Long Tintinnabulation Poems
Long Tintinnabulation Poems. Below are the most popular long Tintinnabulation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tintinnabulation poems by poem length and keyword.
We quarreled to bitter, burning degrees
(you)loving me
as a tender trespasser
a chew toy
boy
demanding compliance
forced feedings
down
to sock selection
(your)conspicuous usage of chlorine
blistering eyes
a woman my mother may have idolized
(your)disciplined hemlines
entirely circumspect
subtracting the abusements
how (your)words struck, in the rage of an enemy fire
and less, the undisturbed lust after hog's feet
I was heading for America
a better sow to plow
with spangly blue eyes
and ruddy virtue brimming inside her countenance
out of the despicable cold,
The harpy's fury
(you)poked at my shortness
magnified my retardations
I was a crouching slug in (your)supercilious shadows
Understanding I couldn't swim
as all the world knows
any banal fact
for example, water is wet
and a million times (your)augur's ball
pronounced death by sea
little legs shall not be inclined to desert the scalding Egyptian sands
was it (your)psychosis or mine ... doubts dressed as destiny?
I missed the exodus of the unsinkable ship.
The Titanic horn tolled whilst she distanced,
the mocking tintinnabulation
of elegiac bells.
Quietude
by Odin Roark
Quietude
Like a tree’s dark shadow
Knows only the absorption of all colors
Rendering the din of senses
A cacophonous silence
How gentle the process
Once resistance abates
The mind’s own deprivation tank
Engendering trust void of fear
Yet
So hesitant are many
To embrace the white light
To wait out nature’s tintinnabulation
The white noise becoming aphonic
To lay oneself down
Afloat atop the water
The grass
The ethereal reality of consciousness
Where leaves of brown
Beneath the awaiting orange of
Red and yellow repeat nature’s cycle
Where jasmine lures the mulch of life
Into purity’s gateway
Patiently biding time’s eternal truth
Preparing one with zero
The hush of peace
The quiet of love
The mutation of hate
Conjoin in harmony’s sublime reward
The circle of quietude
Written: November 28, 2023
______________________________________
Beneath the sweltering luminescent sky.
A thunderbolt flared over the silent firefly.
Oak-smoke tones and vanilla bean paste.
Swung idly, draped as moss from a baste.
Tintinnabulation caused by wind-borne sighs.
The gentle quiet of flora roughness is dry.
Evenfall cobalt-wrapped nascent starlight.
A crescent-shaped moon is gloaming in flight.
An avalanche of a billion Katydid wing beats
Cricket voices in a range of alto to bass feats
My gem-encrusted flame bursts and spits.
Beneath a benumbed bowl, boiling hiss.
My soul finds solace in the lichened death fall.
I was thrilled by the fire and the creepy owl call.
A soft mist falls across drooping eyelids.
amid the dancing stars and firefly skids.
If you stand strongly with and for Liberty
I will fearlessly join you
If you stand firmly for Freedom
I will cheer the noble gestures of your kingdom
If you stand enthusiastically for Equality
I will ecstatically stand with you too
If you stand for good democracy
I will help you spread the seeds of Love
I will happily clap when the doves are hovering above
If you stand solidly for fair and equal justice
I will help you ring the bells of peace
I will fervently pray for you all the time
I will sporadically listen to the tintinnabulation of the chime
Brothers and sisters, I have tears of hope in my eyes today
Otherwise
My pen is able and ready amidst the fray
And it won’t be so wise
Because I love my fellow human beings, our people
Who are black, red, white, yellow and purple.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and to our brothers and sisters.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Breezes ebb and rise as gentle as night tides,
tinkling wind chimes dangling from eaves,
their glass prisms flickering
by the porch light like moths.
They are my stars in sky's chasm.
Among shy notes played by a gust
birds adorn rustling leaves as spritely morning sun dances
through bending branches, followed by waves'
hush over an opalescent beach.
In the drowse of shadows I exult in memories
just as August's zephyrs tickle my lobes and flirt with my hair.
But in passing eons I grew up,
residing under stars overpowered
by neon mockery. As I sit behind my house
I'm no longer a creature of wild land,
but a fixture in manufactured opulence,
tintinnabulation of garnish the impetus
for my vicarious life.
On warm nights vistas cascade,
reeling behind closed eyes,
lifted in youth's ebullience
by winds and glistening skies,
inhaling life with feral breaths of the sea.
8/18/18
Wind Chime Contest--Edward Ibeh
Eight Word Challenge--John Hamilton
Written: June 20, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the realm of words, where wonder weaves
A tapestry of dreams and beliefs
A poet seeks to paint a scene.
With words alike colors, vibrant, and keen.
