Long Clinking Poems
Long Clinking Poems. Below are the most popular long Clinking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clinking poems by poem length and keyword.
A bent knee ...
Cloaked in black nylon, a briny drop from
The smooth cheek, contingent baptism
For a closed hand, it's precious cargo,
Now consecrated by circumstance and
Fate, moments before this it was but
The root-stuff of weeds and worms,
Now the sacred repository for all words
Unsaid, all emotions unspeakable, all
Essences of parting. The earthy symbol
Of a concluded responsibility, elements
Of a soul displaced to the realm obliviate,
Gently fetched from the dark mound beside,
The loamy results of a somber chasm
Gouged from the grass like a war wound,
(Six feet deep). Hand trembling, the
Digits part and loose their dark cargo,
Meager clumps of rich soil tumble their
Way to the grave, bouncing into the
Somber cleft and clinking with little
Thumps on the polished wood vessel
Below, it's fine gold appointments glinting
Like sprites in the chill of mid-day brilliance.
A soft irregular drumming flows up from
The foramen as the soil reaches it's
Adamantine destination, like the sound
His fingers once made on the arm of
His favorite chair ... when impatience
Surged, or his twinkling eye anticipated
The regard of his beloved, her return
Gaze the reply to the soft cadence made,
Their furtive code to the corporeal
Reward to come. Countless such
Remembrances, now only JUST that.
This gentle thrumming made but sad
Sonance, a wordless requiem, final, the
Music of life and love shorn of it's sweet
Melody, divested and sacrificed to a
War half a world away, and a cause
And effort made as meaningless now
As the words just spoken, and the
Tear-stained hand, and the hallowed
Dirt set loose ...
To it's resting place.
a bouncing ball against a wall
conkers bashed as Autumn falls
the swish of a skipping rope:
milk bottles clinking in a crate
grate of chalk upon the slate
the tinkle of five-stones on a roll:
warning moan of an air raid
drone of bombers overhead
the whispers of prayers said:
rattle of the tin-can tommy
rasping squeak of a swing
the bus stop bell request ring:
voices chanting time-tables
snap of a teacher cane
the double hoot of the fast steam train:
raucous yell of the paper-seller
the release of the works hooter
exhaust noise from my Lambretta scooter:
peals of a Sunday morn bell
the passing funeral ....tolling,
....a death nell
CHOICES
man rejoices in poor choices
the smell of cheap perfume
women whispering in the dark
veiled by the moon and stars
clinking change of broadway
but doors close
stairways fall
wrinkles frown
good choices of morning linen
freshness of lips sipping tea
slowly courting, like a violin
a diurnal strand of memories
made and shared, a plan
wrinkles waft
stairways rise
open door
where the real fun begins
a lifetime of youthfulness
the fountain is found, and
the universe’s lantern is lit
all your senses open wide
no longer dire
a loft of years
intangible choir
hear Jesus laughter as you ride
an adventure of eternal crescendo
His joy for you beyond compare
you’re the rose-apple of His eye
wait my friend wait, slow the mind
compare the treasure
wormwood bait or
crowns of fete
4/9/2018
This is an ode to John and his iconic bucolic pub "the Golden Smog" up in Stockton on Tees..
What makes a proper pub?
Unity in a community hub
Immunity from the hubbub
With others shoulders rub
Opportunity you can’t snub
Our own homegrown club
Bubbling banter from the bar
In the cellar need a stellar star
Other views & hues don’t scar
Ales & tales so far above par
No-one argues or does spar
Clinking & sinking another jar
John a helluva fella just say ta
No bigotry is all he does ask
No hate lurking behind a mask
A sisyphean or herculean task
In the company of others bask
No sip from a hidden hip flask
Cheers to beers from the cask
Where the weekend will begin
Delaying within escape the din
Time to spend with ken and kin
Getting you through thick & thin
Whetting our whistles.. chin chin
A third place where a grin will win
To miss this bliss is a cardinal sin
A home from home just staying in!
A strong and new friendship was born at the cancer clinic
Both cry, they had lost the driving force to look forward
The pleasure of a long life and everything they had planned for the future
Hopes and longings ... lost dreams like the shadow of the snake in paradise
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
Everyday life is characterized by grief but also joy
They knew how precious this friendship was //
They talk about everything, even what has never been told before
Like two burning lights that become one
Dealing with the strongest storms ... incoming waves that wrap
Emotional support and confidence in death's waiting room
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
The inkhouse at the writing desk, the tears turn black
They do not have time to wait, see if the wounds will grow //
Life before and after diagnosed cancer of the pancreas
Uncontrolled cell growth, the most dangerous cancer
There are many emotions, thoughts and reactions
A journey separating the road from the deep mountains
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
Anxiety, the treatment is tough, they both know it
An emotional roller coaster, they both spin //
Brothers without blood tie, neither the same mother or father
The last journey was planned without luggage
Two young men, the youngest 28 and the oldest 32
I know, because I followed them as a nurse at hospital
// Brotherhood, together they were strong
Every day they fight a fight
"Light a candle for us tonight, nurse Ann"
A small wish in meaningless battle that eventually ends with a loss //
~ ~ ~
Listen ... clear clinking from heavy keys,
on the other side of the door
The angels are waiting
The pain disappeared
The sun went down
Rest in peace
Amen
12.03.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
1st place in the contest
mountains tumble
across the horizon
twisting the last splinters
of warmth
through heavy hanging
gray soup
listless lifeless
endless sigh
dogs roll over
mown grass
clinking ice
gentle laughter
fluttering chimes
cool breeze
sweet pungent earth
enlivens lungs
ocean cracks
spills sheets
steams stainless barbeque
sizzles fire pit
douses tiki torches
lettuce, tomatoes, chips
condiments
march back inside
under the eaves
gulping rare air
until it freezes
behind the window
white pellets pelt
big red umbrella
guarding the feast
burgers melting cheese
buns toasting
in formation
lining the grate
storm sweeps over
collective gasp
tables towel off
wet dogs play
music marries
dinner mirth
dancing flames
lick black velvet
Friday swells
into sleep-in Saturday
while weaver weaves
another day
THE KNIGHTS NIGHT OUT
The kings knights went out for some drinking
Mead flowed all got drunk armour clinking
A short cut home through the mire
Wearing their heavy attire
One by one they all started sinking...
