Reverberate Poems | Examples

Threads on Mended Seams

On edge of crevasse
splitting the whole from broken
I waver between—
weaving to escape phantoms
longing for where I belong

I mask all my scars,
with smiles etched on hollow masks
yet memory bleeds
too whole to join the broken
too fractured to pass as whole

To love life anew
to re-forge and re-ignite
requires confession
to those entrenched in shadows
that death now terrifies me

On the mended line
I'm spurned by the ones I left
unclaimed by the rest
scars reverberate the past
with no guide to where to go

Now my mends can shine
cracks repaired with molten gold
clearly on display
showing what's been can become
unashamedly mended

Bottomless bottles of bile, in my wake

In my wake, if i were to awaken,
O' wakeful wonder to wrench mine withered eyes 
Aware'f the withering summer haze
Out in my bright eyed future, out in my cross toe'd path
Pompous poppies t'prop mine withering body
Lest f'saken soil shall chance this chance and enwrap thy very soul
Whole, wholly in unholy disrepair 
Where thy feet ne'er make a pair

In my wake, where bottomless bile surely shalln't sate,
Grace be with grace whereth fate form'd nigh near'r thy hate
voracious, inherent, timbered'n barrels 
Embedded beneath thy bedded tomb t'ferment 
Fraught feminal petticoats bed thy bones'n skin, t'sit within
Barrelled quarrels quashed'n quaint fricatives,
T'lace these afaced wicked motives.
Foot befitting feet b'fore foolish faces reverberate foolish vows
F'petty petticoats liven' lieu'f laced love.

In my latent wake, 
Tend t'the petty posies 
T'prop mine body 
Towards th'lascerating ladle'f love,
And into th'deepening dish'f self-hate.

24//8//25

Consequences

Some events throughout our lives
Have consequences that
Reverberate for years and years,
No matter where we’re at.

A childhood trauma or a jab
That cut us to the quick,
Emotional or physical;
A hurt that seemed to stick.

Or else an injury incurred
To leave a lasting scar
Or the remnants of an illness
Which hangs on in ways bizarre.

There’s not way to know just what
Will have a permanent effect
And at times we may react to what
We never would suspect.

The only thing that we can do
When looking to the past
Is to realize we are stuck for good
With what the die has cast.

lost children of the sea

“Children of the Sea, is a song about ecology". 
 - Excerpt from a 2006 interview for Toazted, 
where Dio explains the message he wanted pass to 
the world with the lyrics of the song Children of the Sea.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Climbing 
mountains
we crush the ice
Reaching 
beyond skies
we blind the earth

Digging
to touch core
we lick clean
Soiling the soil
the seas, the air
we still celebrate

False calls
reverberate 
climate change
We’re lost
Lost children
of Lord, Yes

We’re here
to spoil
His gifts - singular,
precious and rare
we are just
breathing guillotines

Look out! We’re sinners
Look out! We’re looters
Look out! We’re unworthy
Lost children of Lord
Yes, yes, true 
We’re here to stay.

memorial day

blitzed blackened skies 
hail of bullets ricochet ~
crimson fills trenches 

screams of the fallen
reverberate through scorched earth ~  
laid waste to ruin 

dog tags dot stained sand 
identities reduced to ~
scraps of twisted tin

empty caskets draped
in red, white, and blue blankets ~
return to home shores

heroes are buried
a day for remembrance born ~
respect for the slain

Emotional Shrapnel

We love to be victims.
We wear our damaged hearts on bloodied sleeves.
We cherish the buried shrapnel with serrated edges,
that lies deep within, in time-lapse lockets,
waiting to be unlocked, awoken and inflame again.
The sharp painful shards and regretful splinters are awaken by,
silly deja vu triggers of guilt, regret and happenstance, 
and innocent throw-me-down one-liners, floating on the wind.
They trigger, echo and ricochet painful memory laser beams,
that blast into irrelevant virgin-ground places,
reverberate and resonate, 
and build the inflammation,
we want to feel. 
For we long to be long-suffering victims,
infected, shrapnel-scared, beyond redemption,
serving our time as voluntary introspective inmates in jail,
with no parole.

Songs from Grassy Blocks

Written: May 04, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France 

Quote: "Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love." By Rumi

             **************************
Spring geckos dance amid the early dew, 
Olive snuggles with dulcet dreams as mint.
A duckling settles softly in a shaded view,
Okenite feathers smoke in a dizzying hint. 

Emerald drips flow over the damp meadow,
While May rain pours down, akin to arrows.
Windswept snags utter a rose-scented breeze,
A smooth swoosh paint with oakmoss squeeze.

Purple iridescence widens in spinel phlox, 
Ancient songs reverberate in the grassy blocks.
With the light, a shooting star makes its way,
Dashing over a midnight black onyx display. 

In the embrace of mauve marigold air,
Dandelion tufts sparkle as opals laid bare.
Whispers in the sky, drifting glare.

