"clang" poems
Her eyes so bright;
Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night?
The rain, dancing on the pavement
in no specific arrangement.
Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers,
Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel.
Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle
The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile.
A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude.
I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone.
A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it.
Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses.
Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care.
She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day'
Left alone to stumble back home,
sipping champagne royally; Mockery.
Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain
I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
Shopping outfashioned hunting and gathering,
Processed beats fresh,
Groceries replaced fruit trees,
Malls superceded forests,
Churches outnumbered temples,
Countries dissolved to territories,
Places devolved to areas,
Paths broke down into highways,
Commodity converted to currency,
Laborers submit to machinery,
Masters engage in humbug,
Apprentices reduced to students,
Knowledge downgraded to education,
And education is deducted to a show of grades,
While schools are the stages,
And the corporate world is the bigger runway,
With work slumped to employment,
Wisdom demoted to profession,
Where in jobs are the only future,
Careers are the only success,
Clicking and pressing buttons are skills,
Computers are correspondent to brains,
Information refers to news reports,
Intelligence means up-to-dateness,
Browsing is preferable to reading,
Studying is in demand more than learning,
Viewing things flashed on screens yields awareness,
Transportation is to traveling,
As buying is to the three basic needs,
And needs embody worldly possessions,
Worldly possessions define happiness,
Happiness is due to selfishness,
Selfishness is traced to the lack of love,
The lack of love draws from the lack of faith,
Because faith stands for religion,
And religion stands for membership,
Where politicians are the gods,
Celebrities are the preachers,
And the preachers are the enemies,
While networking is equal to friendship,
And connection equates to communication,
Experiences require photos,
Memories necessitate uploading,
Souvenirs can be downloaded,
Smartphones are substitute to pets,
Gadgets are toys,
Holding controllers is playing,
Watching TV is exploring the great outdoors,
Internet is recreation,
And technology is a way of life;
While humans are scientists,
Nature is a guinea pig,
And the earth is a laboratory,
Where prices are misidentified for worth,
Processes are miscalculated as progress,
Impoverishment is confused with improvement,
And getting more is mistaken as getting better;
And then we wonder why
Homes have become houses,
Family members have become boarders,
Nations are separate species
Composed of tired and hungry citizens,
Children are monsters
Who are biochemically rascals,
Teenagers are zombies
Whose adventures lead to delinquency,
Adults are robots
Who just clang when touched,
And life is not so simple
As how it is said to be.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 5:40 AM UTC
There's a private, invisible flock of comedians chanting soapbox knock-knocks in my parking lot
Noisy, clang, boom thingy aloft and clipping the air around the slimy snow
And why does ajax keep butting its nose into everything I’ve got?
They’re all just boom-lost facades in a canonical, sly-faced rant.
So slanted, frankly, and poised toward a milder pace that the clang clipped the frosty branches beneath a drunken frat-house party.
Ah, the dandy-clang : native to the sandy graves and morose olive branches.
But only on the night of the dandy-clang, candy dances
for the branches are not partial to missed solid caches
of want and woe
of tongue and toe
and seldom shaken beneath the overbearing heat of a white-faced predator
for times it was that here and now, because
the wind had bitten harder
What am I saying?
That if the dandy-clang came. And if it produced the branches of the dancing eve fame...
with but not together. The clouds up in the ether
that lake and earth should wither
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go ****
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go ****
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
5.7k
this fire breathes
loud inside my head
the clang and crash
of my combustion
trying to douse the flames,
my bucket 'o water
has merely served
to excite the element
groaning breath clamors,
its loud vapor screams
my rapid oxidation
waiting beast
inside my head,
you'll have your
meat soon enough
and i, seared upon
your spit,
once again.
--bruised orange
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
Translation From Anacreon
I wish to tune my quivering lyre,
To deeds of fame, and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell,
When Atreus’ sons advanc’d to war,
Or Tyrian Cadmus rov’d afar;
But still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to Love alone.
Fir’d with the hope of future fame,
I seek some nobler Hero’s name;
The dying chords are strung anew,
To war, to war, my harp is due:
With glowing strings, the Epic strain
To Jove’s great son I raise again;
Alcides and his glorious deeds,
Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds;
All, all in vain; my wayward lyre
Wakes silver notes of soft Desire.
