Long Tinkling Poems
Long Tinkling Poems. Below are the most popular long Tinkling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tinkling poems by poem length and keyword.
FAIRY WINGS
fairy wings, wrought in wispiness
a ticklish fancy, most unbeelike
florid splash of firework colors
work their magic, as they stretch
and yawn awakening expectation.
she circles me like a servant dressing
me in early morning royalty. i feel
a tingle from my toes to each strand
of my coiffured hair. this bond, between
this brownie and i, inseparable. she fills
me with magic and i teach her of man.
this wisdom makes her toes curl up
in laughter, her giggle like a cheery toddler.
she whispers pretty words, that entrance
my mind, like sensate cinnamon and warm
like brandy, telling me of faraway lands
which can only be reached by air.
holding onto the tiny fragile fingers
of a two-winged lullaby, a secret song
accompanied by violins and tinkling
harps of silver and gold. when i fly
you shan't find me, evermore, but
i shall find the elixir of life and serve
my fairy-dolls with hands open wide,
as they build around me the land of dreams.
3/5/2018
wind swept warring deluge roars past
mighty trees bow low to its commands
splatter of rain in geometric rule
tinkling furious on glass
branch flies from parent tree
nature no slave to invitations of science
it does not have to pretend to knock at its door
rolling dark clouds,thunder, lightening are its signs
an invading torrent has rushed in to explore
obedient trees
bow low to unhindered flow...
nourished cleansed they glow
‘Four in one’ poetry contest
crystalline(8,9), Kimo (10,7,6), rhyme (12x4), haiku 5,7,5
Constance La France
written 07-September 2020
And in my dream- I stand in a frozen woodland,
the air is cold, quiet, the sky is black as ink;
I wear a gorgeous red velvet cape quite grand.
Branches hold up icicles that drip with a clink,
my hair falls long and raven- like fluid divine;
the air is cold, quiet, the sky is black as ink.
And snow is falling like drifting crystals that shine,
from afar, I hear the melody of a bell;
my hair falls long and raven- like fluid divine.
Before me is a black horse like a magic spell,
on his neck, a red ribbon holds a bell-- tinkling;
from afar, I hear the melody of a bell.
Above, in the pretty night sky stars are twinkling,
the snow a blizzard and we are lost in this dream;
on his neck, a red ribbon holds a bell- twinkling.
Above, in the pretty night sky stars are twinkling,
and in my dream- I stand in a frozen woodland;
the snow a blizzard and we are lost in this dream,
I wore a gorgeous red velvet cape- quite grand.
______________________
February 14, 2017
Poetry/Terzanelle/My Beautiful Dream
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 876-135-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Beautiful,
Sponsor Silent One
Second Place
After an hour’s incessant rain
On this cloudless evening
With the face of the sky
Washed clean
Globules of water
Have speckled the oiled surface
Of leaves on arching trees
They glisten in the evening light
Reflecting kaleidoscopic colors
As I look on, they quiver,
Dither, wobble and flutter
In their effort to balance precariously,
Each drop flops down one by one
With a sad refrain
Flip… plop, flip …plop
Leaving ripples in the puddles below
In the deep hush of Nature
On this twilight evening
Their distinct tinkling
Falls as music to my ears!
Placed First
For Strand’s (1063) Poetry Contest
Placed First
The land around here looks like it belongs to the side of a lake,
it slopes downward gently, suggesting a meeting with water,
it front-yard-surfs on grass rippling winds,
it slowly sails under the puffy power of clouds.
but the water is in our bathtubs and sinks,
it is in our plumbing and it gurgles and clanks
when its alcohol content runs low.
Water is forced uphill by a secret pumping station
on the far shore of the State freeway.
When it rains we consider this a drowning,
none of us will swim, considering swimming
a prolongation of our ultimate dark night,
besides our above ground pools allow only space
for the whelping of baby seals, and we honor that.
There is of course, always ice for tinkling glasses.
If the rain persists, we are all drowned by evening
then we can only roll gently, and dare not trust
the floppiness of potted feet,
and so we tumble towards an imagined lake
one that waits for us
at the end of someone else’s drive.
However by morns early light
we are washed up on this tilting land again
and all is as dry as beached fish bones,
bones that are known to be reconstituted into pills
for the medication of occasional overbrightness.
She slipped into the single’s club,
where an assortment
of horny guys and lonely hearts had assembled.
Some were there hoping to find that "special" someone
and some had come to chase away the blues,
tinkling ice in cocktail glasses soon to be refilled.
