Long Onomatopoeia Poems
Long Onomatopoeia Poems. Below are the most popular long Onomatopoeia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Onomatopoeia poems by poem length and keyword.
An ingenious device is a basketball net:
Swish, swoosh, swoosh, swish---
Its sweet sound made
From a cager's wish. (A 'cager' is a basketball player)
Close your eyes; let your mind run free,
Picture the ball arching gracefully,
A round, rubber rainbow coursing through the air
Willing its way on a wing and a prayer.
Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh:
One after another the balls pour on in.
Swoosh, swish, swoosh, swish;
The nets' cords snap,
Cagers high-fives slap.
Swish after swoosh,
Swoosh after swish:
The sweet sound made
From a cager's wish.
BOOM
IDEA
EXITEMENT
NOVELTY
My brain wants to create.
A new thought! How exciting!
I am consumed by it, addicted to it.
I think of nothing else
My thoughts are bound,
My ideas are developing.
They spiral into ever more elaborate complexity
I am condemned to perpetual wakefulness
I forsake the tender embrace of night’s repose and let my artistry bloom
From the snarled labyrinth of my thoughts emerges a single unwound strand
All culminating in an unimpeachable, quintessential, paramount, flawless idea
My fingers itch.
It is time to finally begin.
Every free moment is spent locked in my room poking, stabbing, slicing, shredding.
Eating, sleeping, and cleanliness all become secondary to this act of creation.
I drag this idea kicking and screaming out of my head and into reality one pinprick and callus at a time spending all my time and energy not even bothering to refuel myself then…
A tragedy.
Lack of yarn, fabric or thread.
I measured only once.
I estimated something wrong.
I overestimated my ability.
I can’t do anything right.
I wasted all that time and energy.
dehydrated, dirty, and decrepit,
I push aside the mess covering my bed and drop into a dreamless sleep.
Some projects end here.
Some, when faced with adversity, break.
But some persevere.
For some, a solution appears.
I am whipped into the tumultuous maelstrom of creation scrabbling to reach for pins, wire, and scissors concealed in the fibers of my floor of lava.
Out of my beautiful, painful chaos emerges a messy masterpiece.
With crooked seams and yarn the wrong color.
Perfection was never obtainable.
Yet, it is good.
Home
Children laugh and play
Pop, pop, the popcorn is ready
Waaa, waaa baby needs her bottle
Bark, bark the puppy needs to go outside
Click, click, click daddy works on the computer
Sizzle, sizzle, pop, pop mommy is cooking dinner
Bam, bam, bam brother plays the drums
Tip, tap, whirl sister is practicing a dance
The leaves rustle outside in the backyard
Ho hum, mommy yawns, it’s time for bed
Thump, brother falls on his knees to pray
Shhhh, quiet now my child it’s time to sleep
Muah a goodnight kiss for all the children
ZZZZZZ the family is all snug in their beds
10/19/2021
Written for Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emilie Pinet
I was not awakened by the drip dripping of a faucet tap
as I lay abed, stifling a yawn trying to return to sleep.
It was the soft ping pinging sound of rain drops, rap rap,
redundant chirps like a newly hatched chick's peep peep.
I heard the distant crash and boom in peals of thunder
trying to roar louder than the tick tock of the alarm clock.
I rolled over, groaning need of sleep, feeling torn asunder.
That's when I heard the unmistakable click of the door lock.
There was the swoosh from a pair of little, socked feet,
pitter pattering tiny toes on hardwood floors that creaked.
A warm breath murmured "Mommy," in a voice so sweet.
Drizzle splish splashed the windowpane, leaving it streaked.
My sleepy child snuggled in my arms, both of us drifting in dreams
when the shrill ring ring of my cell phone started to chime.
The vibrating mmm mmm refused my dance with moonbeams.
Kitty sashayed into the room, "Meow meow. It's feeding time."
There’s nothing finer, in a sense,
Than certain words in present tense.