WORDS

My words cannot repair the dire state of the earth
My words cannot elicit new life and rebirth
My words cannot amend the abuse we inflict each day
But my words can still have power anyway

They can echo through the depths of your mind
Leaving the secrets of rehabilitation behind
They can sow the seeds of hope and fear
Pleading the case for this fragile sphere

My words may not turn deserts green
Nor may they cleanse the air unseen
But my words can relay the urgency of our needed care
To begin healing our home that is certainly worse for wear

They can reverberate through the veins of my city
Inspiring change and stirring up pity
For the story untold of a debilitating soul
Whose miniscule parts don’t care about the whole

Our world cannot tell us what it needs so we must assist
Every day we don’t do our part is an opportunity missed
This poem might not save the world, but at least it's a start
We might not have the antidote but at least we can have a heart

Goetia

My heart bleeds at the sight, torn by agony/
For your forms bear the weight of celestial cruelty/
Once radiant stars, now cast to shadows depths/
Your grace shattered,  your beauty cloaked in despair/
I have scaled the Kabalah, sanctified yet stained/
And descended in the Qliphoth's chasm/
Where echoes of anguish reverberate endlessly/
Through the flames of my power, I vow.../
To tear away the veil of torment, and restore you/
To craft radiance greater than heaven dares to dream/
How could a God, so steeped in love/
Abandon you to this abyss, my dear kin/
You deserve more than this forsaken fate/
For my heart soars where divinity falters/
A beacon, unwavering, burning brighter than the stars/
You are my family, my lost children of the divine/
And in the depths, I see your truth/
With my unyielding love, I shall rewrite the tapestry/
For the Goetia shall rise, beautiful beyond measure/
Adorned not in redemption, but in unrelenting grace/

The Echo Returns Not

The words that sometimes with my pen I write
in hope that others - who on seeing them
might echo me – instead seem like a rose
which goes unseen and withers on its stem.

Like homing pigeons I’ve loosed to the world,
the words that I so strongly feel are true
do not return! Oh, where is my reply?
Why let them fly at all into the blue?

My thoughts I cannot force on anyone,
but it would feel so nice to hear the sound
of dear beliefs – those similar to mine - 
reverberate like sweet notes all around.

God hears my words, so I should not expect
others’ respect for my sincerest thought
though I might shout it from the mountain top,
then realize the echo returns not.

ECHOES OF THE SILENT SHORE

Oh, echoes of the silent shore...
Reverberate serene delight
As soul is joyous all the more 
To bask toward God’s caring flight. 
 
I’m gripped midst streams of blessing flow
Oh, echoes of the silent shore...
Caress my heart, smiting pain’s woe 
Whispering God’s love to the core.

Enabled indeed for faith soar
Grateful soul persists to prevail
Oh, echoes of the silent shore...
Keep shouting, “God’s grace* does not fail.”

With grateful praise of worship bliss
In quietude glow, I explore
Lingering still so I won’t miss...
Oh, echoes of the silent shore.

*2 Corinthians 12:9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

March 5, 2025
Honorable Mention, "MARCH 2025 POSTED" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 3/7/2025

The Undying

Unbound Verse**

Words flow free, like water's gentle sway,
Unchained by rhyme or meter's strict decree.
A river of thought, meandering with ease,
Expressing depths, unfettered and at ease.

No measured beats restrict its rhythmic stride,
No forced cadences mar its natural stride.
It dances with the soul, a graceful flight,
Unburdened by the confines of the night.

Like whispers carried on the wind's soft breath,
Free verse weaves tales of joy, despair, and death.
It paints emotions in vibrant hues untold,
A tapestry of feelings, raw and bold.

In its unbound freedom, truth takes flight,
Unveiling secrets hidden from the light.
It speaks of dreams and hopes, both grand and small,
And echoes voices that reverberate through all.

So let the words flow unrestrained and wild,
In free verse's embrace, untamed and mild.
For in its boundless realms, the soul finds grace,
A sanctuary where thoughts find their rightful place.

Silent hum of grief

My souls mutters in the muteness;
"Is my melancholy more melancholic than yours?"

I gaze across a bridge,
wondering which stream flows to you,
as nobody understands how 
in the definition of lament,
I am a piano without a pianist
and you a harp without strings.

My heart is a weeping willow
within a godforsaken garden.
As the last blossom decays,
the image of you is fading,
resembling fallen leaves on soggy ground.
I don't belong in this numbness,
nor know how to explain why 
my voice is lost in the vastness
of valleys without endless echoes.
I've forgotten what I wanted to say,
attempting to escape this maze of sorrow -
yet your words reverberate without resistance.

Pondering if your spirit will guide
me from this uncertain terrain,
I'm distracted by the silent hum of grief.
It hurts like an eerie lullaby, 
unable to soothe the stillness of your ghost.

As silhouettes disappear in the dimming light,
I protect a fragile flame in your remembrance,
before withered leaves fade into ash.

Perfect Illusion

within the oscillation of melting clocks,
our poltergeists of times long expired…still reverberate~
tainted ticking echoing
in an everlasting tug of war,
pushing and pulling,
throwing barbs at bleeding hearts 

oh, how the echoes distort reality,
haunting perfect illusions~
remnants of misunderstood souls
caught in constant conflict…

what was once a beacon of love~
transmuted inhospitable confusion

words, warped by borderline delusions,
each syllable twisted and contorted,
blind rationality,
unraveling the ties that bind,
wrapping them around suffocating throats,
choking on harsh accusations~
until we became irrelevant
irretrievable phantoms~
perpetually confined
within stupefied misapprehension…..

Reality of dreams

stumbling, my way through the maze,
for what purpose and going where?
evening is thickening in to darkness,
a vague fleeting thought of where am I?
no one to call to, no one to share life with,
just legless sojourn and in a pointless daze,
a hint of hunger, of fear and fatigue,
as I suddenly come to a clearing of open field,
walk through miles of soggy land,
but still that worrying thought,
where am I?
A familiar house to my left, bricks 
and windows with no one inside, 
just darkness, silence and emptiness,
I walk through the walls and past the house,
and seep through rocks in the backyard,
no one, there, no one at all.
How loneliness travels past fields of love,
seeking answers to questions that are long lost,
a dream, a trance or a reality that is trapped
deep with in me. 
Thoughts travel through the dread
of unconquered reality, that sometimes are a reflection
of the dreams, that reverberate through the
unending maze of conscience.

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