Blot that once covered the East with blood
Inscribed scars and marks on walls and
grounds like dark cloud
Gongs of pains and sufferings that made history
Relics of cold bones and tragic memory
End of Second War that changed its course
Deeds of fettled people with great pride and honor
Destiny of united generations of undaunted force
Orbited with gold and leis of valor
The glorious symbol of big red dot on white and purified cloth
Obedience makes you a good citizen.
Clear conscience does better than a group of dozen.
(Prosebite)
Has "the god of this age" blinded the minds?
Have humans lost track of truth discernment?
Are pomegranates ever called tamarinds?
Don't ethical wrongs call for atonement?
Are there no absolute truths and values?
How can fickle minds decide rights and wrongs?
Why do humans choose vices over virtues?
Why should lutes and flutes sound like broken gongs?
The guileful, like wolves, prey on the guileless.
They look as though they're as smart as foxes.
They prefer stones to gems that are priceless.
With no praxis, they're mere chatterboxes.
Divine judgment, like the sunlight, is fair.
The good ones and the bad would have their share.
Deep Convictions — do not shout —
They blossom in the Mind —
A silent Orchard, born of Frost,
Whose Petals brave the Wind.
To do what’s Right — is seldom loud —
It need not beg the Day —
Its Footsteps leave a candor’s trace
On unassuming Clay.
Educated — is the Soul
That listens, before Speech —
For Competence is not a Crown
But what our Choices teach.
Communication — pure — refined —
Is but the Steady Rain
That carves a Canyon out of doubt
And ushers in the Plain.
So let the World — in Tempest — rage,
Let Rumor strike its Gongs —
Conviction dwells where Quiet lives,
And Truth completes her Songs.
Dum-Dum, muffled gongs
empty the heart.
They fall from my umbrella-
uninvited, gone.
Boron fusion, specifically proton-boron-11 (p-B11) fusion, the path to clean and sustainable energy> Advantages is that fusion is safer because it produces no neutrons, only alpha particles, and uses abundant, non-radioactive fuel.
The same Sub-atomic reactions that power the sun and sssssstars.Monitering dust accumulation, using techniques called glow discharge cleaning.
The natural of the beast
in it's creation
one looks toward
its significance
to understand it's value
looking to the future
one would wish to
hasten and rushing
through the frivolous ends
to get to the
main event
the day they
we have achieved
our goals
and maintains then
is the only
obstacle
we are facing
represent the concept of fusion energy
synthesizers, strings (like violins and cellos), and percussion (especially gongs and timpani, a drumroll in introduction.
O clock-faced time
why do you twitter all day long -
begone all ding dongs
and bell towers.
I have a French fry on my shoulder,
my body trembles internally
broken springs click-clack,
knock upon self-beating gongs.
Yes, I am angry,
often bitterly bothered
about the passing of
just about everything,
and why on earth
cannot I stay put
and pause the thought
of oblivion
just for one
uninterrupted moment.
The whole world is waiting, all ears agog,
For your birthday, to start a dialogue,
Your goodness is daily praised by their gongs,
For at no time, you blamed them for their wrongs.
Your heart gleams bright, free of any hatred,
So why won't your birthdays be this sacred.
Even the mirrors can't hide your beauty ~
That, that nature adopts as its duty.
Bottles! Allow all wines to jailbreak~
Their readiness to spread joy is at stake,
Bellies! Why tarry to relieve your hunger?
Allow your satiation be kept younger.
All directions now lead just to your home,
Your birthday frees idle legs of their roam.
Even angels wish you happy birthday.
Many happy returns our mouths pray.
The temple resembled a market place. They bought and sold.
By the rich even the Sanctum Sanctorum was controlled.
Communion of the humans with the divine seemed delinked.
From the lost tongues of hypocrites, like sounds of cracked gongs, clinked
Bonfires of sanctity from the hearth of your heart erupt
Possessed by the love of your father's abode, you were crushed.
Wrath, in the form of a whip, spun in your unconsciousness.
Each vendor of dignity soon regained their consciousness.
Could the priests and elders whose pride was demolished bear this?
Their mouths were shut. Within their hearts, there were many conflicts.
Why do you do this? What sign would you show? These were queries.
You knew your physique would berazed. You had, yet, no worries.
Pray in the house of God, Merchandise has its market place.
From the fullness of Abba, you knew, flew fullness of grace.
I fear that unknown future date,
When reality will permanently fade,
And what will come after will be death,
When there wouldn't be any debt not paid.