A STINGING REVENGE
A husband was found out playing away
His wife not happy vowed to make him pay
Caught them in their bed
Both were butt naked
She threw fire ants over them as they lay...
ALWAYS GOOGLE
Old manJohnny found a bomb in his shed
There were two wires a blue and a red
He pulled out the wrong wire
It blew up caused a fire
The next time ill ask Google he said...
LAVATORY BLUES
Fred just made it to the lavatory
Night before he'd ate a dodgy curry
When business was completed
Poor old Fred remained seated
When he saw the dispenser was empty...
In a pickle he thought what can I do
Im stuck in this little room in the loo
He thought this isn't funny
And used his paper money
So let this lim be a warning to you...
Written on 30th August 2020.
It's the beginning of Fall,
chilly days and boring days
are ahead, he notices how tall
are the pines that oversee all;
a rambling guy whistles songs:
does he have a destination in mind,
or he strolls tirelessly to unwind?
His shadow follows him behind!
He longs for his lady's gentle hand,
how distracted are his vague thoughts;
men are very proud of their manhood,
but when they fall it's many desperate tears:
it can happen to anyone not measuring fears,
and unexpectedly all crumbles and shatters!
He spent all his money on cigarettes and beer,
and with a dime in his pocket what can he buy?
Nobody approaches him, they keep going;
should they show empathy for his misery?
Intense is the grief of loss and wandering
he finds nothing of comfort besides jeer!
Cheerful images of kids screaming and playing
make him cry and the relentless tears choke;
and with heaving breath he continues to roam,
not so sure where this long path will lead him!
He wasted his paycheck, smoked deadly coke
and denied reality to pursue what was fulfilling!
He set up a tent in the nearby park and spends
his days playing the harmonica: dimes and nickels
keep clinking, they're enough for a meager meal;
often times his kids walked by and didn't recognize
him with a beard and a filthy face: what a disgrace,
and growing up without him, can their wounds heal?
A cowboy’s life’s not easy,
as he rides across the range.
His bed roll on the saddle;
his spurs, they bang and clang.
A campfire is his cook stove;
the stars above, his map.
A star of the old roundup,
he has to move his cows along.
He won’t be fired from any job;
he’ll ride the long, long path.
Spurred along with thoughts of pay;
saddled with a heavy task.
With the saddle as his pillow,
‘neath a million stars above;
His spurs are quiet for the night;
the cows, they’ll graze and rest.
Tomorrow he will ride again;
beneath old Sol’s scorching rays.
The desert fire, it parches;
a filled canteen’s on the saddle horn.
He rides across the dry, cracked sands;
and sleeps under flickering stars.
Every cow, he will deliver;
now, spurred by nature’s demands.
His clinking, clanking boot spurs,
kick out to smother the fire.
Rounding up the cows again,
he mounts his saddled steed.
Again he’ll be a roundup star,
herding cattle across the range.
He’ll ride into the market,
with spurs jingling, he’ll dismount.
Roundup star will collect his pay
and fire up a cigarette.
With saddle bags across his shoulder;
a well-earned bath and sleep, he’ll get.
He’ll ride back home, the lanky roundup star.
Spurs quiet in the saddle; he’s bought a new guitar.
Sitting by the campfire, cowboy takes some time to play.
"Golden Tapestry"
One day, that San Francisco way
My, oh my, like a rushing waterfall
This hopeless heart did fall.
Tinkling chimes, clinking glasses, music from the East,
Like rushing romantic stanzas swept me off my dreamtime feet.
Some are impressed by great authors or thinkers.
Me...one minute glimpse of your eyes, mesmerizing, godlike winkers!
Will I ever be able to go just one day without thee?
You, the creator of our lives golden tapestry!
Nay, we live in a fragrant field of fairy dreams.
You, forever, my king divine, in our eternal, castle of rainbow schemes.
Play on, instruments of limitless love and light.
An honor to be so bound by love's delight.
Forever your~ Panagiota
April 18. 2020
2pm PST