Long Rasping Poems
Long Rasping Poems. Below are the most popular long Rasping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rasping poems by poem length and keyword.
Bony fingers, thin and white,
Scratching at the moonlit night.
Shadows dance, a twisted play,
Where whispers haunt and secrets sway.
The wind sighs low, a chilling moan,
As cobwebs cling, and leaves are blown.
A hollow laugh, a rasping sound,
From where the dark and shadows bound.
A chilling touch, a ghostly grip,
On trembling hearts, a fear to slip.
Bony fingers, cold and stark,
A chilling omen, leaving their mark.
Through misty veils and swirling haze,
They reach for souls in a macabre maze.
The night descends, a haunting scene,
Where bony fingers, dark and keen,
Will claim their due, come Halloween.
a bouncing ball against a wall
conkers bashed as Autumn falls
the swish of a skipping rope:
milk bottles clinking in a crate
grate of chalk upon the slate
the tinkle of five-stones on a roll:
warning moan of an air raid
drone of bombers overhead
the whispers of prayers said:
rattle of the tin-can tommy
rasping squeak of a swing
the bus stop bell request ring:
voices chanting time-tables
snap of a teacher cane
the double hoot of the fast steam train:
raucous yell of the paper-seller
the release of the works hooter
exhaust noise from my Lambretta scooter:
peals of a Sunday morn bell
the passing funeral ....tolling,
....a death nell
For the next three poems I choose "I don't know?" and "baptism" since these are old poems that I found that survived the burnings. I no longer write like this, but the last of the three is more my slant towards Robert Creeley.
untitled
A tropical sunset, wallpapered, eleven by fourteen,
Stares at my daily awakenings;
The sun, like a sleepless eye on the verge of closing
Can never blink,
But once cried a salty foreground sea.
Beyond the wall, deep in the horizon,
Hemidemisemiquaver rain, in four/four time,
Fills potholes with puddles,
And not knowing when to stop,
Makes lakes for romantic rowboating couples.
But in the dark night, frogs grate,
Sounding like a carpenter
Rasping an almost finished frame
That will border contorted perceptibilities
Or images in placid pastel.
Form:
From blade of grass to the tip of twig,
The white dust of winter fall’s.
Frenzied flakes move in lost abandonment,
Finally pitch on fence and wall’s.
On the throat the rasping of cold crisp air,
The sound of snow crunching underfoot.
As the day grows short , and night draws in,
Now the journey homeward took.
Familiar shapes come into view,
There outlines soften by the snow.
What once were roofs ,now don white overcoats,
With ice jewellery now on show.
The old mill wheel lies motionless,
So still the little stream.
Held fast by Jack Frost clutches,
In a Christmas greeting scene.
Chinks of light through windows,
Gives some comfort and delight.
Cast a beam with an incandescent glow,
On white grains as they glisten bright.
At the door the latch clicks open,
And with thud is now latched again.
Keeping winter firmly on the out side,
withIn, thoughts of summer to retain
Form:
Alright still gobsmacked how we were
Attacked..hacked..hijacked...whacked
Ransacked cracked shellacked poleaxed
By his relaxed Rat packed knack maxed
So here's a witty ditty ode to Travis
No ifs or buts can't tut tut... annul it or cull it
Straight out of the hut a classy brassy strut
Gung ho have a go heave ho maestro Mullet
Slaying & flaying.. no rut just a glorious glut
Left a stark dark smut.. every bowler's a mutt
Like some flirty dirty sl*t playing with the nut
Hard not to swoon at the boon of the loon
Croon at Travis's off his Head buffoon tune
Stubby not chubby tad tubby like David Boon
Us staunch fans of the promising paunch gasping
Can't snub or sub.. like a lad down the pub or club
Another out of whack attack does launch rasping
Rogue's Bogan brogue.. flashes his blade like Shogun
Wizard of Oz as loved as X men's Logan or Paul Hogan
Dashes and lashes.."Taches win Ashes" the Travis slogan
Amid falling leaves,
Beneath the rasping trees,
Nature sounds
A little groggy with sleep.
