"clanged" poems
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.
They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.
Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.
Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.
Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
that we are more together than we are apart
Listen up, America! This is the music of community.
We are more together than we are apart.
© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
BENEATH the flat and paper sky
The sun, a demon's eye,
Glowed through the air, that mask of glass;
All wand'ring sounds that pass
Seemed out of tune, as if the light
Were fiddle-strings pulled tight.
The market-square with spire and bell
Clanged out the hour in Hell;
The busy chatter of the heat
Shrilled like a parakeet;
And shuddering at the noonday light
The dust lay dead and white
As powder on a mummy's face,
Or fawned with simian grace
Round booths with many a hard bright toy
And wooden brittle joy:
The cap and bells of Time the Clown
That, jangling, whistled down
Young cherubs hidden in the guise
Of every bird that flies;
And star-bright masks for youth to wear,
Lest any dream that fare
--Bright pilgrim--past our ken, should see
Hints of Reality.
Upon the sharp-set grass, shrill-green,
Tall trees like rattles lean,
And jangle sharp and dissily;
But when night falls they sign
Till Pierrot moon steals slyly in,
His face more white than sin,
Black-masked, and with cool touch lays bare
Each cherry, plum, and pear.
Then underneath the veiled eyes
Of houses, darkness lies--
Tall houses; like a hopeless prayer
They cleave the sly dumb air.
Blind are those houses, paper-thin
Old shadows hid therein,
With sly and crazy movements creep
Like marionettes, and weep.
Tall windows show Infinity;
And, hard reality,
The candles weep and pry and dance
Like lives mocked at by Chance.
The rooms are vast as Sleep within;
When once I ventured in,
Chill Silence, like a surging sea,
Slowly enveloped me.
3.6k
You stood there
wearing your hurricane dress.
And all that swept across my mind
was how the gale would clash our bodies together.
After-party, the people were firmly rooted
bored, long-winded.
You were in the bathroom stall on the second floor
blowing me away,
blowing me in gusts
and launching a chilling breeze
down my spine.
Years later, the sweet tunes
clanged by the wind chimes
reminded me of you
wearing your hurricane dress
leaving me breathless.
Before you stormed off.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
There is just enough morning sunlight
filtering through the english laurel
for aging eyes to capture the purple tint
of carnations blooming
in the front of the rocks
jutting toward the porch
Night-time had been colorless
in the midst of a celebration
announced by a sign signaling
an event in the main ballroom
With a loud voice
a long-named minister
toyed with religion
and flirted with comedy
before the silverware
clanged against the china
Boredom captured the moment
in the middle of the clatter and chatter
Even stunning silks and satins
around bodacious behinds
failed to entertain
Now perhaps the oldest in the crowd
he carefully quenches each desire
to know the delicacies of the evening
with the efforts of survival. He was slowly
dying in the madness of the crowd
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
Music
by Stephen Vincent Benet
My friend went to the piano; spun the stool
A little higher; left his pipe to cool;
Picked up a fat green volume from the chest;
And propped it open.
Whitely without rest,
His fingers swept the keys that flashed like swords,
. . . And to the brute drums of barbarian hordes,
Roaring and thunderous and weapon-bare,
An army stormed the bastions of the air!
Dreadful with banners, fire to slay and parch,
Marching together as the lightnings march,
And swift as storm-clouds. Brazen helms and cars
Clanged to a fierce resurgence of old wars
Above the screaming horns. In state they passed,
Trampling and splendid on and sought the vast-
Rending the darkness like a leaping knife,
The flame, the noble pageant of our life!
The burning seal that stamps man's high indenture
To vain attempt and most forlorn adventure;
Romance, and purple seas, and toppling towns,
And the wind's valiance crying o'er the downs;
That nerves the silly hand, the feeble brain,
From the loose net of words to deeds again
And to all courage! Perilous and sharp
The last chord shook me as wind shakes a harp!
. . . And my friend swung round on his stool, and from gods we were men,
"How pretty!" we said; and went on with our talk again.
