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.
Sometimes late at night when the memory feels just right
I slip away to the window where the moon in her afterglow
patches the holes of my heart and shoals me to the light
While other dreamers still in slumber taut as their femur
lose themselves in restless sleep beneath the self
matches of light ignite my soul and raise me to the night
Like a belladonna with her purple berried hue and force
I wander from the noise and clang of earth's pro-choice
and enter into sanctum like a luminous bulb of white
Sometimes late at night when the memory wants her say
I slip away to the window to watch the star's resonant hoist
blanched by the effervescence of dawn they all but go away
Because they know that sometimes late at night I want to stay,
over by the window where I can sit, until the break of day.
The willow trees blow so soft in the wind
push back and forth with such charm
the light flicker upon the church
for it spiral towers so powerful to the eye
the wind chimes clang and bang with such jingle it make my head tingle
for the bluebells that scatter the woods so proud like thousand in a crowed
the sun that shine to warm the days break to stop the shivering quake
oh it feels so good to hold your hand to dance upon the moon of light
for now i must go for i love you so
the nightwalker 6th
oct 2010
IF I HAD A WHITE BEARD
(tune: If I Were a Rich Man)
If I had a white beard
Ho ho rudolph ho ho blitzen ho ho merry christmas hum
All year long, I’d merry christmas hum
If I had a fluffy beard (haa!)
I wouldn’t have to diet.
Ho ho rudolph ho ho blitzen ho ho merry christmas hum
If I had a fluffy fluffy white jingle-jangle-jingle-jangle beard
I’d gift the kids, each year with toys by the millions
Built by big hearted elves up North
They work long days with hot cocoa drinks in hand
There would be one sleigh jingle just going up
And one sleigh jangle coming down
And one more jingle jangle down the hole
For some the coal is gift as chimney smoke clears my boots
Then the reindeer makes a sound
Honking just as merrily as they can
And each shake of the ho, be it show, be it clang, be it off
Would sound like a jingle of the bells
As if to say, “Here lives a fluffy beard”
If I had a white beard
Ho ho rudolph ho ho blitzen ho ho merry christmas hum
All year long, I’d merry christmas hum
If I had a fluffy beard (haa!)
I wouldn’t have to diet.
Ho ho rudolph ho ho blitzen ho ho merry christmas hum
If I had a fluffy fluffy white jingle-jangle-jingle-jangle beard
12/1/2021
Written just for fun!!
In the kitchen, pots clatter and pans clang,
The blender whirs as the kettle hisses and sings,
A spoon clinks in a mug, stirring tea,
While toast pops up with a little ding!
The cat purrs on the counter, eyes half-shut,
The dog’s tail thumps as it begs for crumbs,
The fridge door squeaks as I grab some jam,
And the bread squishes between my thumbs.
Suddenly, the phone buzzes with a ring,
I yelp and drop my toast—what a sight!
Jam-side down, it lands with a sticky splatter,
And the dog licks it up with pure delight.
Breakfast chaos, a daily dance,
With sounds that play a silly tune.
But in this noisy morning trance,
There’s magic in each messy swoon.
#Onomatopoeia# #OnomatopoeiaPoetryContest#
in the arena of battle,
t.v. on snipe
drawing his long sword from its sheath,
every inch cacophonously sharpened
sinister with geared teeth
nonsense forms from ancient bowels,
utterance of a lion woken from sleep
roaring out profanity and analytical resound,
playback of every word she speaks
to ad nauseum
her smaller sword cuts the air,
pierces like acupuncture,
nonetheless irritates
the tongues of wobbling aluminum
footwork choreographed
as they’ve played out this scene many times
she licks her wounds
he rams his fist into the newly painted white wall
she runs to the bathroom, rolling out the entire roll of t.p.
now that he’s alone her words clang like a cymbal
clang clang over and over again
he examines his bloody sword, the bruises on four knuckles
and thinks he’s gone mad. who is this snorting bull?
he hears her tears flowing through the plumbing pipes,
the dirge of their fight. he says to himself “stupid..stupid”
cemented feet won’t move nor the ones that are drowned
in self pity. the sun dies, the moon howls
morning coffee’s poured with stinging eyes. regrets must
be sugared by teaspoons, forgotten with passing days
until all seems right once more. dark days pass slowly.