Proud and defiant wind
Puffs its lips
Out with its bad-
Temper breath.
Leaves tussle with a few laps
Around not touching the ground.
A wink of Autumn amorous
Sweep through the coppice.
Novice is the breeze
Alone reaching then
Once, twice, and thrice
Refusing to meet rustle shadows.
Who can resist the deep,
Natural colors of deep earthy
Toning melodic colors
And green display?
Caramel, lemon, crimson,
And dark chocolate hues
Against a spectrum of light
And freshen air of sweetness.
7/27/2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 20 - Free Verse 3 - Poetry Contest
1. Amid Falling Leaves
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
“Welcome”
a robot effigy of painted aluminium
on its face a vestigial smile
chill, uncharismatic and instant,
voicing through it
like rasping metallic file,
a platinum echo, distant.
Its unmoving countenance
worn like a habit, a shiny mask, ill-fit
the smirk of a smile sewn on,
with crayon drawn on,
it did not move as if to prove
a robotic ability as ventriloquist.
I was transfixed
with words that keenly gnawed:
“You have been thawed.”
I looked around with icy perception,
with roving eye and no movement of limb,
where had I been?
As my body warmed and my limbs gained inflection,
so my mind was pierced with icicles of truth
of a previous existence and a distant youth.
It’s all coming back now,
it had worked somehow:
Cryogenics.
Written: May 26 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark, drizzling recesses that pulse and flow.
A nebulous haze of nothingness, a sad show.
With rasping tears of seabirds, in silent cries.
They uncover comfort in various forlorn sighs.
Horizon depicts a snapshot of dreary gray.
Raven rainbows trance in barren dismay.
Why are you grieving, my wounded heart?
Why are you missing vivid spring impart?
Birds in scarlet, saffron, and cyan hues,
Glorious in the skies, so ariose views.
Yet, time slips by and you head away
Remote star casts me out of abyss sway.
I maunder amid dry gloom, forlorn and alone.
Chuckles echo across my passing groan.
In grief of shorebirds, I learn of my plight.
As I long for your arrival with all my might.
But hope lingers, akin to a glimmer at night.
We will return one day in a pure love light.
I will wait for that juncture, my soul ever true.
In bleak wilderness, memories will renew.
His kiss like a cool breath
against her fevered skin…
Ssssssizzled!
With eyes bright
she looked up at him
with the intensity
that burned inside him.
He kissed her with a fervor
that flared out of control,
kissing her cheek
the side of her neck.
Blindly she turned
her mouth into his
and felt a wild rush
as his tongue touched hers.
She groaned
and twisted her body,
He lowered his head to her breast,
She moaned at the feel of his
tongue rasping against her nipple
shooting fever through her veins.
She ached and trembled
with the sensation sweeping
her away with the rising
tide of her pulsating heart…
There’s a golden haze on the meadow
Yonder the sun sets for the day.
~11/17/18
~Sexy Poetry Contest
Host: Lewis Raynes
two mice
in my room
at night
gnawing as
if a clock
one from my
bed to the
left and the
other to
the right
they exude the
illusion of time
getting past
every trap and
so their rasping
dentures
on wood
one the second
the other the
minute hand
and so they carry
on carrying on all
hours of the night
as if they want me
to once again set
the traps for the
exact reason of
being to be able
to smell and maybe
take the chance to
taste peanut butter
other then wooden
floor boards or
boring wine corks
that surely have
corked by now
yet now the day
and a day of
silence for
storing
their energy they
will nightmarishly
keep me awake
tonight as only
they see as no
light so their
stirring life
begins and
again the
gnawing
this ain't no
metephore
because my
wife i met her for
a reason
and these
mice are
just
teething
but teasing
but they
should've
listened to
the crickets
before eating
them because
that'll be the
day before i
cry but that'll
be the day
before
i die
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