Long Clang Poems
Long Clang Poems. Below are the most popular long Clang by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clang poems by poem length and keyword.
Like silent sentries in a row
dock pylons await our arrival.
It is low tide, as I step onto the gangway.
Crusty barnacles cling tenaciously
to the pylons, while salt water
laps the rocky shoreline.
A lanky blue heron carefully picks its way
between the fingers of the dock.
The cool breeze picks up
making the boats bob to and fro.
Halyard lines clang
against the masts of sailboats
while weather vanes turn toward
the prevailing northwest winds
The pungent smell of sea salt air
and the cool mist upon my face
evoke thoughts of escape
and high sea adventures.
As ocean breeze wafts gently
I close my eyes, inhale the fresh air
and give myself over to the sea.
In darkness, a rainy-cold evening, he walked.
His eyes swept the mud, his coat fluttered about.
Down, past the railroad tracks and the town.
To the old, empty warehouse that all had forgotten.
A back door yielded with a creak and a whine.
The echo of raindrops became the sole sound.
All was shadow within; no, there was a glow!
Soft blue light in the depths flickered on ...
Why had he come here? He hardly knew.
Still something stole him away from his home.
Some ache deep within had guided his steps,
and now his eyes glimmered for the first time in days.
Blood pounded in him, his thoughts were tangled,
but his subconscious knew clearly just what he had found.
He drew closer, beheld rusting pipes and old gears.
A burnt-out machine, with the ghost of a life.
He reached out to touch it, then he felt a spark.
Behold! With a blaze, it illumined the dark.
And power surged twixt the metal and man.
At last! No more was he under the ban!
The clumsy wheels whizzed, and the iron sang,
steam bellowed out with a puff and a clang.
And the man smiled deeply, and laughed with a sigh,
and his eyes glowed with life that none could deny.
He threw off his coat, and took in his hands,
a treasure greater than gold in the sands.
A blessed reunion that too late did start,
but tonight, once again, he was one with his heart.
11 July 2016
ROLLER COASTER
slow clang of chains, moving loudly
against the brain, upwards
climbing, like the beanstalk,
where Jack don’t know
and...here...we...go
like a new sunrise
in living color
the precipice of a new year
surprised by whirligigs,
thrust upside down
at the locomotive-ground
with no direction
but the moon and sun
the changing of seasons
shall this run
year after year
or
will i come
to a
sudden stop
letting others on
creatures with no hair
no words
staring
at the wonder
of life
not realizing
the bumps and bruises
sunrise and set
and the gears
that are moved by tears
and laughter…
dreaming as i ride this clanking
cathartic piece of art
upside-exciting
downs are frightening
is it at all real
painting new tracks
some dali
a bit seuss
hanging loose
12/31/2017
Written: July 19, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
“to veil light we cloaked it in bliss
then intellect and lower mind
fused together as magnetism
in form where truth we seek to find”
***************
A lapidary epithet is thrown—
I shed the garment of the mirrors' gaze.
The adamantine echo mocking is known,
Where katabatic abyss may swallow maze.
A citrine pulse beats raw beneath the gown;
Phantosmia of forgotten rain is known—
On earth unopened, where the shadows drown,
By recognition, older than remembrance.
Where whimsey ceased its endless, dark harangue,
A single orchid lifts its silent throat—
Its sacrosanct sepals need no praise or clang,
As wisdom arrives, unargued and remote.
The hungry lower mind lays down its rod,
The higher mind drops waiting to be known.
Two rivers merge beneath a mighty God,
The hoary ouroboros yields its throne.
No longer self-devoured, a widening ring,
I drank transparency, not ecstasy—
Relieved at last from stained glass of the king,
The unhindered light breaks out—completely free.
It entered unoriginate, uncrowned,
Unannotated, asking to be seen.
No longer symbols, blossoms burst the ground—
The world’s own scripture, raw and epicene.
No grasping hand can hold the truth in place;
The fist that clutches only wears a glove.
The hand that opens finds a vacant space,
To hold the always-inviolate with love.
And she cried
Tears burning down her face
With eyes blazing into me
Tearing me into halves
And I remembered—
Looking down at myself in the pool
Where she opened the window a thousand times
To wave to me, Goodnight
“I love you lul” she shouted
“I love you too” I replied
Going to sleep
I woke up and sat on my desk
She came to me again
Kissed me on the cheek
“I love you lul” she spoke
“I love you too” I replied
Going upstairs, sitting on my laptop
She came to me again and again and……again
I love you lul, I love you lul
Those words that uttered in my ear
That made up my day
Just as she came to kiss me again on the cheek
“Don’t” I said, “Your voice is fading, and you may infect me”
“But….”she replied “I’m not sick, I’m not sick”
“No you are!” “Get away from me!”