My soul'll then aimlessly wander!
Maybe it'll float in a wide space,
Full of an afterlife wonders,
That may abound in that cloudy place.
Maybe I'd be with the spirits or alone?
I'd probably be flying lazily about,
Since I'll leave without my bones.
Then, I'd find afterlife no longer a doubt?
Probably I'd see the angels sing,
I'd also learn their new songs;
By clinging to their angelic wings;
While playing rhythm with my gongs.
Maybe my spirit'll find somewhere to hide?
Or It'd be sent to heaven or even to hell?
Would it be sent back to be born as a child?
Or wait there till the angels'd ring the final bell.
Multitudinous bells secern the tones
as may resound sharp bamboo xylophones.
Pulchritudinous bells have rhythmic ding,
others that linger with tedious ring.
Some little bells can echo a jingle
that surely bestow a Christmas tingle.
Quite many bells ting melodious chime
prompting our schedule's punctilious time.
A carillons' unique, harmonized bells
swing from gentleness to overtone swells.
Suspended bronze discs reach resonant gongs,
characterized by gregarious songs.
A bittersweet bell that distantly tolls
announces angelic release of souls.
"At the Third Stroke.
It will be four, four, and 40 seconds, precisely."
"At the Third Stroke.
It will be four, four, and 55 seconds, precisely."
Old timers like me can remember
when time was voiced on the telephone when you dialed '1984'.
To get the 'Speaking Clock'!
or were told the time in tolls of local church bells.
or the number of gongs of town hall clocks like 'Big Ben',
chimes on the hour, half or quarter.
When you could ring up on 'me old telephone' at
some ungodly hour in day or night,
and hear the recorded time precisely there and then.
When your grandfather's job
was to chime the time in the hall.
When God told you the time
with church bell gongs and rings.
Can you remember when you lost track of the
time, when you lost track of the count of number
of the chimes or of tolls of bells?
Less important perhaps
at midnight than midday,
but this had you reaching
for the 'Bakelite'
black telephone to
hear the time precisely,
"At the third stroke".
Or you could wait for the 'pips' on the hour,
the six short sounds on the radio,
still going strong after 90 long years.
pip, pip, pip, pip, pip, pip!
There 'tis some ungodly hour precisely!
"and the birds twitter like whispering violins "
Quote by _Constance La France
Seasons have no censorship on bird chirps in my hometown,
Even our temple bells are unable to calm them down;
All that I feel at their Twitter of various styles are:
Take things easy! Sing! Dance! Fling all that's burdening you, far...!
My violin has no season or reason to play on,
It plays in summer or winter or when fall is far gone;
Do birds have sadness filled in them, to relieve which they sing?
Though voices vary do they have special songs for the spring...?
I compare my violin voice with that of the bird songs,
In each gentle twist, my violin has versatile gongs;
Messages millions to minds million both dare to convey,
Though harmonies of both have their nature-directed way...!!!
15 May 2023
dissolving into eternity
sans entity identity
universe vessel
gongs a bell
a wake up call
for God's bliss squall
to renew love's pulsation
that creation feels sensation
11-December-2022
Contest betwixt us friends had been common,
Who is who? Who, here, is a true lawman?
When two palms trees though compete to grow high,
They do not crush the common plants nearby...!
Don't, yet, serpents raise their hoods in anger?
Don't their pique sounds, like gongs, often, clangor?
Ladder and snake, a game we used to play,
We win, or, lose none ever nothing say...!
It's when we started our major business,
Within us arose, like froze ice, stiffness;
When he grew I fainted and vice versa,
Body ached; heart bound; veins stood like bursa...!
When I won he lost; when he won I lost;
In our functions, yet, both had been one host;
Like beet-root when I shoot he maintains mum,
Like onions, I too empty at his numb...!
20 November 2022
THE CRAP SHOOT #2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
For me
and thee
Your peace
my piece
Play pong
not wrong
Just ask
not bask
When I
tell why
Love sows
and grows
Even
not then
Noise rocks
and sucks
Round gongs
ding dongs
So now
somehow
Live now
not gnaw
Pray once
and dance
Minstrel
swing well
Up north
set forth
Sleigh ride
not hide
Come back
with stack
And share
with care
Like dove
with love
Then sleep
so deep
Dream great
not hate
Again
no pain
When you
sinew
So go
let go
Love all
not small
Think twice
All nice.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.