Adieu, ye Chiefs renown’d in arms!
Adieu the clang of War’s alarms!
To other deeds my soul is strung,
And sweeter notes shall now be sung;
My harp shall all its powers reveal,
To tell the tale my heart must feel;
Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim,
In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.
5k
"Beep-beep.
BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN
You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust"
Advertisement in N.Y. Times
When comes my second childhood,
As to all men it must,
I want to be a banker
Like the banker at Bankers Trust.
I wouldn't ask to be president
Or even assistant veep,
I'd only ask for a kiddie car
And permission to go beep-beep.
The banker at Chase Manhattan,
He bids a polite Good-day;
The banker at Immigrant Savings
Cries Scusi! and Olé!
But I'd be a sleek Ferrari
Or perhaps a joggly jeep,
And scooting around at Bankers Trust,
Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep.
The trolley car used to say clang-clang
And the choo-choo said toot-toot,
But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust
Is every bit as cute.
Miaow, says the cuddly kitten,
Baa, says the woolly sheep,
Oink, says the piggy-wiggy,
And the banker says beep-beep.
So I want to play at Bankers Trust
Like a hippety-hoppety bunny,
And best of all, oh best of all,
With really truly money.
Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night
Until my dream comes true,
And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop
And a big beep-beep adieu.
4.7k
The devil's speech say they:
Rolling, clattering, frolicking, hungry.
Billows of charred skeletons embrace the air
Black soot pumped straight from the pyres of Hades
Congealing to clouds of evil intent wherever it roam.
That charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
In the coughing desert
Not a thing dares roam
Neither wind nor creature
And neither stick nor stone.
But then the silence disturbed by a horrible shriek -
The railway screams in horror and the train itself speaks, saying
"Tell me, thou innocent,
Why feel you special and best?
For when all is done I take you
And return you to my nest;
Your world is bright and happy
Full of high spirits and song,
Though soon you too shall step aboard
And join my faceless throng."
Hot saliva on the heaving engines:
Weeping, groaning, ghostly, parched.
Rusted joints spewed onwards grinding resisting
Movement spat out like a violently beaded string of curses
Sloppily uttered as incantations of a malformed mouth!
From that charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
That dark train cries out and all around
A mourning whimper rises like slumbering fog-
Bleak and yellow it obscures the land
Seeping out insidious in strange locales all:
The old lonely fisherman
Sleeping on his wharf,
The frustrated hawker's
Windblown barefaced booth,
Silent streets crying for attention,
Dark places hidden at the corner of every eye.
That solemn train cries out and all around
Her mourning whimper rises like harrowing fog
Calling all to upright attention and fear.
Looming like a spectre but a breath-span from your window
Slowly closing cold dread claws-
Naked numbness dumb as ice-
Cold dread claws upon thy waist.
And you,
You poor old thing,
Shivering in your pitiful shack of bones,
You never had any chance!
You were only human.
You were only human, you poor old thing.
Barreling on with brimstone slang:
Clang clang! Dang dang! Beelz Bub!
Sputtering an ocean of curses from turgid goat-flesh
Born of sadness to cause even more, yawning great maw
Jowls clanking with fresh hot oil drool steaming stark and lewd, and yet
That charred old shell so terse,
Blacker than sadness and slain like a hearse,
Is all that gives meaning to our every gain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:10 AM UTC
~
In ode to all who succumb
through wayward passages
lined of scribble notes
dripping ink’s savagery,
staining cursive patterns
in Sylvia-like depressions
Jarred bells ring
down lost tunnels
around each dark corner…clang
from steeples we chase
and beds we lie
draped in sadness
and shapes of
poetic happenstance
Tear drop vinaigrette
spiced of leftover lifetimes
drizzled on leafy desperation
bids a tired farewell
before time collects
the deserved rewards
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Rows of starched green and yellow paisley feather stalks
Marching in ordered lines along the road to 57 Eldon Way
Hot dogs and char burgers charge the air with yesterday's homecoming
Buds of moxie memories tipping long ears to big blue
Listening to the chickadees vocal pecking at kernels from the past
Morsels fall to the dirt signal life again for those willing to root
Pulled magpies to lines spy intimate joy-scattered seed below
Promising fortunes creased by hourglasses settled sand
White washed porches with rose printed borders
Nestle a "his and her" swing vantage over familiar fields
Imagined better-time scenes from selfie soaked movies
More real than all the forgotten stones ever stepped upon
Sweet tea sugar fills tall glasses of yarn spun dreams
Glory red and navy rippling a windy beat
To the clang of their steal pole clasp
Dance
Swing with them and recall a time of slower horizons
Of richer baskets
Of brighter springs
Of longer summers
Take a dip in the swimming hole
Naked, together, and happy
© 2019 MJL
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
She was the only lighthouse in a roiling sea of black
My rowboat upended
As the waves enveloped my screams
Gasping, reaching
As the foamy pitch swallowed me whole
CLANG mourned the lighthouse
Her yellow beam helplessly revolving
CLANG CLANG
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Standing in this place,
Where you tells us nothing that is going on.
