Long Crackle Poems
Long Crackle Poems. Below are the most popular long Crackle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crackle poems by poem length and keyword.
Baxter was born in a meadow
under a rotting plank
with hundreds of brothers and sisters
in a home both darkly and dank.
His momma was a June Bug
and he was a June Bug too,
schooled in all the sorts of things
that June Bugs love to do.
He grew up fast, it was time to fly
and leave his happy home,
his momma went to the book case
and pulled out a well worn tome.
She read from a chapter called "Hazards"
to each of her children dear,
“Stay clear of birds when you’re flying
or you won't last out the year."
"And one more thing that you should know,
and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
So he left his home behind him,
went flying all around,
he saw some birds in the tree tops
and headed right for the ground.
After landing in the tall grass
he met a stink bug named Dwight
who told him wonderful stories
of an light so purple and bright.
"Forget now what your mother said,
I'm here to set you straight,
the orb is just a doorway,
you know, it's like a gate."
"When you enter into its brightness
you're magically swept away
to a lovely world of happiness
where forever you can stay."
So Baxter started searching,
he looked both high and low
and if he found the purple orb
straight to it he would go.
But the light was very clever,
it kept its secret well,
but Baxter kept on looking
as if he was under a spell.
Finally on an August eve
just as darkness was appearing
he spotted a distant purple glow
across a meadow's clearing.
"It must be the orb,” he said to himself,
so he flew with all his might
across the meadow with all due speed
toward that beautiful purple light.
Soon he hovered before it
and bathed in its eerie glow,
what wonders lay in store for him
his mind could scarcely know.
Gathering up his courage
into the purple light he sped,
crackle and zap was all he heard
as he fell to the ground near dead.
He lay in a growing pile
of other bugs who'd seen
a purple orb up in the sky,
but it wasn't what it seemed.
So if you meet a stink bug
who goes by the name is Dwight
don't believe the tales he tells
of a beautiful purple light.
Remember what Baxter's momma said,
"and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
Mosquito Bat
Peering closely, I sought to quickly skim through the online latest news …
True to form, I am a stickler for keeping up with the latest happening news…
Given this internet age and its borderless media reach, there’s always something…
So much to read, so much to keep up to date, just so one’ll be a better man for reading…
Then it happened, even as I was about to scroll the displayed page with the mouse button..
There came a familiar high pitched whine, softly at first but intensifying as its source approaches…
Christ! A blasted mosquito, high tailing in my direction, to my right pinky ear, to be precise…
I froze all motion, rolled and strained my eyeball to squint out of the corner of my right eye…
I saw, at the periphery of my field of vision, the fast approaching obnoxious blood sucker…
Silvery wings furiously beating as it made a bee line to my ear, a beacon for a typical bloody dinner…
Cautiously yet sparing no delay, I reached out for my trusty rechargeable electric mosquito bat…
The offending insect was just about to land, circling in ever tightening circles as I grasped my bat…
Bat upraised in hand, I did a quick head swivel , the dastardly insect was now plain in my sight …
Ah ha, now you are my victim, you stupid little insect! I gloated inwardly as I eyeballed the insect..
Dinner lost, the sudden shift in air movement must have warned this bloodthirsty sucker…
There was a quick change in its flight pattern, it tried to fly out of my vision, tried to flee from danger …
Here, eat this, you bloody miserable ungodly insect! Unhurriedly, almost leisurely, I waved my bat…
Right across the flying path of the fleeing little insect, there was no escape for such was its fate…
A sharp crackle and a quick spark of light, the poor mosquito was no more, no longer in sight…
A plume of whitish smoke, an acrid smell of burnt organic material, yup it was no more alright…
Mentally, I blew across the end of my smoking gun barrel like any swashbuckling vigilante..
Gee, what a lethal combination, me and this rechargeable electric mosquito bat each day…
Got to get a spare, just in case, like my daddy used to say, get ready for a rainy day…
An electric mosquito bat, dear readers, it is a must- have gadget to get, to keep up to date........
Stretching at the very heavens are the braches of autumn,
It is becoming the season of death, and mother natures promise
Of rebirth is with drawing, leaving nothing behind but stilled
Whispering echoes.
The very ground itself grows fidgeted, as winters icy finger tips
Strangle at earths raw under belly, finally it yields to the pains
Agony and nature lies slain, forced into hibernation’s sleep, until
Spring breath will awaken it at last, with resurrection’s sweet kiss of life
Once more.
