Long Dangling Poems
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I remember my phone ringing loudly
The sun had only just begun to peer across the horizon
There was a familiar voice on the other line,
“It’s grandpa...”
I knew what that meant, even barely awake at 7 AM
But still, all I could say was “what do you mean”?
I’m not quite sure what I expected her to say, anything other than;
“He’s gone, honey"
But that's all she said
Although we didn’t say goodbye before you laid to rest
I’m positive now, that I could've never guessed;
All the words I might have said, while you laid there dead
All you are now is a memory, a fragment in time at best
But you will always be my grandpa, my hero
The man who saved me from the dangling edge
The gentle cool raindrops
Bestowing the vibe of a caressing mother’s hand
The plump and shiny raindrops
Shimmering like pearls embraced the neck of the angelic lady
The drops falling on the roof
Hold the purity of tears that well out from a love’s eyes
When it downpours,
Resonates garrulous and reminds loquacious people
Dangling raindrops at the tips of blades
Have the richness of the prettiest millennium star diamonds
The drops that fall on the empty vessels
Echoes like spinning marbles that dropped from a child’s hand.
The adhesive rain drops on the window glass
Symbolise one’s deep attachment with bosom friend
When they roll on the lotus leaf
Show how the pure hearts never get affected by sin
When they go deep into a pup’s fur coat
It’s fun! The pretty pup makes tremors to dry up its body
The dried and cracked earth gets chilled
And the dews of elixir sprinkle love and joy everywhere.
Place : 2nd
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pqke_5Yc1Gs&t=12s
He planted baby seeds along the fence
and when summer arrived with her sunny face
dad was rewarded with beautiful morning glories,
that was his recompense;
I was his shadow girl I followed him everywhere
so when he whispered in my ear, come morning they will bloom
I replied with a smile,
I will, I will dad, I'll catch their glorious bloom, I will
at 6 am I awoke to find the patient sun
dangling in a fresh born sky, above the purple morning glories
yesterday a closed up bud, today an open faced flower
dad was right, one must be quick to catch the hour
Up to heaven now he's gone but oh how summers shone
for dad and I when I was six, back in 1966
he raised me like the flowers, with love and tender care
he was an Italian gardener, with a heart of purest gold.
I am bursting with magnetic fascination
Like a chick hatching from the egg
Kin to its fated emancipation
From the great source of an internal connection
To the joy of breathing and grace of living
Dangling by the lessons of love and hate
That stirs emotions supernal to our gates
That open with provoked intoxication
So compelled to natures unparalleled state
Not knowing the way and direction to take
There are no mistakes - only lessons to venerate
Like a chick hatching from the egg
Wobbly but standing on fresh new legs
Dangling by the lessons of love and hate
That pain and comfort be the teacher
Straightforward and sideways always stepping towards its fate
Joyous to be free as nature's perfect creature
For Contest: Fine Tune This Collaboration
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
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so many frigid clouds
so many dangling drooping dippers
on this icy, icy night of paper, powder and pearl…
she gushes out from the night blanket,
cats and tigers in flight, trees mashing ivory
feathers with silver stones.
her lukewarm eyes sink with velvet birds
sketching her photographs tissue crepe,
ocean crème and maiden white,
nesting on hemisphere’s balding coves
the sky-lamps trip on her thermal feet
naked… i mean, like breasts of newborn doves
on the nest’s chilled waiting room...
and just past midnight
at the basement of stillness, nothingness,
her translucent air swerves in transit
between visions of secluded saints and sinners
weeping then laughing at the bite of polar time.
this moon lady of frost
embraces lantern clouds waning,
heralding her sacred infant-like incantation
seemingly detached from earth mother’s limbs
on this icy, icy night of paper, powder and pearl…
she is cold changing to warm,
breathless along an arctic season longing
for her new moonchild to bear the fruits
of plump colors soon to be.
........................................
(( here's to: Chris D. Aechtner's " Free Verse for Winter"))
As a writer, I am charmingly unoriginal. I use the same letters as everyone else and much of the identical punctuation but in my defense, Coca-Colas are all the same, and each one is delightfully refreshing.
On Sundays my Grandmère throws these fêtes, ‘social lunches’ where anyone might drop in - attendance, I‘m told, can be a social signal. Two weeks ago, it was fashion week and ‘smart society’ (the vampire pale and dangerously thin individuals casually dressed to kill) were trolling for fun.
There were about 150 people there, like the Mayor of Paris, Saint Laurent’s Anthony Vaccarello, Léna Situations (GenZ influencer), Just Riadh (comedian), Delphine Arnault and the Archbishop of Paris - to name a few. But I was only there for a half an hour, and it wasn’t my job to take roll.
Now, these parties all play-out, to me, like romcom ‘problem comedies.’ You have the ever-present and delicate aroma of cocktails, an Archbishop (subconsciously dangling the high trap of moral purification and great, heavenly rewards), elder frenchmen, like my uncle Remy with his languid, cigarette-lipped, smoke-cured profanity, some models hoping to be seen and younger, eager eyed, corporate boy-men types ogling every feminine creature with alcoholic heartiness.