We fear the worst,
Only because you wont tell us better.
You take us away from our land,
To a place I never knew.
You tell us nothing that is going on,
And you treat us as though we are not human.
You tell us we are moving,
and whip us until we move.
"form a line" you tell us.
We fear your guns, so we do.
You take us to the water.
The same water that brings us joy,
Now will bring us nothing but fear,
and hatred.
You whip the ones who don't go,
And Yell at the ones who do.
You hurt our kind,
Like you have nothing but sin.
Slowly the line starts to move,
And I hear nothing but the clang of mettle,
And the cries of my kind.
We fear what will happen next.
I get to the place,
where the white man stays.
I try not to look him in the eyes,
Because all I will see is sin.
You put your cold grasp,
From something I do not know,
Around my wrists and ankle,
But worst, around my neck.
My man fears you aliens,
so we do what your guns say.
We are not to be feared,
Yet you show us nothing but sin.
All of my men,
are joined by your cold hard chains.
The ones who don't move ,
get pulled by the rest.
The whippings become more,
And my people find it hard to stand.
You tell us you need us,
But show us nothing but sin.
We get on the big beast ,
The one only white man knows.
You shove us down the stairs,
And crowed us in.
We are close.
Too close.
Man and woman and child,
Brought together by sin.
the night finally comes,
And I feel peace again.
But only until the morning sun shines,
And brings death with it.
17 of my fellow men,
Brought out my you aliens.
Its only the second day,
What will the next bring?
The hunger in our belies gets stronger,
as you feast upon your joy.
The days food is not much
But rice and ***** water.
As we start to lose count of the day,
We lose count of so many other things
Death, **** fear, mice, whipping,
And sin.
My man can not talk about there fears,
For the white man will listen.
The only thing we can do,
Is make our own language.
Some hope for death,
For by death our souls can fly free.
By death we can return home,
But our families don't even have our bones to remember us by.
Our women and children are used as objects,
Objects of the white mans will.
To show no respect to,
And release your sin upon.
We are brought to stable land,
Of which we have never seen.
You brake us into groups,
and show us no respect.
Only half of my men make it there,
And most of them are not well.
We are shoved around,
And most of do not stay on out feet for long.
The ones you deem 'Usable'
go on to the homes of the white man.
We are forced to work,
for the man of the sin.
We get nothing from this,
and very little food.
We bring you your growth,
While ours is held back.
We are the worker,
we are the barer of life.
You are the owner.
YOU are the sin.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
I take a deep breath to staunch
That constant clang and clatter
Be still and follow the hunch
Before it’s too late to matter
I need a quiet place
A shift in space, a change in stealth
My next breath can create
Some room to gaze at something else
Soon I must take a break
I can’t settle down or think straight
Wrestling with those demons
I know not the time or the date
Looking back looks so abnormal
Deadly games of Red Rover
Spawning pages from my journals
Replaying over and over
I know not steps to take
On pathways for planting the seed
Peace, her elusive face
Turns away whenever I plead
Time to build that Safe House
Only I have the key to the door
Where peace and bliss abounds
I meet each holy moment and soar
Seek a new vision there
And learn to think more about others
Let go my tormented memories
Seeing All-my Sisters and Brothers
I find that peaceful space
Just to release what I don’t need
Harmony-Beauty-Love
Replaces all my soul has freed
Filling up my Heart Space
As soft as a sweet baby’s kiss
Some name the feeling Grace
I feel a sense of peace and bliss
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
I don't care any more
nor do i care any less
but i'm your lover, not your *****
and you're the reason for this mess
Parading your **** like you're in command
I have limits to your inane nonsense
I'm finally making my stand
No longer giving out to your reasons
I will stand tall, no matter what
Shape up and become a Man
Quit thinking below the waist
and treat me like I know you can
Empty vessels would clang the most
Never exercising the need to be humble nor coy
You're an underachiever with the penchant to boast
You were never a man, but a childish little boy
But, no matter what you have done or who you have become, i still see the passion within you
I see a pure love that we have created, one that is so true...