2k
I only caught a passing moment of their conversation, but the dyed redhead, bowed black face hidden behind her tresses, clearly remarked, I'm part Irish. That's white. while the boy beside her captured her every movement with sarcastic circular motions of his imaginary camera, and something in the taste of the air took me back to the iciness of the cell.
Long after the guard clanged the iron door shut, letting the reverberations fade into the silence of small spaces so evident in the 10x6 enclosed room, I heard her. In truth, recollection deceives me in associating my first awareness of her with an impossible remembrance: a womanly scent flowing on a non-existent gust between her cell and mine. But no, it was definitely the distinct, distant quality in her voice as she softly called Who's there? that caused me to press my ear tightly against cold iron in eager anticipation. Hello was all I mustered. She responded in relieved tones with tales of abuse, pimps and prostitution, all mixed with crack bumps measured in metricities that would have made her high school math teacher proud. For hours her voice echoed through the halls of the jail, pausing only for an occasional guttural response Uh-huh or, Uh-uh before continuing her tragic, comforting tale.
Eventually day broke and I left the cell-- left the girl locked away, nameless, out of sight. And, I would have forgotten. I would have never searched every face wondering: if I close my eyes and listen, would the voice that still echoes in my head present itself in a stranger's features?
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, when you wish upon a star
your dreams come true-Cliff Edwards---do they? :>
remember when you called us quits too soon
one year later in a **** same room
all the blacks and whites grayed out a little on me
but never returned the woods in thousand dreams
remember when you took that hug in a theft
burned the station down and couldn't hear a left
but things a carry a chocolate cake would never cut
all so small to you but me just a single much
remember when the ice we clanged and freed
even the cold I've missed the day you chose a fleeing cheat
all the hours and runs we held the hands and lilac
but I know again a no more a wont come back
remember the dark ages we bled and rhymed
cared and favored out on every other than not crime
all the shadows and hunts tracing the midnight sky
but the stars would never forget a lover's align
but my heart and soul would never know to draw a line
but my nights and getaways would never dim a dime
but my soul can't erase veins on violin classic chimes
but------------------------------------------------------------------
------ravenfeels
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 2:10 PM UTC
The prehensile snout of a Tapir
is posturally renowned,
but I am no caricaturist
unless I required Rhinoplasty
Neither am I an
Air Force Major or a Fireman,
never having shot or doused in anger
never clanged quid pro quo,
I am a wordsmith, without a necessarily dangerous course,
a wedgeless door stop this side of juxtaposition,
trying for a profile,
riding on a buzz,
to think so few images
could conjure so much verdure
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
“It was after I’d been *****
that my cat died” you said.
We laughed.
Why did we laugh?
We made tea
hoping to find the answer in each
sip.
But all I could detect was
sour milk and a lack of
sugar.
(I clanged the spoon onto the mug
to make musical tea
thinking it might cheer you up).
Someone’s been laying in
to my cheesy thins
and I have no biscuits
to offer.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 3:47 PM UTC
the flower
has more moisture
than the Soil
and the earthTones
have less vivid tinctures
with solid Toil
a power. the truth. the sky.
a flower. new bloom
with its rancid clutter
around the vase, the pulled
and fallen, petals -
the drab droplettes of glad tidings
or sad-like bells
clanged with clamour
all gowned in glamour
touched by a hover or glide
in the stature of things
and the square rings
that yield a snoot, the way
a drop is sad with smell
the power. a flash. and smiles.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Amid the restlessness of a blood enthused crowd
Stood two gladiatorial practitioners both battle proud
From the inner arena a barking summons rang out
Calling the combatants to engage in battle's bout
The blood lust crowd wanted sport without delay
No quarter was ceded in the gladiator's display
Slashing lashing swords flayed high then to the midriff
Shields clanged and clinked in alternate shift
The foot-work of battle was magnificent of flair
Both took the onslaught with a disdainful air
Around the arena walls went a deafening cloud
The performance of the gladiators intoxicated the crowd
While in the bowels of the arena lions and tigers roared
Battle fervour rose to the gladiators they who are adored
Striking like a lightning bolt the victor's sword kills
His opponents chest dies in blood's gushing spill
Enthused by the spectacle of blood the crowd cried for more
Other combatants offered themselves to the gladiatorial floor
Battle Gods gathered at the celestial fray
Sang songs of battle to the arena's clay
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
I didn't expect it then,
there, but not, no, not then.