I don’t think Grandmère sees the fun undercard of human foibles, but there are big alcohol-fueled feelings in every register as these events hit their peak. Growing up, at these things, I’d sit quietly in a corner, usually with a book, pretending to read and just people watch. Everyone’s coming and going (‘free-drinks’) but 30 or 40 people are always around somewhere.
These days, Peter shares my little, flowered, corner settee. We sit, shoulder to shoulder, and snark, like huckstas for a sports book, about who’s thirsty for whom. It’s all questionable information, surface impressions and instant verdicts.
.
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A Song for this:
Someone In The Crowd - Emma Stone, Callie Hernandez, Sonoya Mizuno & Jessica Rothe
Being carful where you then tread
If ever this girl you should meet
Try if you can not to be misslead
As she really is not quite so sweet
If ever you get caught up in her web
Of nothing other than lies and deceit
She will have you dangling by a thread
You are nothing but mercy at her feet
You can always play dumb or play dead
Best though to hold back and dont retreat
Because if you let her get in to your head
You may as well just then admit defeat
An exstension of other writes devious her name ect just word
Play words used in diffrent context ..
amber skies announce autumn
black bats and black cats
costumes line the sidewalks
Dracula climbs out of his crypt
elves, faeries and brownies dance the streets
Freaks are getting on their freak
Ghostly ghouls and goblins chase princesses
Halloween parade is in rare gear
Ideal night for trick-or-treat
Jack-o-lanterns proudly sit
Knives focus in on the pretty ones at hand
Leave some candy for me! Says my aunt Fran
Monsters appear out of the October mist
Noisy neighbors watch from inside their house
Orange and black crepe paper in store windows
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream is in my frig
***** creatures zigzag in and out of walkers
rambunctious teenagers scare the little ones
spidery webs are dangling from many porches
trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!
Under the bridge scary ghost stories are being told
Vim and vigor oozes out of every Captain America five-year-old
Witches cackle as their green faces wander the streets
‘xtravagant costumes try to one-up the rest of us
Yellow-eyed cats miss nothing
zinging in and out are goblins carrying large sacks
4. Quantum Superposition
. A particle can exist in multiple states or places simultaneously until measured
Are humans waves or particles?
Even an entire human being, under the right conditions, can act like a quantum wave. If we can define it, we can quantify just how “wave-like” a particle or set of particles is.
I count the magnificent moons
in my stills as I await the phantom voyeur
with stone blue eyes and a fated look, which sets upon me
The one who stirs my soul, measuring me up in coiled silvery spoons
What obsessive observations you must have
not to turn away those piercing eyes
My world stops, my feelings set on and off
Unseen I meander in other spaces
Your eyes are the “switch” without that which
forbids my existence, hence looped are my stills in many places
From the center of life’s probabilities
Spaciously lit across the universe, with bits of me in tow
Collapsed in your arms, we’ve launched our rainbow
Revealing our humanity in the flesh,
in language of mathematician’s music
Riding the unscrupulous waves of light
roaming across all existence,
reverberating ruthless through you, displacing us
Composing are the alchemists and their peers ~
Splitting into a myriad of mirrors
I bare myself to a random reality,
Totality’s filigree, tangling dangling
When you’re not here,
when you’re lost in thought
As the haze spins up and down around me
my world is unseen and the scale’s unbalanced
Showcasing that I’m equally dead as I am alive
Resuscitate me not—please, it’s here that
monotonous music is unheard in this uncertain trapeze
Until eyes of azure translucence are upon,
I cease to exist in fervor, in your zeal
Alive and very real to boot!
I’m gauged like the intrinsic brightness that shines off a star
Until then, am I just a figment of deepest intensity?
By far, humbled to be, take the bait and consummate my reality
Be the glance exigency
Impenetrable eyes of bluest skies I’ve lost sight of you
As a still, until we meet again
No torrid steel rod will cauterize my wounds
I cannot lick these festering gashes clean
Your sharp-bladed tongue has bitten deeply
fangs plunged with each vile cursed scene
No mere prick or scratch did you inflict
as thorns draw drops from a finger laid bare
You severed our dangling cord with a stare
Without gauntlet thrown before you swayed
I was waylaid in the pitfall of vows betrayed
I sat weeping upon moistened ground
faintly hearing your snarling sound
a vile bitterness in your laughter as I stir
If you have a conscience, I shall be its burr
You turned your back and ran away
Now that your cruelty has been done
but there is no victory to be claimed by you
for there is nothing you have won
How often you preyed on others
while you played at being sanctimonious
Liquid courage brings death that smothers
I escaped the hold you once held
before my life was snuffed and felled
I still breathe and I've no fear to speak
It's you who proved to be weak
My tongue holds daggers of its own
whetted on the grindstone of deception
I was hungry for strength, parched with thirst
to take vengeance as my anger grew
Getting even was long past due
But hurting you would label me evil
That's the last thing I ever desire to be
Vengeance will never be mine to take
and accepting that has set me free
Years will pass but I'll never forget
that I once loved you, yet I sorely regret
not realizing the kind of person you are
I've moved on and no longer grieve
while you still swim in the deep dark waters
of your besotted world of make believe