Although you have made many mistakes in the past
I am still sitting here willing to stick around for this love i know will last...
for ever and until the end
until they lay us six feet under
hand in hand as we die
i will be your lover
a lover to cherish the ground you walk on,
even when you stumble and shake,
i'll be your first in command,
because with you, there is too much at stake.
i want to be that lover,
who awaits in adoration of your arrival,
that one lover,
who loves you until our love is final.
I carved my chest and gave you this heart.
We flowed through the nile and overcame ocean tides.
A seed of bliss you planted in me and our love was born once more, leaving me scarred.
I thought you were proud and passionate but the truth was cloacked by your lies.
You dined with others while I recovered.
I resent you but appreciate the gift of new life that we have, this bond we share may never break,
for it's the only bond that makes us care.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Dishes clang loud against the sink
Metal spoons bang white ceramic
Anger defies lifelong contract
Sacred and sealed with tears and tact
Adhesive is this stone of hurt
Lumped solidly within her throat
No easy atonement comes forth
Nor minor distraction does soothe
Her rant gathers no audience
No recall of what stoked this fire
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
The Thames nocturne of blue and gold
Changed to a Harmony in grey:
A barge with ochre-coloured hay
Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold
The yellow fog came creeping down
The bridges, till the houses’ walls
Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paul’s
Loomed like a bubble o’er the town.
Then suddenly arose the clang
Of waking life; the streets were stirred
With country waggons: and a bird
Flew to the glistening roofs and sang.
But one pale woman all alone,
The daylight kissing her wan hair,
Loitered beneath the gas lamps’ flare,
With lips of flame and heart of stone.
3.2k
The air is burly
trees harvest soldiers on the line
combines, threads, manure, life--
A whole world lost amidst the flats
Saplings are the next season's
Almonds, Apples, Dates,
Waiting for food shelves and stockrooms
packed in banana boxes and given a place
They will find the plates of capitol city dwellers
They will be engorged far away from their origins
The Sierra-- oh the great plutonic mass
They are grey from age, peppered with white whiskers of snow
They are asking to be known as the interior
Pilgrims who traveled over their spines, seeking these fertile swampland
Now airstrips and dirigibles
The edges of clouds on the valley, the deserts and the mountains like folds of a book
they crackle in the sun and the skin of the earth shrinks in its gaze
Migratory birds dance in the fields, the lowly clang of bell
Bleached american flags tell us this is the land
The land of things and endless breadth
This is only California, but the majesty of it
a gem valley encased by the rocks, in silicates
A roaming place for cows, wanderers, farmers, dreams
Where the only edge of things is the mountains, saying
-Climb me, surmount me, lay me under your deeds-
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of your frequent well-beaten paths of hatred.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
What kind of Animal(goes woof,woof)
When we were growing up, I bet all of us had a favorite TV show,
and one of the things these shows for younger kids had I know,
was a song of some sort that would make us laugh and smile,
It was always some silly little ditty, just think back a while,
you had the Flintstones with their Yabba dabba doo,
Captain Kangaroo and Mr Greenjeans and Mr Clock too,
now I don't know all the shows, or the songs that you sang,
just trying to make you think, make a bell go clang,
my favorite was from the Howdy Doody show,
guess that makes me really old I know,
they would sing this song about animals, for little tykes, 1st grade,
trying to identify, by the sounds that they made,
like the title of this poem What kind of animal goes, woof woof,
the kids would respond a dog of course, you goof,
and on and on through all of the chickens and ducks,
bet the smile on your face is worth a thousand bucks.
Gomer Lepoet...