Small, and many times,
unaccustomed to my home a yet;
Positively I peered forward, waiting on lights
until a clutter of voice and hello,
alerted me,
to a presence.
And it was her presence.
I knew, recognized,
and clanged that empty
cold bell into
a singing steeple.
Hit from the side, I
puttered to my feet and
struggled into hellos and
the long-awaited, paltry,
embrace.
mywordsrolledout
anddownthefrontofmyshirt
ontotheground
for others to walk
unwittingly across
She, usurping pauses,
whispered speech out in a harbored
dammed-up way,
but like sounds
of birds bathing
in streams.
Our modesty admired and shown
its countenance onto our not-so-betraying
pleasantries.
She sat.
I sat. small. and
many times unaccustomed to here.
I peered positively forward awaiting lights
to rest easy and with grace on the presence
- to whom - the blades of grass beneath
bowed.
Sinking into me, a spring, pure, of two souls
whom, are admired
because they pretend
not to know;
they curtain themselves from each other
just because of what they aren't ready
to show.
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
she begged
dont forget about me
dont let me go
kiss me before you leave
how could i
wish i didnt have to
here
mwah
i pleaded
take me home with you
here take my shirt
come back with me
how could she
she wished she didnt have to
no
i cant
above acorns
plosive "p's"
slurred and lisped "s's"
bare feet crying out
i began
humming
what used to be called
dub
we kissed
and
as our lips vibrated
cracked and dry
pseudo-moistened with
yesterdays scent
my smile showed first
then hers
then mine again
all too easy to close
the door clanged
and with a creak
the window revealed
what i was losing
one more for the road
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
He was working the register at Save-a-Lot foods
The line slowly building towards the end of the store
I saw it
In the veins that stood out on the tip of his nose
In his white hair pushed back despite the receding hair line
In the sag of his lower lip
Making his jowls jiggle as he turned his head
I saw how his lower lip longed for the chewing tobacco it used to hold
I stood in line holding a cart full of lonely
And I wanted to tell him
“You look like the kind of man who’s only ever made daughters
And your hands
Are too calloused
for taking money
and bagging groceries
I know you
How the top of your gut is tight from the hunger
Of not having eaten yet
You were never meant for this
Man
You were never meant to work like this
Humbled by the heartache caused by a dime
We got the same change clangin’ in our pockets
Got the same sorrow
For not having made enough people happy
I know the minute the beer is full someone will take more
And the minute you sit down
And rub your calloused fingertips across your eyes
The phone will ring
Man
I know it wasn’t your fault
When the lady got mad that the prices were wrong
The prices are always wrong
I know
You’ve been here too long
We both
have been here too long
When my hair is grey
Today’s change will still ring off the countertops
And I'm sorry
For everything”
But I didn’t say any of that
I said
Hi
I did not use his name
Because I know how condescending it really sounds to do that
It was Patrick by the way
I gave him a twenty
He gave me a penny
It clanged in my pocket like the last bell on a broken wind chime
And then I said
Thanks Man
And left
Jun 28, 2011
Jun 28, 2011 at 1:11 PM UTC
My thoughts are silent.
But the music is frantic, and fast
My legs jitter wildly.
Up,down,up,down,up,down.
They won't stop.
However I'm perfectly calm, and the room is absolutely silent.
Except for whispers that pierce the silence.
So quiet, but so loud.
The room is silent no more.
A loud dull sound is emitted while someone sharpens their pencil.
High Pitched laughs erupt.
Backpacks are clanged,
and lunch bags are crinkled in the most unholy of ways.
