There’s a kind of power in my failure.
Like a bell that always rings inside me.
Not too loud, but at the same time,
its echo feels like a song teaching me
that failure is but a phase.
It makes the world unpredictable.
It rings when I fall,
as if it's a sign I will rise.
It rings when I cry.
Yet when I hold a pen and paper
and write my pain out,
it barely makes a sound ,
like a bell too shy to ring.
So, I let it ring in its own time,
like it always gives me a chance to be me.
Yet on those days it rang,
it showed me that I was here,
and made me turn failure into a song,
a melody that lingers, uninvited yet welcomed.
“Death can never separate us. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, It's my hand caressing your face.” By Mary Lucas
The first bell intoned its dreary dirge.
The feel of emptiness spread all around.
I was not afraid. I felt tall and steady.
Night began to obscure the light of day.
I began my lonely trek around the desolate place.
I met no one nor did I want to. I repeat.
I was not afraid. Some candles were still lit
All around the paths. Not that I had any difficulty
To find my way. I had walked that path too, often.
Suddenly all around a wild wind whispered all around.
Still, I was more concerned about names and ages.
How many die young! I feel tears brimming in my eyes.
Yet no tears fell. The light dimmed casting long shadows.
A lone raven cawed, a warming call. I did not care.
The dirge bell rang again, a mandate and a warning,
I pressed on, undaunted but free.
I entered the mausoleum as was my habit,
Lay myself down in my comfy coffin and slept.
Placed 1
The Leader of the gang
Fought his door with a bang,
From the all –metal forcing out a clang
That his impatience duly sang,
Now smiling and choosing to hang,
Every tooth of his a ready fang…
Then, Dave’s rescuing phone rang
To great risk exposing the gang!
Pitted against a metallic door,
Whose forcible opening isn’t sure
Save with dynamites not in noise poor
Or human strength, completely raw
Would the leader now run for it,first
Or the door still attack a bit?
When the bells of death have rang,
Do this on my will:
Do not force my wife to wear black clothes,
And do not do anything on her looks.
I left her beautiful, and I want her to stay beautiful.
You can tear my clothes or burn them.
Or roll them in mud or give them to the poor...
Because I am the one that died.
But don't make my wife wear her clothes the inside out:
I left her beautiful, and I want her to stay beautiful.
When I die and I am gone;
Don't cover my wife with blankets.
And don't make her stay indoors for 30 days.
Let her laugh when someone cracks a joke
And let her go to our favourite spot in the river.
Let her cook her favourite stew
And let her drink if she wants to.
To the one who'll marry my wife after I'm dead:
Let her play Country Music,
Let her read her favourite poems;
Let her remember me.
Don't get rude if she calls you by my name,
And let her wear my blue scotch shirt
Because I know she'll keep it.
And let her have my guitar.
Lastly, allow her to visit me on my grave
And don't you ever beat her.
Then she had it all now she walks alone having since traded all treasured vows
Stumbling badly on things gone wrong ailing in grievance, " indelible thoughts"
Faded yesteryears filled with banished woes appearing like ruthless shadows
Thus was her fate they laughed when she demanded equity of fair tradeoff
She hears a scream inside her savage graveyard
"Here’s your bygone love, dead as a corpse
What you thought you had, it never was
Even when it appealed, it was just a mirage"
Someone whispers hello in the half light of dusk and she answers his call
On this darkly night of terror, he shows her the stars above and smiles
Walking hand in hand to other side of town like old lovers lost in time
The hourglass sifts slowly with an invisible force back to the past they go
Delighting in the halo of a brand new world
Two souls embrace passion as they uncover
Inspiration of life dawn’s cherubic winds unfurl
When church bells rang, the hymn was heard
Written by: Vijay Pandit & Mystic Rose
I met UFC and she courted me.
She made me wanna hit!
But I stood back from the ring,
Not battered, but better I became.
It's no life worth livin' to get
your bell rang.
Or worse, to punch a good man
to his death,
Just to get the gawkers to
sing your song!
And move up the rung
to where you think you belong.
The escalation seems so wrong.
the old church bell rang
then in the empty chapel
silent voices sang
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
They rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
Twas me, they rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
Twas me, they rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
Wedding bells rang this
Early evening:
We tossed seed
Into air hued
Lilac by shadow,
Laughing with joy though
Papa, he brooded,
And Mama’s red cheeks
Ran freshets of
Tears, brine for the
Years she pampered and
Loved, cared for her girl,
In hard times and good,
Knowing one day
Eros would call,
Tempting our sis, whose
Husband’s a fine guy who
Earned our acceptance and
Really deserved all our
Expressions of cheer and
Shouts of “Good Luck!”
Now, let’s move back to the bar,
Our newlyweds gone, let’s
Toast, again, baby sister,
One ravishing bride and
Married (believe it?)
On this fun, festive day, so
Raise high your charged glasses and
Roar with approval and let’s
Open more bubbly, abolish the clock, and
We’ll party like there’s no tomorrow.
November 8, 2016
Wild Acrostic Poetry Contest
(We Will Party Like There's No Tomorrow)
Julia Ward, Sponsor
invigorating morning air
two-mile walk, local news, coffee, toast
enroute to work at daycare, checked on Dad
another rewarding day
then night, at home alone
She's forty-eight; her kids are grown.
Her husband left three years ago.
She'd asked, "What's wrong? Is this my fault?"
He'd kissed her cheek and told her "NO!"
As she lay resting--
Was it a dream? a vision?
smiling face, so real
Doorbell rang. Who could that be?
the smiling old flame she'd dreamed!
November 1, 2017, entered in Brian Strand's End October Standard Contest
Spring field
Fun filled
Green teen
Play clean
Forties
Sorties
Sink Pink
Drink, wink
Spread Red
Hot bed
Love Fete
Soul-mate
01.03.16
Holika, commonly called Holi is a spring festival celebrated in India and neighbouring countries, at the approach of the spring season, during the 3 or 4 days preceding the full moon day in the month of Phagan. Holi is celebrated by throwing colors and colored powder in the air. Colorful Rangoli pattems are painted at doorways to houses. Families assemble around a fire throwing prasad and coconut in the fire.The Holi festival marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring.
Essentially, Holi means the triumph of good over evil and conquest of sensual values by spiritual values.
Rang = Colour
Along with Judy Garland, this star was born
Twas for me, they rang the bells and sounded the horns
Yup! Li'l ole me
On my mommies knee
Destined for greatness but my mind was stillborn
© Jack Ellison 2015
they walk the streets
you hear the horn beat
on that nigh
of blinking lights
bell ringing
the crowd singing
on the wall the ball falls
everyone one largh gand
on
NEWYEARS EVA BANG AND RANG
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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.