5/31/2018
A SCRAPING OF SHOVELS--
A duel of occupations;
Farming or construction;
2 metal clad tools of uncovering';
Clang N clang, touch rub N bang;
Scape-scape, dig-dig on dirt, sand, gravel and rocks;
A scraping of shovels;
Excavation in construction;
Mechanization via steam shovels;
And later hydraulic equipment;
Hand shoveling dirt onto metal covers;
A scraping of shovels;
Connection tween shoulder blades and digging blades;
That the words also means spatula and spade;
Touch me, touch me metal or bones rocks and gravel;
Rubbing together like a scraping of shovels;
Spades lack triangular points;
But are fairly narrow rub and touch;
Dirt and metal, sand rock and gravel;
"spade" and "scoop” a doop dig a hole;
Coal shovel scooping a scraping of shovels
A snow shovel shoveling snow, a scraping of shovels;
A wide aluminum blade that is attachment;
With a short hardwood handle with "D" top;
A shovel called a barn or grain shovel;
Used for grain" spade" and "scoop” grab and hold;
Rubbing together like a scraping of shovels;
3/3/19
A SCRAPING OF SHOVELS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:John lawless
Pavement cafe, nine fifteen cradling a coffee (as you do)
from my left the china doll with clicking heels strode into view.
Tempting lips kissy-kissed with crimson, cheeks caressed
with blush, and poreless,
painful teasing made those scimitars for eyebrows nigh on flawless.
Hair of sunlit copper billowed like an Eton teacher's gown,
open trench coat followed suit as china hurried into town.
Head turned sideways, in each shop window she looked at her reflection
checking for the slightest hint of any sort of imperfection.
So wrapped up in herself, my my, how deep self worship had bit you
that you didn't see the lamp post until suddenly it hit you-
walked straight into it with quite a clang at such a rapid pace
recoiled, lurched back, bewildered- it was then I saw her face.
The laughter from the passers-by just made it even worse
as, shaking, she sat down near me and fumbled in her purse.
Tearful now,still reeling from her public humiliation
she got the make-up mirror out for damage limitation.
Haughtiness gone, the facade broken sat lovely Amanda,
legs like a flamingo but her right eye like a Panda.
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
Mister Joe, would-be muse,
jangles loose change in his pockets.
Each tiny clang sets forgotten cupboards humming.
Forgotten thoughts spring up, without asking.
Memories jog the journey while he's walking.
The kettle whistles before; the teacup understands.
Old riddles wash, rinse, tumble, and spin.
Rhymes peg themselves upon invisible lines.
The breeze flaps fresh ideas, hung out to dry.
"Finished the laundry, Mister Joe?"
The washing hangs bone-dry on the line.
He gathers the clothes, fluffs them loose.
Now the creases know exactly where to hide.
By dusk, his pockets have quietly grown heavier.
Loose change is dressed in freshly laundered clothes.
Every coin now sounds suspiciously like poems.
Next morning, he empties his pockets, onto the page.....
Sorting the jangles, line by line.
He wants to cast jangles and clangs,
into the minds of his readers, if they'll listen.
To show enough, but to leave enough unsaid.
He wants his words to fish where quiet memories sleep.
Each image leaves another mouth half wide open.
So the reader finds footprints before finding feet.
And a mirror quietly longing, to become a window.
The catch is prodded, puzzled - shaken and stirred.
Some readers smile; some simply stop and stare.
Each little clang becomes another hidden key.
Unlocking rooms he never knew were waiting there.
The poem, once written, quietly triggers,
jingles rattling in the readers' pockets.
Coming home with someone else's change.
For a poem is more than the bell a poet rings~
It is the echoes awakening in waiting bells.
The page is turned... the reader keeps on jingling.
The reader keeps on jingling.
The reader keeps on jingling.
Biden has never felt weller
He’s seen off that crazy-haired fella
With boxes to dump
Of votes ticked for Trump
He simply can’t move in his cellar.
***
Neil Armstrong had NASA to please
He slowly got down on his knees
He dug up a rock
And got quite a shock
And said ‘Yum... it really is cheese.’
***
Pythagoras drove a big wedge
He said the world’s round with no ledge
Columbus was stressed
When in the Crow’s nest
He cried, ‘We've gone over the edge‘
***
That Alexander Graham Bell
At least as far as I can tell
His chisels he’d hone,
Carved a dog and a bone
Marconi had made one as well
***
Alexander Fleming earned his shilling
By working so hard and so willing
He ate mouldy bread
But before he was dead
He invented a pen with a quill in
***
Adam, it seems, had no mother
But God had sent Adam a lover
Eve, naked in bed
Was sad when he said
Hi ducks, have you got a brother?
***
The asteroid wouldn’t desist
It’s path wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t twist
That fireball from space
flew by at a pace
A caveman said f*ck me, it missed
***
That covid was terribly cruel
It just wouldn't run out of fuel
We first sent rebukes
And then we sent nukes
When Xi Jinping said ‘April Fool’
***
Isaac Newton is astounded
The apple has left him confounded
His half crazy stare
As it floats in mid air
Is strange for he’s always so grounded
***
No seconds, no minutes, no hours,
A cosmos of dust and gas showers
They’d clash and they’d clang
To make a big bang...
Phut!