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
THE noon was as a crystal bowl
The red wine mantled through;
Around it like a Viking's beard
The red-gold hazes blew,
As tho' he quaffed the ruddy draught
While swift his galley flew.
This mighty Viking was the Night;
He sailed about the earth,
And called the merry harvest-time
To sing him songs of mirth;
And all on earth or in the sea
To melody gave birth.
The valleys of the earth were full
To rocky lip and brim
With golden grain that shone and sang
When woods were still and dim,
A little song from sheaf to sheaf-
Sweet Plenty's cradle-hymn.
O gallant were the high tree-tops,
And gay the strain they sang!
And cheerfully the moon-lit hills
Their echo-music rang!
And what so proud and what so loud
As was the ocean's clang!
But O the little humming song
That sang among the sheaves!
'Twas grander than the airy march
That rattled thro' the leaves,
And prouder, louder, than the deep,
Bold clanging of the waves:
'The lives of men, the lives of men
With every sheaf are bound!
We are the blessing which annuls
The curse upon the ground!
And he who reaps the Golden Grain
The Golden Love hath found.'
2.9k
Gauging the time on my ever ready
Timepiece, I would be vacant without it
Guessing the minutes that miss out
As the second hand moves smoothly
Locking onto with its demonstration powers
How to mark time successfully, second by
Second, a prelude to the minute minder
Merging in with the big guns, the 'On
The hour Brigade' of salutes and silences
Schedules and deadlines.
The.....gong
The chime
The clang
The beep
The moment to be woken from our sleep
It's a curse at 'times' (excuse the pun)
The engagements starting point and
Finale. I wonder what time it is right now?
Would we lose ourselves scurrying to find
Our 'timepiece'. Do we pick up our redundancy
In favour of technological time and motion?
Even though the 'Wonder World' has not dreamt of....
And cannot conceivably equate.....powerful potent
Possibilities of fake time in an unknown spatial
Rhombus, conspiring recklessly to promote individual
Unreality; time spinning out the hour, through
The minutes, towards the last seconds.....
of our unreal lives
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
(To Ellen Terry)
In the lone tent, waiting for victory,
She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain,
Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:
The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,
War’s ruin, and the wreck of chivalry
To her proud soul no common fear can bring:
Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King,
Her soul a-flame with passionate ecstasy.
O Hair of Gold! O Crimson Lips! O Face
Made for the luring and the love of man!
With thee I do forget the toil and stress,
The loveless road that knows no resting place,
Time’s straitened pulse, the soul’s dread weariness,
My freedom, and my life republican!
2.8k
Waking breath ghostly frozen, clang of pot-belly stove opening, cedar crackles good morning, sap sizzles, pops, melting. Warmth finds children sleeping, humid air, mouth-breathing. Smell of boy sweat and feet, young women ripely sweet.
Cats purring, stirring, padding quiet down stairs, weave meowing through mom's legs. Dented percolator burbles better days, snap of toast burned haze, molten mush bubbles burst, fade. Birds early on the highway Paradise-seeking, time, flash-burned, fleeting. Cobalt jay mockingly complains, chickadee sings his own name, coyote wails, thin and plain.
Children rise, sleep in their eyes, squabble over bathroom prize, eldest wins, click, locks herself in. Hurry, hurry the bus is coming, ancient driver, annoyed and honking. Brown-bag lunches crinkled running, feet slapping, seats squeaking, lungs hot and bursting. Ride the dawn breaking, hearts aching for more than this, rural bliss.
Stop sign flashes caution, young lovers in the back seat, bodies in motion. Stop, start, sway on down the highway. Engine mimics hot blood lust, accelerated diesel rush, nothing can stop us. You grab my knee - young, carefree. Brakes sigh and hiss, sneak one last kiss. You mouth - meet me later, we'll sneak out, rush to a future we haven't got, ready or not.
The old road at dusk, frog song accompanies us, bike wheels on the asphalt hum, forbidden moonlight run. Feel your heartbeat on my spine, frantic drumming matching mine. Horned owl hoots, forlorn and bleak, a premonition we refuse to heed, reckless with need. In the clearing young love begins, forget-me-knots on burning skin.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest
Our clang of metal forming metal
Our laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying lanterns for our light
A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone
Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires
Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen
The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
For a way of escape will never be
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC