Clacking Poems | Examples

Tapestry Replenished

Sure enough
they'll be leaving 
one by one-by-one by one
leaving a steady stream of grief
leaving pin prick holes
in the foundation of the heart
the tapestry of the soul.
Like termites taking down 
a mountain of Mahagony
one clacking mandible at a 
time
time is the ravenous masterpiece
these infinite waves of grief
have no mercy
for a thinning beach.

One day soon enough it'll be my turn
to leave behind this timeless stream...
I pray the foundation is restored
the tapestry replenished.

Your Death

Why do you
Put me through this
This death of yours?
Why can’t I dance 
And play
And eat
My God
Or sleep
And forget.
The sky is the same
The blue
The air full
The clacking of a train
The seagulls in a dumpster
The noises of cheerful people
Pretending they are alive
Alive
While I sit next
To the container of your ashes
Driving to our spot
To throw you away
 in the grey waves.

Recipe for Eagle Meat

We've used our gifts 
to... 
watercolor disease
potter haloes of love into horns of hate
knitting the fallout of nuclear dreams.

Evolution is unwinding at the speed of light.
DNA is drunk on the cheap wine of the ID. 
America the beautiful sounds like the death rattle of Rome...
Both envied and hated in equal doses.
Veins of freedom clogged by the cholesterol of ego.
Our elders sounding evermore unhinged...
In front of the world, they squabbled about 
who's better on the links...while sworn enemies
exchange recipes for preparing eagle meat.

We've chained our children to robots
(and we thought they paid little attention to us).
They squirm equally within the envelope of eye contact
constructive criticism and compliment.

Everybody's pointing dirty fingers
only to be chopped off.
Bloody fingers are everywhere
from Whitehouse to the church of our fair Christ.

The four horsemen are approaching
albeit in the thin shadow of sundial time.
Feel their hoofbeats 
clacking against our cobblestone souls?

Town Full Of Sound

Town Full Of Sound

I use to live in 
A town full of sound
With Roller Coasters
And Merry Go Round
Horns would blast
To sound an alarm

I use to live in 
A town full of sound

I use to live in
A town full of sound
Pinballs were zinging
And barkers would hound
Foghorns were blaring
A mournful fog song

I use to live in 
A town full of sound

I use to live in
A town full of sounds
Salt water taffy
Came clacking on down
The bandstand was swinging
Those Glen Miller songs

I use to live in 
A town full of sound

I use to live in
A  town full of sound
Where all sorts of music 
Played all over town
Screech of the crowd
As the Comet roared down

I use to live in 
A town full of sound

Bill MacEachern May 2, 2024

Critterature: A Prickly Situation

Old joke: How do porkypines mate? Very carefully.


The porcupine's a modest
And mostly solitary beast,
Akin to capybara and to beaver,
Though in size he is the least.
He rarely gets invited
To a bar-b-que or feast,
But long as he's not on the menu,
He doesn't mind it in the least.

He'll never write his memoirs,
Although of stories there's no lack,
But penmanship's beyond him,
He just doesn't have the knack.
And though he ports around a vast array
Of sharpened quills upon his back,
There's not one that's fit for writing
In all the clicking, clacking pack.

When "she" sends forth her pheromones,
And "he" rises to the bait,
Safe sex is uppermost in mind
As he advances to the plate.
His approach must be well-timed, precise,
Lest she shish-kabob her mate.
If it's not done right the first time…
There won't be a second date.

Flying

Tense and clacking.

Beautiful scenery.

Ominous yet bright sky.

I don’t brace myself this time.

That just makes my breath hurt more.

I can just…

Pretend to fly.

I can be dizzy and joyful.

Spinning and whirling is just a part of nature.

It will be over someday.

I’ll be dizzy and bubbly,

And chatting and clicking my teeth.

Roller coasters are weird.

And so am I.

The Peacock King

An old peacock has lost his voice, among the hens
he wanders, his soundless beak a' clacking.

Once he rode the roof of life, once he strutted
across its gaming board, a tyrant lover,
a beady-eyed frightener to all comers.

The hens gather to ridicule the old cock-king,
and mock his silent passing. A younger cock must
by common law
topple his fan-feathered throne
upon the floor.

The voiceless bird must learn to be a poets page,
and there write the sorry history
of those that wander (most reluctantly),
into that choleric school
of chronic ripe old age.

