other, the soul.
And a brass horn sways hypnotically,
as notes intensify, with every chord.
Rog the funambulist
A paragon was Rog, heroic in the air, without airs
One of the most magnificent funambulists at ease
Whether walking a rope or flying on a trapeze,
Though he blessed the earth with no dauntless heirs.
None could ever hope to meet his burly like again.
How admirable was the way he stood, so poised
Muscles taut on his tightrope, the crowd un-noised
Agog, as he stepped off his platform drum, laden
With two massive iron balls held above his head
With nothing but his huge iron-bar moustache
To balance him, and a saving sense of panache.
Rog was unembarrassed though unencumbered.
He bore no unnecessary clothing, as he began to stride
Going forward, forty feet above the hard ground,
Looking straight ahead, as the crowd made no sound,
Eyes turned up at his almost bare bottom, and sighed
They gazed in awe, hushed in uncritical admiration,
As Rog held a two hundred pounds weight of iron balls,
Heavy, manly balls aloft, to earn him the more applause,
Balls steady over his glabrous head, wet with sudation.
The audience gasped as the taut rope trembled,
Twanging elastic beneath his firm, slippered feet.
The still warm wax in his moustache dripped suet.
Sweat oozed through his striped jumper, downward.
But Rog didn't tremble. Rog went forth on his way,
The way of the funambulist, not dithering or wayward.
Until the wax from his moustache fell ropeward.
Rog's foot was sure; Rog's arrant slipper caused dismay.
Rog slipped, and crashed to the ground, earth thumping,
Dropping his iron balls into the crowd, with abandon,
Maiming and slaying as Rog smashes into a circus lion,
Crumbling his skull, whence his brains were pouring.
The loitering lions were saved the trouble of cracking.
But Rog should not have waxed his handsome handlebar
So soon before he stood so perilous high, airily ahover.
There will ever be another Rog, so frightfully smashing.
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
CONCERTED STRUGGLE
Armed only with a thin baton to juggle
He faces an orchestrated struggle
Looks at the plan on the rostrum
Begins under breath with patrem-nostrum
Then a thousand tadpoles on telephone wires
Hundreds of blackbirds on barred barriers
Dozens of clothes-pegs on washing lines
He lunges into his defence designs
Fencing with the imaginary opponent mass
Stabbing viciously at the brass
Windshield wiper action for the string-strums
Thrust and parry over towards the kettle drums
Dizzy from the many-headed enemy
Hair is shaking, face is twitching - there’s too many
The noises continually blaring
Screeching, wailing, twanging, scaring
He finally concedes, stops the fight,
And they too give up the struggle for the night
After this cacophonous riot
There’s a little peace and quiet
I recall June dreams beyond seasons' past
which bring me down lanes where old guitars waft ;
his fingers twanging notes, our laughter screams
beyond seasons' past... I recall June dreams.
This man I adore as God’s prized token,
grunts at fairy books with scowls unspoken
yet hands would strum about mythical lore ...
as God’s prized token, this man I adore.
Lurks the night raven with venom impressed--
casting a fierce shock upon his dear chest
to drown rhapsodies from our lane's haven:
with venom impressed, lurks the night raven.
Ablaze in this heart, fiddler’s tunes I keep
where moments enchanted prance in my sleep--
Grandpa, not in time will we be apart,
fiddler's tunes I keep... ablaze in this heart.
Swap The Verse Contest of Joseph May
` included SQ in the title after posting`
6/13/2020
Joyful frog sat on the rock and bellowed his happy song.
His banjo twanging a rhythm that was totally strong.
Isn’t that part of a human? Isn’t it kind of wrong?
Asked a hippie-like toad who was lighting up a bong.
It might have been part of a human back in the day.
But it has been sitting in the sun, and it’s here to stay.
We must find comfort in whatever we find said a vole.
As he took a swan dive into the skull’s left eye hole.
