e……..em……..emu……emulate……emulation
building words is quite the celebration
constructing sentences is a kick too
conjunctions acting as the well-toned glue
prepositions running up and down
paragraph sneering with a clown’s young frown
my muse tears down rules and jumps over walls
ideas are pinging in my head now like ping pong balls
Each air conditioner is topped
With its own mound of snow,
As well as all the window sills
I see, lined in a row.
I hear the blowing snow machines
From down there on the street,
A background noise to the more pleasant
Pinging of the sleet.
The cars are covered, clad in white,
And won’t be moved for days,
Though buses and some SUV’s
Plow through the wintry glaze.
It’s comfy in my city home;
There’s tennis on TV.
With food to eat and beer to drink,
We’ll get by cozily.
Tomorrow will be time to start
To venture from the nest,
But while the snow keeps swirling,
Looking out from in is best.
I was not awakened by the drip dripping of a faucet tap
as I lay abed, stifling a yawn trying to return to sleep.
It was the soft ping pinging sound of rain drops, rap rap,
redundant chirps like a newly hatched chick's peep peep.
I heard the distant crash and boom in peals of thunder
trying to roar louder than the tick tock of the alarm clock.
I rolled over, groaning need of sleep, feeling torn asunder.
That's when I heard the unmistakable click of the door lock.
There was the swoosh from a pair of little, socked feet,
pitter pattering tiny toes on hardwood floors that creaked.
A warm breath murmured "Mommy," in a voice so sweet.
Drizzle splish splashed the windowpane, leaving it streaked.
My sleepy child snuggled in my arms, both of us drifting in dreams
when the shrill ring ring of my cell phone started to chime.
The vibrating mmm mmm refused my dance with moonbeams.
Kitty sashayed into the room, "Meow meow. It's feeding time."
A leaf dried to brown maraca, rustles.
Moon-beam driven breeze, curls in ears, whispers.
Subtle call of summer's passing, puzzles.
As green summer grass fades to grey, whiskers.
You can hear the patter of dew, pinging.
The limbs of trees squeezed, tight and shrunk, crackling.
Bells toll the end of summer's reign, ringing,
As the cool winds shake the eaves loose, rattling.
Geese V's migrate south, honking and hinking.
Squirrels chattering, alert owls hooting.
Pebbles in streams bang together, clinking.
Brash summer sounds are quelled quiet, muting.
Autumn whispers winter's advent, looming.
Lilting a soulful bluesy song, crooning.
one hand clapping
bliss beats pinging
shaping our soul
29-January-2023
When and if the time should ever
come when all is said and that can
be has been done
And the only signs or form of life
that remains is being kept alive
via electronic machines
Believing he could no longer or would
wish to fight on otherwise he surely
would have
Then gather round all that loved this
poor soul whilst still alive for 1 last
final remaining time
Unplug the tubes that aid them breathe
switch off the whaling pinging machines
signaling heartbeat arithmetics
Disconnect the saline solution glucose
drip colostomy bag and statistics patches
covering them from head to toe
Release them from their comatose state
and living nightmare
For this is life in name only alive but
not alive to the world
And rather let all their dreams come true
forevermore and after that day too as
well
And in so doing so let also the living move
on to not join them in their daily grief and
pain as well
To celebrate life not just only death
an elephant summer night
the thunder roars
the lightening sneaks
quick peeks
through the darkness…
staccato cosmic tears
gently fall
in a beautiful rhythmic
splashing…
the piercing pain pinging
the spirit
takes its leave…slowly
fading away…
swollen aged feet
reflect Hannibal-like
courage
ready for heated sunshine
challenges tomorrow
will bring
to a primed soul
still sojourning struggle…
silence slowly settles:
in the distant
cosmos of the night…
fading thunder
rumbles and echo…
the cool moist feeling
of the wet night
soothes the old soul
with walking
elephant-like calmness...
oh, fall will be coming
and all will soon become
as the fading color leaves
save nature's ivory-like ones..
They were accounted for,
they were officially dead,
but the alarming fact was
that large numbers of the dead
had gone missing.
Occasionally, still pinging cellphones
were found in Hades, Purgatory, and
other Bardo states.
Olympus was drunkenly silent,
as were almost all of the seven heavens.
In nirvana,
the footwear of some of the deceased,
had been left in a pile awaiting a divine fire,
footprints were seen
as if waiting for a cooling wash
in the fountain of everlasting life.
The missing had presumably
transported themselves
to some less boneheaded ideas
of the life after, one not yet imagined
by any dogmatic priesthood.