Crow Calls

fourteen hundred children woke up and died
the squatting crows watched and waited
soon the many feet stopped stamping
stopped running
a cold clacking caw went up
black wings flew then hopped
amongst the burnt and disfigured
the guns stopped spitting
women came and went
their screams scattered the crows

One Foot In Hell

War weary wayward wanderer walking westerly
Sadly slowly striding shadowy suburban streets
Barely behaving bravely but blindly bound
Coldly click-clacking cumbersome calloused cleats

Tormented tattered tired thus temper tampered
Following faltering footsteps from frigid feet
Deeply determined denying darkened deadly deeds
Recalls rankled ridiculous rituals readily repeat

Loosely lackadaisically lumbering like lost lamb
Ghastly giant gradually greets grieving ghost
Posturing politely promising placid provincial palace 
Hell's haven happily hinders Heaven's host

The Gulls Maw

A raw red crater of hunger;
the clacking tongue a buckram spear
shaken at all comers.

The gulls mouth is the gull,
the gullet is the gull
the torso, the snowy pale blue plumage,
that dark under-feathering
all the body of the bird
a perfect bow
for the arrowing beak
and its raucous bugle.

A neck stretched for greed;
above that gorge, hard-set and avaricious,
glint eyes long allied to savage seas.

The bird has the primal scream
of a scavenger,
the gall of the harassing hunter

- and yet is admirable,
sleekly beautiful, often graceful,

until,
rigid jaws agape
we regard its wide-open craw,
wince
as those shears clamp down
on some still wriggling shred.

Night Music

Long nights
transcribe me into a clacking music.

Harpsichord bones and broken keys,
nailed to an out of time tune.

A somnambulant self-winding
pipe-organ, whistles
as it pushes moments around
as if time could be saved
for later use.

A mind-locked keyboard
is stuck in the middle
of a revolving thought.

I lay down in the back row
of a horn belching bedlam;

wave weary hands at the ceiling
conducting curse words
in the dark.

Off To School

OFF TO SCHOOL

So you're off to boarding school,
It'll be the making of you, my lad,
Muses the bespectacled gentleman,
Sat behind his morning paper, 
The commuter train steaming 
Its trundling way
Past opened curtains 
Of genteel suburbia.

Familiarly hypnotic rhythm 
From the clickety-clacking track
Continues, scarcely heeded 
By the carriage's motley clientele, 
Disturbed from comatose reveries, 
Enduring the drilled strains 
Of unwelcome conversation.

Hostile eyes look up in 
Bristling annoyance
At a shy, enclosed boy, 
Who keeps locked-in silence 
On his first uncertain foray
Into the strange world beyond 
The comfortable boundaries
Of his homely playpen.

One Night

One man.
Treading the streets of his city,
large black overcoat blending into the night,
pipe bowl softly glowing red against the dark,
cane sharply clacking aginst the cobbles.
Suddenly an owl sweeps by,
white wings flashing softly,
quietly hooting.
One man,
one street,
one bird,
one night.

Happiest Shoe On Happiest Teacher

The happiest shoe went on a dancing binge
Sing dance sing dance sing dance kick kick kick!
I had never seen such a shoe with nary a hinge.
What a marvelous sense of humor, what a schtick!

Where did you come from? Other teachers asked.
The teacher wearing them smiled in front of everyone.
They soon forgot the shoes until one of them gasped.
The shoe was clicking and clacking on her desk having fun.

No smiling until Christmas! Someone yelled in a mean ugly way.
The dancing shoes kicked themselves onto a table and began to play.
The new teacher did a twirl and a whirl and the very high fancy kick
She did not care about naysayers, had her own special schtick.

Purity of Mind

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXZZYq8KvTc
Clean vessels made of snow and powder dust 
softly lifting from the gaze of the wind 
Gentle hands rising towards the heavenly realm 
Soft as the rain on a spider web in the early morning dawn 
silky as the waters of the Meridian sea 
Song of the lark reaching across the meadows of your mind 
even the angels are grazing the portals of human kind  
Eyes wide open, heart agape, soul enamored 
mala beads gently clacking awakening the presence 
into the field of green we go to find the burnished ambers 
of yesterday's lifetime glows 
where we will end up , nobody knows 
and so the feeling grows, and so the feeling goes 
into those beautiful vessels of ours, 
made of powder dust and snow. 
Purity of mind, a precious find...

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