Short Rattle On Poems

drainpipes rattle on
as the downpour cleans the walk
papier-mâché news
so much for coupons
today is full price...

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How blissful natures pause reigns		
the vibratory hum greedily gleaned		

Cicadas buzz call transport
the soft rustle of maples branches sport 

The three-part tune “whip poor will” 		
The acorns rattle on the window sill		

All of natures silent prizes
Bring joy and wonder in silent guises....

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standing
playing a part

apart at the party

out of water
fish swim together
forgot that

there are no balloons
just arty talk
the occasional sing
at blue collar america

elbows sharpened
at the bloodless buffet

diamond rings rattle on wine glasses
ice cubes click teeth
talking into wineglasses
bowties circle – cackle

elsewhere
babysitters watching
as i am...

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standing
playing a part

apart at the party

out of water
fish swim together
forgot that

there are no balloons
just arty talk
the occasional sing
at blue collar america

elbows sharpened
at the bloodless buffet

diamond rings rattle on wine glasses
ice cubes click teeth
talking into wineglasses
bowties circle – cackle

elsewhere
babysitters watching
as i do...

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“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.”
Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Waiting for the dentist’s assessment of my implant screw. 
I watch Dogwood buds on dry branches rattle on the window pane.
Why did Shakespeare’s quote pop into my head right then?
while wondering if the bone graft grew,

‘every fair from fair sometime declines.’
...

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I scratch symbols out of a matted beard.
Fingertips as smooth as wave-worn pebbles
rattle on an invisible shoreline,
the sound is a kind of speech
a language that only spume and spray understand.
Seven days a week I listen;
rarely does the water translate
any intelligible meaning.
Nevertheless images rise
like dead half-eaten fish.
I pick at the bones and wish
for more impossible things....

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Clear crystals eat iron voices.
The wind dies; its bones rattle on.

A stealing wind moves many loose tongues, but where?
"Where' is not the question but a movement,
a rapport pealing from somewhere.

When wind is silent, wind chimes listen.
Speech goes deaf when the wind rings.

A snow laden sky sings under our feet.
Icicles chime in the sunlight.

Tinkling is the light....

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Nancy Jones, 

on ya babe yer twice as good, 
a mate for sure who understood,
 me madness.
Death can come when eer it wants,
 i'll spring about n ponce,
 with just a little sadness... 
see you on the other side,
 when death does take me for a bride,
i wanna be the bridegroom...
i'll rattle on, can't find a tune,
 sidestep dodge the bloody moon,
johnson's locked away 4 badness? 
  addled with some gladness......

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The harbingers of spring are long forgotten
 now rise the specters of summer's end
and the fodder of the misbegotten
 call forth spirits of the psyche to ascend.
Come skeletal images and visionary scarecrows 
 creep along the evening shadows
hiding in the pale moonlight glow
 bringing the macabre wherever it goes.
The crimson orange, the blood red rose,
 the blackened corpse, screeching tones
rattle on with each step taken and posed
 bring on the costume halloweenie crossbones....

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