Others, who might be labeled commitment phobic,
had simply come to case the place for an easy lay.
Swinging svelte, mini-skirted hips lasciviously,
she strutted over to the counter
on legs that looked their longest and most shapely
from being hoisted on high red heels.
Every pair of eyes was trained on her.
Some in the club gawked
with eyes that hid beneath mascara-painted lashes, flitting envy.
Others leered with pupils dilating lust
from ogling the two soft protrusions in her tight white turtleneck.
Then with pink champagne in hand,
the goddess turned and surveyed her audience,
most of whom by now had looked away.
One remained, mesmerized, with eyes riveted on her.
He quivered when she caught his gaze
and strolled over to where he sat.
As she approached, he marveled at her face -
the chiseled cheekbones strong and high,
the dark eyes, luminescent and immense,
and curiously, an upturned nose so delicate
it seemed almost too perfect,
like one acquired from a sculptor’s hands.
He gulped when she asked him for a dance,
and as he asked this intriguing lady’s name,
he wondered at the timbre of her voice,
so provocative and low as she tossed dark brown locks
and said seductively,
“My name is Lola. L-O-L-A , Lola.”
Inspired by an old song from the 70's and
used now for Skat's the Premiere Contest number 10 Poetry Contest
I
F
only I
could imagine
the tinkling of the
sweet church bells in
that dear little country we
called our home. With lovely
sun drenched hills amid, yellow
fields of daffodils. As bells chime
a glorious tune for Christmas day.
Soon to be by the magic light of the
silver Moon, St Nicholas will be here.
Gold Bells on his sleigh and here with
Eight Reindeer spreading gifts of joy to
children in many lands across the world.
As all come to church on that great day by
God’s Almighty Grace we receive His blessing.
As He makes the bell toll for us as He rings it with
His
Love
!
"The Dreams of Bedes"
Jewels they found
dripping like diamonds
from the overflowing viaducts
scattered on the ground
at the feet of disbelief
barely seen
shod lost and disobedient
counting the cost for
unwanted inconvenience
those bridges burn now like
scarlet rubies blood read
the swords dipping
like dancers tango
tripping machiavellian
tomes marked requiem
for burying
tongues caught
between teeth, closed lips
dance ruthlessly
through all the walls
biding their time, what is left
rustling
the notes felt
in an unseen breeze
opening doors
tinkling keys for all
riders on the storm
to take their discourteous leaves
from the exterior world
to make pearls on strings
of words
recounting station
to station
rosaries each
scored venerable
for the dreams of shining bedes
broken and restrung
never over
just begun
music
for
Black Boy Roses
smiling
with the Sun
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
VIVALDI «Filiae maestae Jerusalem» (II Sileant Zephyri)
https://youtu.be/xW19qNYQDXQ
"Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house, we're born
Into this world, we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm..."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bede
Bedes/plural.
Beads.
"Golden Tapestry"
One day, that San Francisco way
My, oh my, like a rushing waterfall
This hopeless heart did fall.
Tinkling chimes, clinking glasses, music from the East,
Like rushing romantic stanzas swept me off my dreamtime feet.
Some are impressed by great authors or thinkers.
Me...one minute glimpse of your eyes, mesmerizing, godlike winkers!
Will I ever be able to go just one day without thee?
You, the creator of our lives golden tapestry!
Nay, we live in a fragrant field of fairy dreams.
You, forever, my king divine, in our eternal, castle of rainbow schemes.
Play on, instruments of limitless love and light.
An honor to be so bound by love's delight.
Forever your~ Panagiota
April 18. 2020
2pm PST
HOT SUMMER DAY
hair’s fallen, wet.
clinging shirt with sweat.
shoe’s barely protect
my feet, from the pavement’s heat.
i climb aboard the bus, no
air conditioning, of course,
and head to the bustling city streets.
perspiration stains and inpatient glances
all shout, with the fervor of a wet dog, shaking himself.
i depart this catacomb.
windows decorated with sundresses and sandals.
the dummies never bat their eyes nor stink,
though the steam seeps into every crevice.
i’m glum and irritated,
the heat pressing on every thought.
i’ve come here to find a gift -
and i do i do i do
not in the shops
but in the street.
i hear the uproarious laughter
of children.
the city street has sprung
a fire hydrant leak.
oh those tinkling voices,
like crystal, lifting up my spirits!
oh the joy of splashing waters
and the serendipitous smiles!
oh how i can live
through the glorious eyes
of happy children.
my heart forgets my complaint.
9/16/2017
Eve Roper’s Hot Summer Day Contest
1st Place