Long Harpsichords Poems
Long Harpsichords Poems. Below are the most popular long Harpsichords by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harpsichords poems by poem length and keyword.
clatter-claws scratching drum skins.
Pigeons are the worst. Rose bushes sit quietly all summer
then only after they have lost their heads
do they squeak and squawk all night.
Dry joints crunch down - listening synovial cartilages
stick shift and slip out of gear.
There is the slap-smacking juggle of junk mail
as it flaps its paper wings and falls.
Some sounds remind of…
Dead-spaces clambering up a back wall,
chicken bones rattling on a tin roof,
or deranged harpsichords
goading the moon to shake its yellow faced tambourine.
Some sounds are knuckles cracking under cliffs of silence.
Sleep prods woke ribs till the breaking dawn.
When alone in a quiet space
still the distant slamming of doors,
or the rattle of castanets
confirm that the world is not shut out
but just moving from room to room,
soon it will burst through paper-thin walls,
skeletons will make love on tin roofs,
harpsichords will rattle amid
the bedsprings of sleep.
The need to be alone even when alone,
hides an even deeper want.
Corridors where the days tramp
echo with a ghostly clamor.
Busy junctions behind closed eyes
erupt where the dead and the living gather
to talk louder than thought.
To be the only listener at the water cooler
or in a crowded auditorium; that is the answer.
Alas when the hall empties,
when the last exit closes behind
the high pitched babble and laughter,
there is still a strident chorus line
of memories stomping echoing boards,
a whooping louder than any voice
anywhere.
inside of twenty takes
dirty filled frames
no resolution
to me the family
that a ugly
call me
cat purrs on approach
welcome spat
too literal
gotta reclamation
eye's cried so much relief
brushes is dusty clean
practice strokes at the gentleman's table
romanticism, adjatate, harpsichords
classified and credentialed
white ink's a tank thinking
'I remember", "he"
distract the trap, autumns born
waves of green mustard gas
country come plains, it's not your first mistake
chains on protest for poverty effort
2am production prints
beggars, dodgers, i aint your draft calling
pre screened and bread
my land by sea
indoors, know hoe
get to work, beach gone
pushing, yeah who's double checked
out of decks, on paper
iliterations an postulates
hot boxes of brake dust
crescent shaped credit creased
basic design, irish blazee, defend
de speak
Spirits of the woodland deep.
Gather, please, at gate.
Shadow, dark fire, through me seep!
Hummingbirds can hate!
Where the prickly pear was grown?
Deep beneath a lake.
Where the angry god was thrown?
Someone made mistake...
There to build, O pyramid!
Tumble down the step.
Deterrence means getting rid?
Soldiers, step with pep.
Stars above the forest?
From heaven, do ye swing?
Harpsichords, harpy, ne'er rest.
Sight-line, foe to sing.
Awkward position? Well, done.
Servants of the One.
Oracle, scion, vision.
Blink and it's begun...
Whiplash? Sword, deliver slash?
If you've got the cash!
Otherwise be-fevered bash.
Dessicate the dash...
Crater, thy rim. Tyrant, whim.
Abysm to swim.
O dark chasm, lights a-dim?
Except moment grim...
Some sounds are
sinewy toes scratching drum skins,
a pigeon shuffle-dance on unseen roofs,
a clatter in the flap and coo.
Rose bushes are mute,
until they have lost their heads
then they squeak and squawk.
A soft-slap of junk mail onto an empty hand,
paper wings falling in an overheard flutter.
Some sounds remind of…
dead-space clambering up a blank wall,
chicken bones rattling in the bubbling-boil;
the sound of deranged harpsichords.
Other sounds are knuckles cracking
under cliffs of silence.
The stuttering oaths of paws gripping
ice.
The ratatattat scrabble of cats
chasing rats.
Sleep prods ribs until they break-up
with the prattling night,
ear-bones surface, deafened
by the cutting edge of a yammering light.
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
O emptiness of space, thy harpsichords. Whole?
Panels out of place, looking-glasses smashed.
Bitter winds, thy frost. Sickness, dole, O soul.
Chaffy grain beneath the tired thresher slashed.
Turmoil, tamarisk tree. Toil? Thunderbolt.
Hated are the days of life gone dry. Why?
Reality thinned, then forgot how to fly.
Happy thoughts, lost. Cost? Harvest season molt.
Protection? None. Been and done. Sun? Hostile.
Yellow as eyes on a predator? Pill.
Alcohol, wormwood, erasure, vile vial.
Guns, thy salute. Funeral. Lunge, then still.
Ravine, out back and filled with water. Caught.
Animals afloat, belly up, life flew.
Grey old men, hope is a mystery. Clue?
Sparks, burned out and skittering. Fire, cold. Bought.
Doom, close in on all. Deliverance? None.
Stifled by Fate and Fortune? Withheld. New?
Nothing under the sun, scion. Red run.
Grasping fingers and a quill, quahog. Brew.
Wasteland, receive. Gold, far. Sandbar, choke. Smoke.
Poison, leap from serpent's fang. Deeply sunk.
Peril, everywhere. Round upward, time. Soak.
Continent, beneath water. Ocean, plunk.
Clatter claws cascade downward into listening drums.
Pigeons are the worst. Rose bushes sit quietly all summer
then only after they have lost their heads
do they scratch and squark nightly.
Toilets that are not in your home haunt and taunt.
Dry joints crunch down - listening synovial cartilages
stick shift and slip out of gear.
There is the jack-hammer juggling of junk mail
as it flaps its paper wings and falls untidily.
Sometimes dreams climb over the hedgerow,
clamber up a back wall, and then hollow bones play
upon the rooftop - deranged harpsichords
goad a hungry moon to howl for something dead.
Knuckles crack under a sheer cliff of silence.