A screeching black raven clings to the darkening skies, one by one do
These harvengers of death land atop the trees icy prongs that bend and
Brake beneath their feather weight of distain.
Dark eyed demons ever watching, waiting unto the night takes passion
Of this world of the living, these sentinels of the demonic peck, and strike
At one another with anticipations things to come by night.
A stilled silence blankets the forest; nothing stirs except the creaking of
The ice in a near by stream, on the path a sobering wind rustles at the deadened
Leaves that crackle in the fall breeze.
It so creeps forward the feeling of uneasiness, the soft breath blowing against
The back neck hairs of humanity, a lumbering heaviness boggs down the air itself,
Almost choking the life from all living things in the surrounding venue.
Excited the black birds take winged flight, soaring screeching, announcing it
Comes, it comes!!
Shuttering nature pulls its white snow covering over its very head, she even
Wishes not to see, this true face of evil that cometh forward, the ethereal trap
Door has been triggered, and what elopes onwards cannot be stopped by
Any powers on earth.
Blow does the trumpets of heaven, angels take to the winds of destiny, beckoning
The evil to with draw, but it mocks at them, screaming in a howling’s rebuking,
I listen not to the likes of thee!!
Then a light unseen for many a millennium comes forward, it is the light of
Everlasting salvation, then creature of darkness shall thee do battle with me,
Nay I will with draw, backwards from winnest it came it vaporizes and disappears.
In the woods there is a path, never to crossed by humanity, their thou shall not
Step, for the essence of evil’s cold chill still lingers, in the autumn chilling wind.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Sinfonia
Phi For One
Mu for Alpha
Orange splices of pure fire fall to the cavernous wall as if the world was on its head,
Shadows of friends in greeting prints the rock a far,
I sit in comfort and complete humility by a roaring fire of fraternity.
I ponder my great quest for fire.
A long road remembered,
As barber drips from the pores of my soul chanting a deafening memory of my initiation.
The end is near, the wait is impossible, my stomach churns but I don’t care. I whisper to my earned brother, “where are we?”, “In the middle of no where in a freezing car.” Several hours go by and nay we pledges have much importance. Finally, the sounds of gravel hence at approaching membership. I hold and follow my earned brother along a steep and rocky path. I peer down my nose at my feet, barely staying vertical. I feel a blaze of warmth and hear a hissing crackle as if cast into the inferno of hell and damnation. An eerie silence blanketed by the radiance of Adagio. I feared the unknown and was most untrusting of the “Actives.” Who con and deceive. I trust Nathan and Dustin though, and they would not harm me! My mind never rested, I considered every course of retaliation, every out, every option.
At last I remove my blindfold destination revealed with aww.
Fresh and clear meanings defined.
My ritual, praised by youthful hearts, of Orpheus.
I am proud in brotherhood and understanding. I finally ware my gray hoody with the letters PHI MU ALPHA.
I (and others) have traveled great distances in Phi for One.
This One is but Mu, and can only be found in the leap of Alpha.
The Mu is necessary for Alpha and such a night is latent in all our minds
At nights end we all have replenished our souls with remembrance of fraternal meaning and brotherly spirit.
Raise your prelude to all the brothers, we sing.
A large circle of brothers arm over shoulder singing proud and loud on this cold damp November starry night.
This night is replayed over and over in my mind, reaffirming my commitment too Iota Rho’s long honored traditions. Time is irrelevant though we say its not. Perfection is of no concern, though we heave its importance.
At last the echo carries… SIN..FON..IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa! At last the traditions are entrusted to the next generation.
Travel the pathway of my life,
Read the letters written in thoughts untold,
Bold memories and precious joys,
Inspirations who reveal my heart’s silence,
Mixed with rhythms of grace, hope and peace
Feelings who tempt souls to believe…
Yes, this is the moment when I feel gentle relief,
Wonderful that can amaze, wisdoms
Falling in waves, on seas of yesterdays,
Before I knew the way toward home, the way…
Through lights who silence and calm,
Soothing away shadows with a beautiful,
Resilient, brave enough to ride on the storm,
Inspiring the songs that are ever born
From tenderness, undefeated and believing…
Journey the trails who pass over the night,
Leaving reflections of stars glistening so alive,
Filling the heavens, erasing shadowy skies,
Promising moon’s flow will ever quiet the fear,
Rousing floods of feeling, glowing
Resting on the mountains and revealing all the hope
Discovered inside prayers who rightly believe…
Oh, yes, this is the grave of doubt and defeat,
Trapped in the struggle with misery so weak,
Echoing fragments of former dreams,
Lasting promises who bring the dread relief,
Desperate darkness who claims passion’s wings,
Grieving the spirit who will ever believe…
Speak of the endless moments we laugh,
Foretelling the joy, the elation, the gladness,
Glistening like dew on the rose’s frail shadow,
Welcoming the seasons with all their genius,
Shrewdly painting the memories with gentle stirrings,
Lingering on the kindness’, the victories, the silent winds
Who upset the oaks and pines, leaving gusts of joy behind,
Remembering the crackle of leaves as they embrace the earth,
Persuading the breathless kisses of autumn’s finger,
Gripping the heart, convincing even harvest time to keep believing..,
Yes, oh yes… just believe and don’t doubt
Believe in His kindness, His compassion and the reminder
That this is a love far stronger, far surer, far more alive
Than any power on this earth! Just believe in the One
Who lived and died and is awaiting those who hear His voice
In His heavenly home, where those who believe will one day go!
