Long Tinkled Poems
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There once was a girl who fell in the deep,
so deep in the sea where waves roll and sweep;
around she did spin and twirl,
over- over she did whirl;
till the sea whispered this girl I will keep !
Her long blonde hair was golden like the sun,
with eyes blue hues of the sea and sky spun;
on her neck sea shells tinkled,
years aged- she never wrinkled;
pirate ship sailors she took one by one !
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July 31, 2019
Poetry/Limerick/In The Deep, Deep Blue Sea
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1170-045-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Two Sea Themed Limericks
sponsor, Tania Kitchen
Tenth Place
As I’ve said before…in life…we never know what wonders will come our way…
for instance we were blessed to experience a variety of mountain music…
all in the same day.
It all began with a morning breeze…that appeared well before daybreak…
and when it landed on our wind chimes…it tinkled us awake.
As it continued through the trees…it tapped the sleeping birds upon their wings
gently nudging them awake…and they began to sing.
I stood out on the porch enjoying the music…and as the sun made it’s debut…
I looked into the garden where a deer was listening too.
As we listened to the music together…there among the trees
I realized this deer is a better dancer than I will ever be.
Midway through the morning..as the leaves began to glow
we heard the whistle of the train…from the valley down below.
We attended a college football game….while sitting high up in the stands
We were treated to the sights and sounds of the home team’s marching band.
Later in the evening….under the crescent moon and stars….
we heard musician story-tellers tell Appalachian stories
while playing a fiddle, a banjo and guitar.
When we finally arrived back home…as our windows looked out on an ebony sky
that same wind that we woke up that morning…sang us an evening lullaby.
How lucky were we that day…
to have a whole day where we spent…
doing so much that made us happy…
with a musical accompaniment.
No summer was the longest and hottest despite the visible stars,
and with scarce rain...no dew dripped from flowers
as they lost moisture and pitilessly died under the moon's glare!
No days were more meaningless and worthless as my were:
without a sweetheart to fondle and kiss,
all the starry nights were a surely miss!
Didn't she desire to be with me and sing
as lovers of a past age did? And which romantic words
she liked the most as this poet made them ring...
like bells that tinkled while knights trusted their swords?
How their Mesdames watched the battle
from a stone castle so fortified and ample!
If I had been a true knight, surely pride and valor
would have been a display of my armor...
and with drew glistening on it as frost,
I would have seemed more invincible than a ghost!
Trees without dew seemed faces without tears,
no birds or butterflies perched or flew on them to scatter all bees...
Mother Nature hopelessly waited and engaged in a long lament,
as I sadly hummed an unhappy song which sorrow sent!
My meadow was dry as the dunes of a wind-swept desert,
and although nights were mild and silent as a lifeless world:
no warmth came from inside, no finger stroke a single cord;
now that the dew has reappeared, everything will turn into mirth!
I saw it in one of those chintzy antique shops.
I recalled that it was made for travelling musicians
that wanted to work out scores while not being overheard.
It was old and all wood. When I tapped the keys
they clacked, but each key to me seemed to clack
in a slightly different tone,
as if the pianist’s thoughts and intentions
had somehow imprinted
a musical counterpart into the inarticulate wood.
When I got it home
I propped it up against a wall, poured myself a drink
and thought what a fool I was.
The ice cubes in my bourbon tinkled unmusically.
I stared at it.
‘You can’t even play a kazoo you idiot, what the …..!’
Later, a little drunk,
I took it up and placed it on a table,
stretched my stiff fingers and played.
I played like I had never played before!
This was real, not an air-guitar thing.
Chopin and Mozart flowed through my hands
as I sped through deft keyboard exercises,
labelling quarter and eighth notes, dashing off
aurally different meters,
executing perfect pitch and phrase.
After the warm-up I was ready for my public.
With much élan and gusto, I thundered through
a dramatic First Movement.
The Andante I performed next was hauntingly beautiful.
I swayed on my stool in a deep artistic trance.
An invisible audience gasped and yes, they stood and roared
their approval, as the last note of a sonata I had
just composed, concluded a fiery Allegro.
Tomorrow I intend to jazz-duet with Oscar Peterson.
Man, it’s good to be dumb.
You’ll find this disgusting, but Rudolph was busting
He peed in that fish pond of mine
But it wasn’t tragic, cos Rudolph is magic
And he piddles sparkling wine
The water went hazy, my goldfish went crazy
And splashing all over the place
It’s true, don’t be doubting, they dislodged my fountain
And sprayed Prosecco in my face
I swallowed a bit, not too much of it
My hand stopped too much going in
For wine that is fizzy can make me go dizzy
I’d much rather do that with gin
I think Santa heard, cos that’s not a bird
It’s Prancer that’s flying above
He’s tinkling from space, I got a quick taste
It’s gin and I think I’m in love
Then my wife appeared and I grew afeared
She had a mad look on her face
The goldfish are blotto, the yard’s like a grotto
With reindeer all over the place
But vixen’s my genie, she tinkled martini
So I grabbed a glass in some haste
Vermouth sprinkled in, right up to the brim
My wife won’t let that go to waste
So, now dancing twerky, she forgot the turkey
And I grabbed a casserole dish
I went in to get a whopping great net
Cos dinner will be...
a goldfish
I love Jewish food,
So does my tum,
It makes my mouth water
And delights my tongue.
I worked in the City.
Of London years ago
London brings back memories,
That I treasure so.
I used to pass a Jewish Deli,
As I walked along the street,
The smells coming from that Deli,
It smelled marvellous to eat.
A little bell tinkled as I opened the door
The aroma of Wally in spiced vinegar
It was a smell not to ignore.