Words which are incredibly,
Etched on your mind indelibly.
Immaculate, petulant, magnificent, sinew,
Incredulous, superfluous, to name just but a few.
Sacrament, procrastinate, intestate - may seem,
Draconian, Dickensian, obsolete, obscene.
Gratuity, embouchure, gnaw with silent 'g',
Juggernaut, cantankerous, words which I must decree,
Are remarkably, stupendously, fantastically sublime,
And should be used magnanimously, each and every time.
Biblical, whimsical, statistician, brie,
Words which are surprisingly, absolutely free.
Insatiable, perpetuate, onomatopoeia,
Existential, exemplary, words you shouldn’t fear.
Exponential, candid, xylophone or muse,
Malign versus benign - never to confuse.
Reptilian, gazillion, fragility, beguile,
Elucidate, excruciate, go the extra mile.
Psychopath, pedestrian, sesquipedalian,
(That last word I must admit is somewhat alien),
But never doubt, you have some clout, with words that randomly,
Demonstrate, accentuate a sense of liberty.
Tap Tap Tap.
An arm emerges from the stone,
A hand,
A head.
Legs shaped for moving.
Hands carved for giving.
Tap tap tap.
Shaped with intention, purpose, and skill
The stone carver is a talented man.
Potential radiating from the art
Tap tap tap.
A mind made to choose.
Steady, strong, and somewhat uncomfortable,
The tapping continues on.
But a new sound enters the mix
A whispering of wonders
A breath of bliss.
It whispers of pleasure, freedom, comfort.
Away from the Carver’s clicking.
It promises more than work could ever give
“Here, you can do as you wish.”
Abandoning the carver, the stone rushes away
To freedom and bliss
To live life their way.
Happiness fills the angles of its form,
Light dances over its rough surface.
Every edge hums with delight,
And the wind sings in its ears.
But the unfinished stone stumbles and falls.
Tiny fractures appear, multiply.
Untested and untended, the stone is falling apart.
Why would the Carver make you weak?
CRACK
You can fix this on your own.
CRACK
The Carver will never take you back.
CRACK
You are not worth saving.
CRACK
My legs are broken.
My arms are crooked.
My brain is twisted.
My eyes are shattered.
With trembling hands, I try to veil my fractures in my own dust.
The dust does not hold.
It slips from the cracks,
falls useless at my feet.
I press harder.
The fractures widen.
The whispers are gone.
So is the bliss.
Only silence
and then, faintly,
Tap.
I choke on the word.
It scrapes out of me, broken
Carver…
No demand.
No excuse.
Just a plea through shattered stone.
Tap tap tap.
He accepted me.
With patent kindness the Stonecarver chips away my shattered stone.
He revealed flesh.
Tap tap tap
Blood flows through me like fire!
I am undone and remade.
I inhale.