God was accused of not packaging
the deceased properly.
However the missing were never found
having discovered their own way out
of all that doctrinal,
inconsequential madness.
Smiling mirthfully, relishing amber twilit theme,
Bedazzled in musings, reveling memories agleam,
Oh! how you charm, gazing eve’s blushing arc,
Where scarlet hues delight, igniting love spark
When impulses, moonlit, passions playful cajole
As we stroll daydreaming trekking verdant knoll,
Ambling in romance, two sensuous souls extol;
Just after the setting sun merges with the sea
And sky above stages a concert of stellar glee
When seductive vibes on wings of zest spree
Questing for, stealthily, doting hearts’ consent
Chasing exaltation, love-struck hints augment,
Exuding scent amatory from emboldened heart
Intoxicating affection smitten feelings impart;
Clasping amorous moment together we found,
Where tick of blazing hearts is the only sound
But for the clues tiptoeing, arousing carnal bliss,
Pinging fervent longings yearning endearing kiss,
Enchanting intentions of eager, flirtatious night
Courting your approval, ecstatic reveries ignite,
Sowing dreams euphoric to bloom in fertile dawn
Aspiring love evermore, blossoming on and on.
July 30, 2022
Placed 1st: Rhyme Rumi Quote Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
(151 words)
Let’s do character studies she said.
I had no idea what she meant.
Her mouth was thin and mean-looking when she suggested it.
I feel she is wound so tight; her springs might break.
I imagine them pinging around the room like bullets.
She is the oddest writing teacher I have ever had.
She gives us total freedom.
Some of us cannot deal with this.
We run up to her desk to demand more direction.
She smells like old fruit juicy toilet water and she has a turkey neck.
What is a character study? I ask her. I do not understand.
She refuses to answer.
The worst teacher in the entire world.
I am slipping from annoyed with her to hating her.
I look up and she catches me with her snake-like eyes.
She is my kryptonite.
They were accounted for,
officially dead at least,
but the sickening fact was
that large numbers of the dead
had gone missing.
Occasionally, still pinging cellphones
were found in Hades, Purgatory, and
other Bardo states.
Olympus was drunkenly silent,
as were almost all of the seven heavens.
In nirvana,
the footwear of some of the deceased,
had been left in a discarded pile.
The missing had presumably
transported themselves
to some less boneheaded ideas
of the afterlife.
Eventually, God gave up looking.
The missing dead never returned,
having found their own way
out of all that craziness.
The flapper from Sky World entered the new galaxy slowly
Feeling the reflections pinging off the surface,
Not fully understanding her mission, waiting instructions
We sent her to the wrong planet! Space control beamed up.
Is it too late to bring her back?822VC, the engineer asked.
She had found her reflection in the Great Lakes and was smitten.
Quickly! Before she finds the rivers, or she will get stuck on herself.
Because that is what happens down there on that self-absorbed planet.
The name of it is?
Not sure but we have lost many.
They never return the same.
Earth! An alien yelled. “We call it Earth!”
I have to deliberate an idea for about a month he said.
I began to type.
It forms slowly, sometimes in a painful way, he whines.
I am half listening.
Words are pinging onto the page with rapid precision.
I do not understand how anyone can write a worthwhile poem
in less than three weeks, he tells me.
Bam.
Poem number one is finished.
Sometimes I have to edit it nineteen times, he laments.
Whap!
Poem number two is done.
What are you typing? He asks me.
Anything my muse likes, I tell him. I just follow her lead.
Whack! Wham! Whim!
Poems 4, 5 and 6 are happily completed
while he gives me advice on how to write poetry.
This morning while an officer
tickets me for speeding
My smartphone pleads and pleads with me
or at least it keeps on pinging
I cannot pick it up, of course
though it nearly drives me crazy
Pretty soon I've a bad headache
thoughts morph from clear to hazy
I admit that I am terrified
by fear of 'missing out'
So now in the car I think 'F-O-M-O'
And make sure that I drive slow
snow day has now dawned
time for my boots hats and gloves
inner child smiles wide
energy revived
gift of an entire day
mouth cracks from grinning
shrieking at tv
doing kitchen cartwheels
call up all my friends
texts on high alert
wild emojis everywhere
pinging and dinging
running to the hill
screaming with crazy laughter
slipping and sliding
all my friends are here
even those who call in sick
other school days
go home with pink cheeks
shivering inside mittens
dragging sled behind
hoping tomorrow
will be a chain of snow days
happy exhausted
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.