Long Jangled Poems
Long Jangled Poems. Below are the most popular long Jangled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jangled poems by poem length and keyword.
The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek
The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
as the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far peak
Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
like they had grown there
Dusty spurs jangled as he trotted into the sleepy town
A saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat was stained with sweat
from the hard ride
Reins dangled in the dirt
The horse hung his head, relieved to not
be moving anymore
A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory
He pulled a cigarillo out, and with one smooth
movement wiped a match on his pants, the tiny
flame igniting
He puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the night
Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door
The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch, the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back
He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time
Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and entered the saloon,
honky-tonk piano music played
The doors behind him whispered back and forth
The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman
The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze sidling away
Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked
Show me your coin, the barkeep growled
His days were numbered
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch would find
him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree
From Latin and ancient Greek, English derived three words:
poesy is the creation, the art work of poetic composition.
poem is the created, with beauty of language and expression.
poet is the creator or maker, with the gift of poetic thought, imagination,
and eloquence of expression.
A poet is born with a troubled and jangled spirit within,
forced to express what is seen, imagined and dreamed in words
for themselves and for anyone who hears or reads their works.
A poet is a miserly wordsmith, in love with words, their meanings, sound and strangeness.
A poet is an artist, painting with words and expression, but not constrained by form or method.
A poet is a skilled craft person, creating and making works and compositions,
but is not restricted by tools nor craft rules or disciplines.
A poet is a skilled musician using rhyme, meter and rhythm to create word scores,
but can also use line breaks, punctuation and the words themselves to create sounds.
Often the sounds made are jarring and discordant to create an effect or evoke a response,
but not all poetry is for a performance.
A poet is a peddler of emotions and feelings evoked in the writer and reader,
eliminating from deep within and as reactions to what is happening or not happening.
Poets are free to use whatever verse and form they choose.
There is no right way to eloquently express their art and craft; it is the poet's choice.
The best description of a poet is a person with an eternal fountain of jangles.
The jangles of emotions, feelings and life's journey within must be expressed, written or spoken about.
Nature and the world about triggers jangles, metaphors, memories, responses and associations to be expressed.
The poet writes to be read and have their thoughts and mind outpourings jangle response in their audience.
Artistically rendering words, much loved and cherished, in ways to evoke intense emotion in the hearer and listener.
The poet seeks jam sessions of free improvised jangling with self or with anyone who reads or listens.
The poet a lover of words, a wordsmith, peddling jangles.
You can tell him no
but the training wheels on his head
spin on,
he thinks you don’t mean it,
that you don’t mean a thing
even when that ‘thing’ is a
tense bubble of spitting camels.
He just keeps on talking
as if you had never said so
or he had not glimpsed bared
broad yellow teeth.
He is an old branch of my tree
his teeth clatter
as his stiff leaves rattle you
into a nervous tick and frozen smile.
Yet a part of him is child-like
not young but green stemmed
and river deep in its sap.
When I ply him with wine
thinking I might wilt his scratchy chatter
he can flick and startle jangled nerves
with a pliant and quick stepping wisdom
and a spry sly humor,
a wit sprung from a well deeper than mine,
then I wish I were also that fresh a watering,
and not a herder of fractious
even-toed ungulates.
The cold hit me, it froze my soul
The last gasp of air knocked from my body
Down, down, down in some deep dark wet hole
I was lost I was gone, there would be no more me.
I opened my eyes and looked into known death
The eye of a beast stared back.
I knew that I was holding my breath
Yet desperately trying to claw my way back.
Its teeth the beast then did bare
The jaws opened wide and it expelled
The last meal devoured, how would I fare?
The last of the air in my lungs I held.
Bones and bodies of undigested food did surround
My eyes open wide, fear did abound
Was I to be the last meal of the beast?
Was it on me that it was now going to feast?
Prayers hurled through my jangled mind
Thoughts of would any of my body they find
My parents no funeral would they have for me
As the meal of this beast I knew I was going to be.
© GG 16/08/2103
I know what I need to do
I want to get in touch with you
You're perfect for me in every way
I can no longer let you slip away
I hope and pray it's not too late
And too much time has passed.
Yessssiirrreee, that's what I want to do
I would always make time for you
You encouraged me from the start
were straightforward and didn't tangle with my heart.
when I tried to quit
You motivated me all along.
It's only appropriate
you're essential to this song.
When our eyes locked
I lovingly gazed at you
I know what I need to do
I want to get in touch with you
You're perfect for me in so many ways
I can no longer let you slip away
Before it's too late
And too much time has passed
You encouraged me from the start
And never gave up on me
When I tried to quit
You motivated me all along.
I loved gazing in your eyes
And watching you move across the room
I admired you from afar.
I tried not to let it show
Your presence was the reason for my glow
I know what I want to do
It's crucial I see you soon
I hope and pray it's not too late
I'd like to ask you on a date.
To be honest, life hasn't been so sunny this past year
But the thought of you calms my jangled nerves
Easing my insecurity and fears
You always stood up for me
Even when I was at my weakest and broken down in tears.
I remember the click click jangle jangle of her rummage . Oh
what a beautiful mess it was as she plucked out a red rosary
for me hold. "Here this one is for you " she said as we settled
in to begin our prayers to Mary. In that little makeshift room
she called a chapel we prayed by early morning, making Saturdays blessed with the warm glow of prayer.
Back then she didn't have so much gray in her hair and her body wasn't ravaged by time. She was strong, vibrant, a challenger of life itself. Straight as an arrow she never fudged it up for me, she told it like it was. . That little chapel held secrets only God could ever speak of. Truth be told, I miss that little chapel. I miss my mom. I long for another day with her and the jangled up mess of rosaries that said, we got Faith.
Most of all I miss that neutral scent that said, "I'm always here. " Endearing words were not needed back then, I knew I was loved. Today her absence shouts louder then her presence ever did.
I look out a window and remember my every day life with her.
My how the years have flown. I recall that precious mother that was once here, and I smile.
The alleyways within the maze are paved with rats and mice.
Evangelists with moneyed fists collect the sacrifice
from losers scorned and rubes reborn, and promise paradise,
while in the back they cook some crack, inhale, and roll the dice.
A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter,
the passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads and mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to wash the lanes, to clear away the clutter.”
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.
Though rip-off shops and crooked cops are paid not once but thrice,
the painted girl with flaxen curl is paring down her price
and loosely tempts cold hands unkempt to touch the merchandise.
A crazy guy cries “where am I”, a schizo titters twice,
and double quick a lunatic affects a fight with lice.
The jungle teems, a siren screams, the air is filled with meth.
The Reverent Priest and nuns unleash the Holy Shibboleth.
And Righteous Jane who is insane, as well as Sister Beth,
while telling tales to no avail of everlasting death,
at least imbue Hagg Avenue with whisky on their breath.
The Reverent Priest combats the Beast, they’re kneeling down to prey,
to fight the truth with fang and tooth, to toil for yesterday,
to etch their mark within the dark, to paint their résumé
on shrouds and sheets which then completes the devil’s dossier.
Old dan, he's drunk and in a funk, all mired in the mud.
A Monk begins to wash Dan’s sins, and asks “How are you, Bud?”
“I’m feeling pain and crying rain till soon there is a flood.
And no god’s there who seems to care I’m always coughing blood.”
The Monk, he turns, Dan’s words he spurns and lets the bible thud.
Well, Banjo Boy, he will annoy with jangled rhymes that fray:
“The clanging bells of carousels lead blind men’s minds astray
to rings of gold they’ll never hold in fingers made of clay.
But crest and crown will crumble down, when withered roots decay.”
Continued
dawn dual duel
two poets
a face-off duel joust
free verse rhyme verse
a modernist traditionalist
mull and muse tell it true
prompt a reaction lay it out there
lover of words, jarring lover of pattern, rhyming
readers response individual readers all delight alike
anything goes on loose lines strict punctuation and meter
memories jogged and jangled memories lovingly recalled
stark and confronting language beautiful nice melodious words
leaves reader's questions unanswered readers cherish the poems like songs
10 free steps 10 syllables
bang bang
both dead
duel done
babel babble
'Twas the month before Christmas
When inside the house
The housewife was quiet
There's no sound, not even a grouse
When all of a sudden
There arose such a clatter
Even the Chihuahua came running
With tail tucked and in a chatter
Our grandson came running faster then Santa
In his magical sleigh
We all converged in the hall with this to say
Was that my husband, PawPaw or ???
Dear 'ole Claus who arrived to stay
They sprang into action
Found the backdoor jammed
Ran out the front
Found PawPaw whammed!
He had crash landed
And not on the roof
Driving grandma's sleigh
He tried to enter the den
What was wrong with him?
Grandma's wheels now undrivable
PawPaw embarrassed with this feat unsolvable
Tail-tucked Chihuahua scared out of his wits
Don't any of them know what to think of this
Well, when it is all said and done
My car was towed away
The den's damage surveyed
All the cost we still can't say
It has taken a toll on everyone
I think we need to go play
Nerves all jangled
Heart beating fast
Sleep eludes me
Somehow soon
It will all be in the past
Thank you, God
For your protection
I could have been in the den
In the push-button recliner total relaxation
The car could have kept going
That would have been a horrible end, my friends!!!
This happened this past Wednesday night at my home. That was on November 17, 2021. I have not been getting out much since the COVID outbreak and my husband went out to go to church then the next thing I knew the above was what happened. We are okay. No one hurt just scary, expensive and we still don't know what we are facing with all the repairs. Definitely not as bad as the picture. He said his foot slipped off the brake and hit the accelerator and he hit the house before he could get his foot back on the brake.
ROCK-A-BYE
Rock-a-bye little sister...brother
Hear as God speaks you into existence...breathing life
Mama’s nerves are jangled with choices
The only power the demons have is to destroy
Rock-a-bye little brother...sister
Do you feel my warm breath loving you...I’m on my knees
Mama’s countenance like jutting cliff
Will she dive into the abyss...sacrificing you
Rock-a-bye sister...little brother
I hold on tight to your fingers grasping in the dark
Mama drives away...she’s off with you
I look to the sky...clouds hang overhead...God sees you
Rock-a-bye brother...little sister
I touch your head with tenderness...love you to the moon
I hear the grinding stones under tires
Trepidation speeds my pulse...I stare into headlights
Mama pushes open the screen door
As she cries and rock-a-byes the tender baby-bump
Rock-a-bye sister and brother twins
Six months later, they’re the “apple of my mother’s eye”
10/11/2017
Couplets (Landay Form)
9 syllables/13syllables