WORDS DECRIBED THIS
THEY DID NOTHING TO
DETAIL, WHAT THE EYE
REALLY SEE'S
I POSTURED MYSELF TO REDEFINE
EXPERIENCE
I POSTURED MYSELF TO DESCRIBE
WHAT WAS BEFORE ME
IT MAKES EVERYTHING BEFORE IT'S CREATION
INFERIOR
IT'S ARROWS POINT TO ALL DIRECTION
AND THIS ENCOURAGES ALL TO WANT
WISH AND DISCOVER
FOR THE SAKE OF CREATION
IT FILLS CAVITY'S
AND TRENCHES DRY SPACES
IT STANDS STILL
AND GOES PLACES
IT IS TIMELESS
AND EVER GOING
RELENTLESS
AND AWE SHOWING
IT'S AMPLIFIED AND WHISPERED
DIFFERENT AND STRANGE
IT'S RIGHT IN WRONG PLACES
IT WHY THINGS MAKE A CHANGE
IT'S HOW WE WILL DEAL WITH TOMORROW
IT WAS THOUGHT OF YESTERDAY
FROM NOW ON IT SHALL BE SPOKE OF
AS IT WAS HERE ALWAYS
The name pronounces in a Chinese mind
Sounds similar to onomatopoeia words made
When hearts felt phonologically bored
By a misthought on linguistically decaying
Or a loss of ordered hilarious carouse
Anyway, I have been quietly with it for years,
With countless eyesight over my shoulders
It is a famous existence contrasting to mine
A neighbor to whom needless to talk to
But we are a collective name to represent
For a belonging of the people living around
A lake of water that is so clean and quiet
We've been staying as such for years
Having a short meeting with each other
Such as young men and women on blind dates
Full filled with shyness, reluctance, and desires
but we are so different from them by degrees
Both of the acceptance and of the integration
Included with people by their homes and lands
By ways of simple, obvious, and unconditional
I stay with this lake alike the pines on shore
With the algae in water, the birds overhead
While fish swim, shrimp jumps, and jellyfish dance
All between us are inclusive and simple
They are obvious no need to be garrulous
For apprehension by persons used to flaunt
The name of this poem is "…" So the first line is shown.
The system would not let me put that in the title box. Sew, so...
...
Hear and now, know here and now, no! No!
It is all wrong, “aint” that a fact?
No. Really… no.
Aint, paint, saint, I feel faint.
! Yes. Use that one. ! Use it again!!! (! Symbol and then…)
How about a ? ? (? Symbol for question and then ? for punctuation correct)
That is odd. Let us not discuss txting. (texting, xing, dead when driving)
Small “c”, big “C”, capitalized.
What about the rest of the letters?
Are numbers okay to use, if I forget how to spell, to, two, too much?
Paints in the box. The letters the shapes the textures of life.
Smell them. Take them in with every wiff, whiff? (Onomatopoeia, can you sing that?)
Double “dd”, double “tt”, double “oo”, wrong word score.
Spear, fear, mear, mere, “find the thesaurus”.
Have you ever spent time reading one?
You should.
The dictionary was badly burned in 1963.
No one nose, no's, knows who set the fire…
We did not land on the moon.
It was a sad day, but our people came home.
Safe.
The world moved on…
Remember when they gave spelling tests?
Three times each and every word, every line, get one wrong then do nine!
Are you still wondering the name of this poem? (...)
Laughter is the best place to begin looking at ourselves.
Mixed paint in a tray. Pencils, pens, art in words…Free Speech!
Hold on to your flag...
We, all of us… build sentences,
erect paragraphs and dream up skyscraper stories.
We swirl and whirl words around until they fit together,
The effort to find the perfect match.
The ultimate combination of acceptance and understanding.
Authors don’t get to stand and sing on stage, we must be quiet.
Storytellers rarely receive the time they need to fix the uncertain details.
Maps are lost, tiny jewels fall between the cracks,
but swiftly pens capture, miracles and even an epiphany.
Patient warriors, working for no one on earth,
fixed on collecting nothing more
than the truth.
Rain
I hear the pitter-patter of rain,
greedily savor the whiff of bathed Earth
and I see, yet again, that palace frozen in time
my home, far, far away.
The misty memories of a blissful past
lay interred in those walls of faded pink,
the heaving groan of the rusted gate sounds
as melodic as the chirp of the bulbul.
The rain smelt sweeter then, in those bygone days
when I'd hold my grandfather's large hand, and
my little feet would splash puddles all about.
How I feel sometimes, as if only yesterday
that large umbrella towered over me amid
the incessant drip-drop and that man's
booming laughter as we'd walk!
And it reminds me then, of that day,
embellished eternally in my mind,
when even that man, larger than life itself
was united with Earth's welcoming bosom.
It rained even then, upon the both of us,
and trickled down my moistened cheeks,
for there was no umbrella over my head.
Date: October 26, 2021
6th Place, Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest