Long Rattling Poems
Long Rattling Poems. Below are the most popular long Rattling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rattling poems by poem length and keyword.
I looked in America’s mirror tonight
What I saw was only left or right
Reflecting a nation irreparably divided
With no desire to again be united
I longed for a touch, just a touch, of awareness
An admission that ‘I might once have been wrong’
What I witnessed was unbridled aggression
From each side, a fiercely combative song
I searched for a hint of humility
A confession: ‘Maybe I don’t have all the solutions’
What I beheld was feisty defiance
Candidates lip-syncing dubious science
I hungered for clear answers to questions
A yes that’s a yes, a no that’s a no
What I heard was ‘MY agenda is what to invest in’
Implied was ‘To hell’s where YOUR question can go…’
I looked in America’s mirror tonight
silently praying for some kind of light
What looked back was darkling belligerence
accompanied by saber-rattling dissonance
Skyline shadows
Moody clouds stain;
Tempest confronts
Broken winged bird
Life pulse oozing;
Death comes around
Umbrellas clutter
Colours now drenched;
Rain and wind dance
Wind-blown message
Beyond weather forecast;
Aqueous revelations
Dreary moods linger
Suburban contours;
Torrential downpour
Wet day forfeits
Dry sanity;
Misty mad coldness
Freezing cold
Hurls shivers;
Teeth-rattling commute
See that mad man
Crazy and insane;
Thinks we are all mad
Happy charades
In a mad town;
Mourn with regret
Tea at the circus
Clowns tell you how;
Manage madness well
Go with the flow
Just let me know;
Confront vain ego
Leon Enriquez
11 August 2014
Singapore
The Baby Creep
Here in my Pampers. They took off my bib. Then they turned off the light, laid me here in my crib, yet I still see some light from the sun sunken low, but because I’m a toddler, to bed I must go? Well, I WON’T go to sleep ‘cause I just want to play! And I’m NOT a dumb blanket that just wants to lay in this crib! Should I cry? Should I NOT make a sound when I hear in the house they are moving around? I could cry. I could whimper or maybe I’ll scream, make them think I feel bad or I had a bad dream. What to do… what to do? Now my rattle I see. It will have to make do! Weren’t they nice leaving THAT there for me? So I pick up the rattle, I shake and I roll. I will shake that thing silly. Let THAT be my goal, ‘cause it’s stupid to sleep when there’s light still outside, so I’ll just be a creep, cause I’ll shake up a storm till they hear all my clatter and come to my room to see what is the matter. I’ll lay here and rattle. I’ll rattle, and though it’s till dawn, I’ll be rattling and rattling and rattling on!
Aug. 20, 2018 hopefully in the popular style of Nina Parmenter
(I actually gave my parents quite the grief as a baby since I would not sleep till midnight, same as today!)
BYLINY: a nostalgia form'that which happened '
ADOLESCENT SCENES
during the Forties
I was just a lad
growing up
was not so bad
Summer evenings
lengthened long
clambered trees
with birds in full song
across nearby fields
&over the brook
studying in nature's
real-timebook
scaled branches
for my egg collection
wild flowers
then pressed to perfection
fishing for stickleback
with jamjar and net
oftimes slipping
&getting wet
boys' club
in the old school hall
indoor hockey i
with a ragged ball
gathering conkers
on Chestnut Crescent
for annual contests adolescent
blue-paper fireworks
fifth November,
baked spuds
in glowing ember
around the streets
carol singing
boxes rattling lanterns swinging
indelible magic memoir
remembered scenes from afar
Year first Posted 2007
Down on the floor,
where everyone thinks they are better,
a curious feeling starts to swell in my throat.
The air is cool against my skin,
tinged with the faint metallic scent of sweat
and the sharp sweetness of perfume.
The starting chords of a song
that lives within my spirit
rise through the crowd, vibrating through the soles of my boots
and rattling my chest with every beat.
I shout and I scream.
The tears begin to fall.
A moment of silence hits me like a wall,
the sudden stillness heavy, almost sacred.
The energy of the room cradles it all.
Then the beat picks up.
I let the tears run,
stamping my boots,
my fried vocals
anoint the release.
Hand on my heart,
I feel it in my bones.
I must move.
And so I dance some more,
spinning, swaying,
lost in the pitch black starry background,
still screaming those chorus lyrics,
my lifeline so many times before.
I shout the bridge
with one of my favorite artists.
The grief releases,
the anger frees,
the gratitude hums quietly,
a note still lingering in the dark.
Can’t you see
that it’s art that saved me?
The song ends
as I make amends
with those versions of me
who arrived in tears.
I applaud and scream once more,
and cringe at the people I used to be before.
The loneliness of night cloaks a desolate sky.
Drizzling rain clings to devitalized windowpanes.
Staring, longing for an escape from reality.
Ruminating thoughts keep sleep at bay.
The flicker of the television hums in the other room.
Dragging myself, I sink into the doldrums of a discarded sofa.
Turning up the volume, the weatherman describes a tempest coming from the northeast.
Burnt out, silhouettes of notions run rampant.
Even the soft glow of the TV has become too much.
The wind is starting to howl now.
I can feel it whip around the boards of this old house,
Like ancient bones rattling through the ages.
The porch blinds suddenly, violently thrash.
Getting up, I close them before slipping into my pajamas.
Preparing for something just out of reach,
Always a centimeter from my grasp.
I lay in a desperate bed.
Ever-expanding darkness shrouds me.
Yet no relief arrives.
Swollen eyes no longer produce tears.
Vocal cords no longer produce sound.
Just silent screams going unheard into the mattress,
As sanity finally slips through the threads of unyielding fabric.
(WARNING SIGNS)
You are old and fragile
Claiming to be a lion when in bed
In some way, you remind me of the walking dead
Your bones make a sound when walking across the room
Rattling, as if they know your end is near
Confusing rigor mortis where muscle mass once stood
You say you have stamina that has no end
Until now, your back hurts when you move
Losing count of every inch that got away!!!
With your moods constantly changing,
I prefer not to mention the belly fat around your waist
Then you have romantic days, you plea to love
You chase down a Viagra pill with red fuzz
Seemingly, without adding depression to your day
Pill's are the only object expanding when swallowed
40 some, and you think you can romp around the room
I yawn, yet you are the one tired, next to doom
Dusty and old you boxer shorts
Can't remember the last time you stayed up late
Kicking the bucket every time I talk about S E X
Your hairline aged with time, bold and bald
I forgot which one you recalled this morning
Perhaps these are signs of low testosterone
Merely in the meantime............... R.I.P. WILL YA!!!
BY: PD
Nature in a Mischievous Mood
Early Sunday morning;
nature rattling at the front door!
I accept its clamorous invitation
stepping out with nothing more
in tow than an upturned collar..
and a theatrical imagination.
The morning ground is well-baked pastry,
all crusted with a shiver of winter;
sunlight whispering across the ground
all sharp colour and playfulness.
So I step out, church bells skipping alongside
and light skating off in front of me.
Soon I am within reach of the beach;
my sandy sanctuary,
but nature is in a mischievous mood
the light fluctuating,
its moods shifting,
gloss turning to flat matt.
The sea offers up a cold, blue arm
encouraging me into watery depths
while the sky sits heavily
in a grey leather-weathered armchair.
Behind, peeking through a curtain of cloud
a new season waits to spring into action.
Ian Souter
You should be
Strolling fields of wildflowers.
Munching heavenly grasses.
Sun polishing your satin flanks.
Sipping from a lily-kissed pond.
Running the hills-full throttle.
Necking with a favorite mare friend...
Tails twitching merrily in the wind.
Instead,
you're prodded into a war zone.
Bricks and rocks smacking ribs.
Ears rattling from bullhorns-sirens-egos.
Shattering glass -
Shaking tear gas.
Half-blinding your wild brown eyes.
You try reasoning out the scene
of these crazy-crazy human beings.
After the carnage- it's back to the stalls.
For all your blood sacrifice and burning eyes
you're given half-rotted, bloody New York apples.
Every other week during summer, or fall ...
there's a loud noise rattling my huge window
facing the shady street
where no kids are seen.
.
Old fashioned grass cutters like the one I had made a minimal noise,
I don't have to visualize it, or see it to describe its actual color...
days ago I saw one with a dangling front the front bumper,
and the small, miserable guy was trying to snap back in its place.
I came outside and yelled, " Fix the darn machine and let me sleep! "
and giving him a second nasty look running my mouth as a truck driver,
" Sir, " he replied, " I am trying to fix it and finish the job and leave!"
" Do it quickly and let me get some more sleep! " that was my answer.
And just in case you wonder
what its color was .....you are
in for a shocking surprise, it was much dirtier
than an abandoned car
with a finish similar to a chocolate's eclair!