These pickles were in a huge barrel
Made of wood and copper,
You placed your hand into the tub
And hope to find a whopper.
One of my favourite Jewish foods
Is chopped liver
The thought of it now
It makes my taste buds quiver.
Upon the shop counter, I spied,
Mozzah and Gefilte fish
It was hard not to purchase
Every single dish.
I adored Latkes,
Flat Potato Cakes
Just thinking of the flavour
It makes my stomach ache,
Freshly baked Bagels,
A bread roll shaped like a ring
Solly, the deli owner,
Sold everything.
I will always remember shopping.
At Solly's old-fashioned deli,
I have fond memories of his shop
And so does my belly.
Oh, Medieval Studies hit me hard!
I'd had to give myself a dressing-down,
A telling-off: "You want that cap and gown?
Then get your ass to lectures!" Bowland Yard
was frosty, unforgiving on my feet
that Monday morning. Seven forty-five?
I'm all alone? Is anyone alive?
I took the lecture theatre's highest seat,
(that is, remotest from the podium).
What sap gives lectures at this time of day?
"The Role of Guildsmen in the Passion Play" -
small wonder I was held in odium
by my professors. I'd been bent on passion,
and far too keen on play, to have a clue
what any of this meant, but now I knew
I had to sharpen up ... well, after a fashion.
That early stuff took place was news to me,
the party-loving fresher. One more yawn
resounded in the chilly air. Forlorn,
my scruffy pad took doodles, listlessly.
A door lisped open. In swayed Cheryl Ladd -
no, Rita Coolidge - Buffy St. Marie.
Some little trinkets tinkled gracefully
as Buffy slid beside me. I hid my pad
with one swift forearm. "Is it taken?" She
bestowed on me a smile so sweetly knowing,
I didn't know if I was coming or going.
"This seat," she said. I stuttered, "No, it's free."
The lecture, when it happened, was a killer,
but I was insulated from all pain.
I even thought I might show up again,
with Miss World wafting something like vanilla.
I crossed the Yard with no thought but my bed,
but someone tugged my sleeve. That fragrance! Her!
"I'm Helen." My whole campus was a blur.
"I wonder ... could you help me, please?" she said.
The next part can be skipped, or summarised.
She wanted me to teach her Skelton, Chaucer -
well, anything. Even Hengist and Horsa!
Three lesson-dates went by. I hadn't wised
up yet. Tonight, she didn't seem that fussed
with Grendel's mother's vile propensity
for harm. She looked with strange intensity
full in my eyes. "You catching that last bus?"
The air seemed cooler as I left her flat.
No hug tonight. No pasta to take home.
Her hair stayed stolid, captured by her comb.
Somehow, our lessons died off after that.
Long decades drain away, we don't know how.
A moral to this tragic history?
All I can think is, what I'd give to be
nineteen again - and know what I know now!
Me
Dad
fishing
Mum's old tights
over coffee jar
towed along with a piece of string
catching some unwary minnows in the strong current
the water tinkled over the rocks, making a sound like a box of spilling pencils
calm
day
sunny
rush hour time
people going home
stopping, starting,controlled by lights
we, cocooned within the shadow of the bridge above
which contrasted in that moment how different the ways we can choose to live our days.
Sun
sets
cooling,
shadows stretch
Poppies go to sleep
petals closing, controlled by light
with a nod and a smile he signals it's time to go
I remember it was the one day in his whole life that we had alone together
For contest 'The magic of three', sponsor, Broken Wings
january 15th 2018
amid the bleats of lambs
and the moo of cows
in a far away manger
a baby, swaddled in rags was born
though despicable in some eyes,
He was the clone of Clones
the one, though Heaven sent,
was the humblest of the humble,
who halved history!
He walked the hills of Judea
with disciples many
healed the sick
met people
lived one among them
until three decades
and three years
the cloud laden sky
suddenly turned dark
the spirit of evil
invaded inside
and outside
premonitions
of portentous occurrence!!
at Gethsemane
the fatal rendezvous,
He sweated blood
as coins tinkled,
Judas through a kiss
betrayed his master
was sentenced
by the marshals of power
and was convicted
Pontius Pilate, washing hands,
absolved himself of his guilt
He tottered to Calvary,
lay on the cross, not by nails
but pinned by love
He poured down love
on those never deserved
to his love, there is no end...
among the hisses of revulsion
and the screams of a vengeful crowd
the tremulous cadence
of an agonized cry
“why hast Thou forsaken me?”
died down…..
did Golgotha’s cliffs echo that cry?
The Father kept ‘an aggressive silence’
The Sun (Son) set at noon
darkness shrouded the Earth
the curtain fell
but on the 3rd day
walked out of the grave
defeating Death and Sin!
Our Lord has Risen….!
to this day
the world
hails this victory!!
______________________
Easter Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
Mr.Tinkle and Rip Van Winkle.
Both they tinkled on a fence.
But when they were caught.
By the Police, they were sought.
They had to post some bail.
Traveled with Betty, after eating spaghetti.
Sat in an easy chair.
Mr.Tinkle and Rip van Winkle..
Again were hungry soon.
But Rip Van Winkle stole Tinkle's money.
Became a millionaire.
They rode on a bus, without a fuss.
Went to a convenient store.
They ordered a burger.Along with some liquor.
Lettuce, mayo, mustard, and more..
Rip Van Winkle found a wrinkle, in his overalls.
He had to snooze, after drinking the booze.
And never woke again!
Now Mr.Tinkle..Without Van Winkle.
Sat in an easy chair.
Had to tinkle with his dinkle.
Fickle with a pickle and pear.
Went with Audrey to do his laundry.
Now it's a love affair...
Rhyming-Scheme-Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2014..ALL rights reserved..