With this bass chord twanging inside of me
These cries of my heart are heard indistinctly
When close to you my heart pumps like a turbine
My body is so anxious for your body to be mine
It is just like a man and the woman
Searching for love when it’s in their hand
When will we ever come to understand
That love is like the sinking of sand
We get in it at our own risk
And when we do it captures us like a big fist
This exhilarating passion we share is so alarming
These are just a few reasons why you are “Charming”
I wanna cuddle with you until all my worries subside
That bolstering smile is like a condescending glint you can’t hide
As I get lost staring at your lucid patient eyes
I can’t help but to wonder what you have going on inside
I feel something so extraordinary that you couldn’t even guess
As if armies were marching and clashing in my chest
Fighting a constant battle for what they know is best
You are similar to a beautiful enchanting cascade
Nothing can be taken from it and not man made
I never thought I would find a woman that was ingenious
Stay who you are and your life will never be meaningless
You surround me with tenderness like bee’s swarming
And that is the conclusion for why you’re “Charming”
A.I.R.
I was in a slumber repose,
so tired- I wanted to rest:
then, a guitar vibrating grows,
I love the twanging of my guest;
bringing feeling that I repressed !
The tune is a dreamy cajole,
an enticement and seduction:
the music speaks love to my soul,
I sigh for my love's destruction;
recall our introduction !
I am in a place misty veiled,
hazy, dark, murky and shrouded:
I see headstones with etching paled,
and names engraved- the stones crowded;
oh, why is the sky so clouded !
I smell the fragrant lilacs bloom,
one day ... I planted these flowers:
he loved so their cluster perfume,
I could stand here many hours;
oh, weary- and now the showers !
I am...unravelling
Unravelling, unravelling,
Like the fraying Persian rug on my cold bedroom tiles,
Like the colourful balls of yarn in my grandmother’s knitting basket,
I am being unspooled,
Like a faulty cassette,
My heart strings twanging and snapping as they unwind
I am falling to pieces,
Imploding, collapsing, disintegrating
Shards of me crumbling to dust and blowing away on the desert wind
I am dissolving,
The tears evaporating from my cracked cheeks,
The blood melting to red mist in my flaccid veins
I am becoming invisible,
I am being drained of color, of life, of spirit
Darkness encroaches, an oily swirling grey,
Swallowing me whole,
Drowning me in nothingness so that I can hardly breathe…
Let alone call out for help
I am suffocating, asphyxiating, I am choking
Every gasp for air lodging in my throat like fish bones
I am dying…
…yes, soon I will be dead
A tangled heap of bleached bones, of strands of hair,
Of unraveled heart strings…of shattered love, strewn across the sand,
A dejected crimson mist
I watched Shulamate dance, swirling, whirling
my intoxicated mind fast twirling.
Flame of Setif, Algieria burning
great lust deep within as I was drinking.
Legionnaire of “Sidi Bel Abbes”, bless
“Légion étrangère” with proper clean dress
Second Company, “Rien n'empêche” profess
Regimental sign: “ Nothing Prevents” yes
Music played poor ears with twanging sweet sound
Those beguiling notes making me now sway round,
beating rhythm, gripping me, on soul pound.
.She now made her “pièce de résistance”, and
pulling veil aside, then shows “derrière” bend.
“Vivi France,” “le coup de grâce”, my end.
I sat outside the saloon on a bench
just watching the rain muddy the dirt street.
I was in for wet feet or a long wait.
I played my Jew’s Harp with a twanging beat.
My horse waited across the muddy road
tethered in front of Slates Emporium’s Stores
where I’d bought a couple of choice cigars
before having that drink behind bat doors.
6-16-18
I
To wonder where you are
To wonder where you’ll be
To wish upon a star
To have you here with me
The wonder of the moment spent
In concentrated thought
Is witching at my crowded brain
And stretching twanging taut
Some things are as they are
Some things are meant to be
That doesn’t mean they are
Perhaps just meant to be
I have felt our love exploding exponentially
And the wonder of the feeling is still consuming me
There’s a dragon on my mind
Tipping scales are dripping charms
And god knows what I’ll find
Behind those swaying palms
So hold me closely sooth my fey
And let me live another day
Within your loving arms
For when the darkness comes
And vision fails to see
I’ll reach to feel
For what is real
To know you’re still with me