Never stop believing… He is forever forgiving and He is forever giving!
His saving grace is still open to those who simply believe HIM!
The bridge/ Hear that?/ Snap it pop it / Not the one of stone and steel, holding cars and trains aloft/ This bridge hums/ It vibrates/ yellin’, mo’ funk and groove please woven into the boss horns strung with a bassline thick as smoke and Clyde Stubblefield holding down the fat beat/
Acid Jazz snap pop snap de beat/ tradition on one side, diggin’ for the now, for the new/ Jazz, ancient and revered, but dust collecting on the shelf, needed a spark, a jolt, a psychedelic brother a sister like no other/ Acid Jazz, the answer/
A handshake and a high five between jazz straight ahead and a synthesizer’s jazz fusion swing/
A knowing nod to Coltrane remixed into becoming the nu Acid Jazz king/Trane is way dope now to a whole new listening audience/
skillfully crafted club bangin’ acid jazz lick and samples/ the veins of hip-hop, throbbing hard and raw as DJs scratched the beats deeply rooted in the arrangements of funk jazz numerology/
Did deep house feel its pulse, its rhythmic pull/ Broken beat, fractured and funky, did it recognize its kin, polyrhymatics and the turntables… Oh, the turntables sang a different song/ a revolution spun on vinyl, a rebellion built on rhythm, Jazz and Soul/ Rap, HipHop and acid jazz as a Voice for Rebellion and Social Change / DJ Kool Herc, a sonic architect, laying foundations in the park and party basements/ Grandmaster Flash, a surgeon of sound, slicing and dicing the beat/ Afrika Bambaataa, a global sound system, uniting tribes with groove/
yo bruh, reality check/ They weren’t just playing records, they were playing the instrument/Scratching, back spinning, beat juggling – a symphony of skill/ Mix masters, beat captains, electronic alchemists, wizards behind the wheel of Hip Hop fortune/ They birthed a new language, a dialect of dance, a history rewritten in the hiss and crackle of vinyl on a HiFi Stereo/ Acid Jazz… Modern Jazz… Trip hop, Latin Tech House/ The DJ Culture… Rap, Hip-Hop, a family born from a shared rebellion, Formidable, Definitive/ Each is a testament to the power of sound, to the bridge built on a bassline, drum sample/
a thump, a bump on a low rider jam/ to the future forged in the fire of the beat/ The voyage is not over/ I have a fear of standing still…like I’m outta of here/
I emerged / born with a silver pen in hand
…and a tempest raging within.
Words writhe, a serpent's coil
…tightening their grip
A soul adrift in a sea of
…self-made iniquity.
I buried my daddy
…in the black shoe
…by the Yew tree
Yes, I, the beekeeper’s daughter
…bearing the weight of hexagonal cells
A hive of memories
…buzzing with secrets.
The bell jar shattered
….a fractured hive.
Its glass walls no longer a prison
…but a shattered cocoon
……a metamorphous!
Pain and disdain drip like honey
…a bittersweet nectar of survival.
He, a poet
…crowned in the harsh light of fame
Bound in chains of duty and shame
His words
…a romance of lure and alarm.
Echoing the sirens' song
…enticing and harmful.
Yet, his tongue
…a viper’s forked lie.
Whispers truths and half-truths
…conjuring illusions to die.
Wandering the maze of being
A little fugue of
…fractured fairytales.
Each note a fleeting glimpse of clarity
Lost in the discordant
…cacophony of life's emptiness.