Within this tapestry, we find a tale,
Of quintessential love that will never fail.
Two souls entwined in propinquity
Bound by a love that's pure and free.
In the realm of words, where passion lies,
Their love blooms beneath the starlit skies.
Their hearts beat in a pyrrhic dance.
A rhythm of love, a fleeting chance
The susurrous whispers of the wind,
Carry their love, a secret within.
As they walk hand in hand, hearts intertwined,
Their love, a melody, was forever aligned.
The tintinnabulation of their laughter was so sweet,
Echoes through the realm, love's symphony complete.
With each wafture of their tender embrace,
Their love illuminates, leaving no trace.
Yet in this realm of wonder and dreams,
There lingers a shadow—a woebegone theme.
For love's tapestry is not without strife,
And their hearts are tested in the realm of life.
But still, they hold on; their love never wanes.
Through the storms and the pains
They face the challenges hand in hand.
Their love is a fortress, eternally grand.
In the realm of words, where wonder weaves
Their love endures and never deceives.
For in this realm, where poets reside,
Their love is immortal, never denied.
In the tapestry of dreams, they remain,
Bound by love's thread, a never-ending chain.
The ceaseless beating of a drum,
fast marks our days ‘til we are done.
Our time will come, our time will come.
Listen, listen, can you hear it?
Growing louder as you near it,
as men of courage, cowering, fear it.
A distant, daunting, haunting hum,
vibrations of a tympanum,
of time to come, of time to come.
Strings of the cosmic tympanum,
vibrating ‘branes as they are strum,
keep perfect time ‘til we are done.
Drum beats of infinite duration,
a cosmic tintinnabulation,
God’s multiversal modulation.
In resonance the yogis “OM”
harmonics of the cosmic thrum,
that marks our days ‘til we are done.
The poets and the prophets pray
their words of warning will convey
why we should cherish every day:
Blake wrote with vision, somber, sour,
“Eternity in just one hour.”
Just long enough to smell a flower,
before the beasts of time devour.
Look, to the stars, where we began,
now turn around and you are old.
Go, smell the flowers, while you can,
soon you’ll be buried in the cold.
For the ceaseless beating of a drum,
fast marks our days ‘til we are done.
Our time will come ... my time has come!
For the ceaseless beating of a drum,
fast mar …
Submitted 6-8-2020.
28 Cracks In The Ceiling
I take my red-inked dagger in hand
And succinctly spew its secrets for all to see.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
There’s a storm moving out of the west.
I can smell the thunder and
The titillating turbulence of tintinnabulation.
An old lady sits cross-legged and knitting,
Waiting for the sweating sun to sink.
“I was just a girl in 1925… and now…”
The endless strained faces out there
Tell stories of death, disease and depravity.
They know the eternal worm is the other one
In this passion triangle.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
Snakes frothing in suburbia.
The megabytes of Zanzibar jettison out naked bone chips.
Later months and trivial dimes.
Smokestack realizations in a tent.
Church buttresses holding up my whining soul.
Green Edsels down in San Pedro.
Michelobs and round sassy broads fingering erect nipples.
With a Susie in each arm
He lights a cigarette in honor of grand appeasement.
Sensuous sinews entwine effervescently.
More loose chicks in short skirts,
Pouting and scamming.
Times are hot in the old town tonight.
Music and misery, wine and wickedness.
Stubborn clocks disarm with water-resistant influx.
I was a princox in petticoats.
We met at a Tastee Freez at twilight.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
Do come to our symposia , they’re sure to be such fun.
First topic for discussion will be campanology.
Newcomers will be shown the ropes and methodology.
The vicar is providing tea and scones for everyone.
Bell ringing is an ideal form of mental stimulation
And for those ladies worried about drooping batwing flab
It tones the biceps within weeks, they'll soon be looking fab
And hearts will be uplifted by sweet tintinnabulation.
I hope to have convinced you that the benefits are clear
Of taking up a hobby which holds such euphonic pleasure;
A family-friendly pastime for those wintry hours of leisure.
Ring out the old, ring in the new in this forthcoming year!
14/09/18
' Symposia Poetry Contest' Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Purposely off center, on tippy toe.
What a feat; completely nuts.
Tummy tuck, umbrella in hand,
just clowning around; on the brink
of a niagara fall. Tintinnabulation of
power, provoking an audience cower;
…over the rainbow it seems.
The audience holds on for dear life.
Colors blossoming like sunbursts.
Muscling up courage to close my eyes.
The ringing in my mind, an eruption
of a pale face, red honker, on the edge.
Blinking umbrella with ab rise and fall.
What was I thinking? Can’t turn back,
losing my grip, decentralized.
The audience holds on for dear life.