As I sent her away, with tears dripping down her face “I loved you lul”
She cried, after all she’s a nine year old kid, she must cry
I went to her bed, found her crying still
“Don’t cry 7bibi Juju” I uttered “I love you, don’t cry”
She clang to my shirt and hugged me
Tears still streaming down her face “I love you lul”
But those were tears of happiness, of delight
“I love you too” I spoke
t sounds like there is an angry conductor in heaven
Loud crashing and banging that startles me
Was it supposed to rain tonight? I ask my echo dot.
She verifies that thunderstorms are expected
They are here now; it is frighteningly angry-sounding.
Did monsters escape from the bowels of hell and go up there?
Another loud clang of a giant symbol makes me wonder about electricity.
Will it be going out? This often happens during storms like this one.
It sounds like a Ferris wheel has collapsed.
Without people, for there is no screaming.
Only the loud angry thuds of destruction.
I visualize people being carried away downstream
There were evenings
when you could hear - way off -
tugboats signaling to each other
with short blasts
from their horn
as they pushed and nudged
a ship into port.
Or the rumble and clang
of hatches closing
over cavernous holds
at the end of a night shift.
And occasionally a siren wailing
as if some unfathomable grief
was being hauled
raw and naked
along indifferent streets.
Then all would contract
to whispers and scratchings
on the walls of a fevered brain
as if someone or something
was trying to get in,
held back by a breathless pause
to magnify and be given a name,
lest squeezed shapeless
through the narrow opening
of an ear
to fester and inflame.
My resolutions have been so great, so terrific, and terribly nice.
I have liked them down to my toes, the first was to be a cop of vice.
I wanted a fire truck, and clang the bell, and drive myself to the Y
Where I would swim sixteen miles a day, and end up incredibly fly.
The cops would not take me as I was one month and six days too old.
So I applied to be a Disc Jockey, so brassy, and cute and bold.
They had advertised for an enthusiastic, talker, and a go-getter,
This resolution now off my list, because I could not get a sitter.
I resolved to see my best friends once a week for coffee and a snack.
But out of the six I called and texted, only one called back.
She said, my resolution is to stay home and eat healthy this year.
A veggie meal which I had to invite myself to was my greatest fear.
I would stop spending excessive money, stay away from the mall.
I disposed of this resolution as my only hobby is shopping after all
As my friend, I must let you know, in case it is not decidedly clear
This year's resolutions are the exact same ones I had last year.
The sharp, silent clang of light on dark,
the subtle infiltration into the enemy,
another bright arrow hits its mark,
dissolving stars into transparency.
The bright flash of orange, the glimpse of red,
the armor of the good and right,
sensing a loss with impending dread,
desertion thins the ranks of night.
The final soldier of dark is all that stands,
the crescent of the nocturnal moon,
retreating slowly across the lands,
he knows his end, he feels his doom.
The battlefield sky is swept clean again,
the light, hopeful for a bright clean day;
the sun wishes for what might have been,
as humanity throws the brightness away.
The sun then falls back toward the ground,
the darkness once more takes control;
the protectors of light, where they may be found,
watch for sunrise, accepting their role.
Photon, poison. Photograph.
Fates and Furies, laugh.
Engrave, O my epitaph.
Chart a graph, you chaff.
Hated are the sights around!
All done poor and bad.
Holy ground, surround? Unsound.
That will make them sad.
Garbage rich and decent poor.
Rhythm, rock and roll.
Summoned, system? Are you sure?
Opinion, thy poll.
Competition? But from who?
Faces turning blue?
Hopes of you? Will these accrue?
Fondue, thy stew! Through.
Boredom. How the hours fly.
Time, you do math hard.
Lately I feel desert dry.
Fried in lard? Pulled, card.
Wisdom. Suffering, you rang?
Bite, O boomerang.
Stories told in slang? Taste, tang?
Gone out with a bang.
Clang! O prison gate, why wait?
Wasted lands, be home!
Staggered gait? I've come in late?
Wife out on the loam!
Foam in mouth, O rabid dog?
Slaver, how you burst!
Waterlog? High hog, thy slog!
Came in last and worst...