Like my "Little Fugue" a dance of shadows
A journey through the corridors of the mind
Seeking answers in the interplay of light and dark
Striving for harmony amidst the chaos
Parchment of blood and ink I leave
A riddle of life and death's plea
Maniacal madness with visions slight
A macabre dance upon the night.
Ariel, brings lightning and fire!
With heavy heart
…I sealed my children's room.
Softly kissed them farewell
……Extinguishing the final flame within.
Enveloped in oblivion's velvet veil
………Yielding to the oven’s cold caress.
…………No, more morning songs...
Inscribed a cryptic goodbye
Breathed in the silent slayer.
For, I Lady Lazarus
…Dying is an art
……Faded into the ether…
Her blacks crackle and drag, a fire of new birth
Flames licking at the borders of life
Consumed by oblivion's greedy blaze
Lost in the vast cosmic ray.
The embers die
…a fleeting spark gone
No masterpiece
…….just dust reclaimed
A silent echo in the void unstained.
A mystery lost
………never quite explained.
Yet, God's Lioness
...Fierce and Untamed
Roaring her defiance
…Covered in darkness…
----
Underneath the star-strewn skies
A fleeting passing note.
Lost in the vast expanse
Living on the edge
For, I am but a speck of dust.
The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
about turnin 60 today around noon
"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday
It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale
The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
is still younger than all those 61—to real old
In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me
So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more
Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall
The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense
And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done
When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song
I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had
Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be
But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind
The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me
And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
cinch his riggin real tight”
Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard
And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
“Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”
For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark
While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my eye,
and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways from g’bye
(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993
POSESSION
The astral priest saw that the time had come
To finally invoke an Aztec god,
He left his family and Friends behind
To go to Tlaxcala on the day of the wind
To call Quetzalcoatl with bone flute and drum.
Then when Venus shone through a lens
On a shattered stone ruin six hundred years old,
He stood by high columns engraved
With scenes from the lives of the gods,
The moon glinting occultly on onyx and gold.
His feathered cape and the jaguar mask
He wore began moving all on their own,
The eagle claws strapped to his wrist
Shook with anger, with passion and pride.
The Lady of the Serpent Skirts
Howled in the bowels of limestone caves,
And in the hall of Smoking Mirrors
Tezcatlipoca took aim at the Sun.
Double-headed feathered serpents
Coiled about the calender stone,
And even the pavement ‘pon which he stood
Rang with the spells of ancient wizards.
Then to his shock a crackle of lightning
Leapt up his spine and burst in his brain,
And then the hot fire assaulting his nerves
Sent him convulsing with terror and joy.
The god was demanding, he urged the priest
To climb out of his skin and leap into flame,
To cook his heart well as a meal for the gods,
To break all his limits - surrender at once
To waste not a second, but ride the tornado,
To seize the anaconda and tame it with a glance,
To penetrate flint with his fingers and eyes
To enter volcanoes and dance on the boiling
Magma within the Earth’s orange cleft,
To be at once an atom and star,
To see all Space as the ground of Being.
And then to fall screaming into the Abyss.
From somewhere out of the silence came drumming,
The drumming of shamans invoking spirits,
Guardian spirits of wolves and crows
Gathering round to aid the priest.
And then at last he knew whence the drumming,
Just the rain pounding the roof of his skull.
Lightning lit a fire
And drifting off to sleep the flames revealed
Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca
Fought their way through thirteen hells.
Their warriors, the Eagle and the Jaguar knights,
Exchanged obsidian butterflies.
The feathers wafting in the wind
Became the crimson clouds at dawn.
A cool scented breeze caressed his neck,
Raindrops gleamed on a spider’s web,
Sunlight filled the turquoise sky.
The Cunning Stranger at Dragon's Lair - A Narrative Poem
One day at a comic shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.
"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money (wow)."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
This ain’t no zoo or pet store!
"We've got some interesting comics,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some ergonomics."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The store owner said I got Batman # 7;
The man said I’d rather have rabies.
The man seemed exceptionally energetic,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call acetic,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit cunning.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty stunning.
In his hand was Spider-man # 5.
In mint condition worth $1.000.00, what a fine;
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the comic shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."
"Cats, bats, you shall not find.
Comics, ergonomics, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Dragon's Lair Comics.
So to Dragon's Lair Comics, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling comics,
Role-playing cards many heroes shades.
There were even stalls selling home economics
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather cunning
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all stunning.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some comics and cats.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Next door to the comic shop Acme Pet Store?
For you see a pet bat, not a cat or a comic was I looking for
6/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.