The silence is gone, and so is my peace.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Where to hide? Where to conceal?
I fail to understand this famine.
They have robbed my merry zeal
and now prevails the devil’s time.
Taciturnly they have eloped from my sight,
Bricks of blue is what they have left.
This is the lost treasure that has clanged to life in the night
Yet this parky night has failed to freeze my breath.
I agree to sign the fatal bond with the supreme
And still be sure of my inevitable victory
For I have made sagacious plans in the afternoon green
The rebels will soon begin to continue this story
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 1:38 PM UTC
'Twas Saturday, and the clothes abound,
were cruffled and lay in shabby state,
pants and shirts, to feet were wound,
or carrumped in arms, a heavy weight.
“Beware the laundry, my dear child,
The smelly socks, the ***** sheets,
Beware the washer, with its center wild,
and shun the powdered soap, its scent deceits!”
She took the pile, and flung from hands,
the soap and smell she still dread,
so fast was she, with soapy brands,
and sprinkled it, through air it fled.
And, as in a relieved thought she stood,
The laundry soaked in waters warm,
in gurbling stream, as water should,
And sunk beneath the bubbly storm.
Swish, swash, swish swash! It clanged and bashed,
the cloth slwooshed back and forth,
the lid meeting its close was mashed,
She frolumped joyfully back in form.
“And have you vanquished the ***** clothes?
Come to my arms, oh clean one!
Wonderous day! No more dismay, bless the smell of rose!
For no longer sat a stinky ton.
'Twas Saturday, and the clothes abound,
were cruffled and lay in shabby state,
pants and shirts, to feet were wound,
or carrumped in arms, a heavy weight.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Beneath your vast oceans of sky
i trembled in wonder
And the veil was torn asunder
And for a time, standing still
I could see: oh, all my blindness to reality
The gears clanged together, shifting again
I was in the world of other men
And everything seemed so pretend
And even then
just when
I felt crushed to the crumbling, time would flow
Your oceans of time move fast, then slow
The currents in our minds that drift and blow
Listless so
Like our ego and spirit kaleidoscopes
Today we’re high, tomorrow
Low
And time, and time just seems to go,
And all the while we know
We know
That when we bid our loves farewell
Time can be our only hell
Time, on which our minds will dwell
Wasted years, and love grown pale
Life is never our story to tell
I don’t want to end this not so well
These lines are not my story to tell
They rush from under your waves who swell
And creatures beneath the deep who dwell
My spirit is stretched in the wind, my sail
Walk between worlds I know so well
Knew so well, unfamiliar now
Revolving doors to worlds abound
And feet never can stay on the ground
Not forever
Nothing is
Nothing could have been, or could ever be
Nothing at all, no, nothing should be
How could anything ever be? I shake my head in agony
Discarding others’ philosophy
That’s the glory!
Nothing compels to tell this story
Nothing, the natural state of things
From which something pure and holy sings
From which life and love and beauty spring
From which all this sorrow and suffering
From which come these broken and holy rhymes
And discords, and tempos
And faltering times
And wars and egos the size of dimes
That yet tread down the earth
Like Jehovas, endless lines
I cannot
My ego press on
My spirit stretched thin
I cannot
I cannot begin again
I can’t begin to make you see
I can’t begin, for even me
I can’t
I can’t
Not I
Not I
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC
No NIRVANA for me
I've drawn up the bridge and flooded the moat,
I've clanged shut the iron gates of my mind.
Pulled down the shutters on the twin windows to my soul.
All gates of perception, have I tried to lock bar and seal.
From whence, then, this ray, penetrates some hidden desire?
which ***** in my armor has given in to greed?
Greed of a better self, greed of the best for others,
Boundaries of greed merging, into one another.
3rdJune 2011
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
The stalling plane fell,
A toy, yawing back on its tail,
Tilting left and down
And down.
The boy’s dad at the stick,
Frozen,
Face immobile,
Almost careless as they fell;
He, his mother, and his father,
And a stranger, next to him,
Tumbling above Montana
Prairie hills surging
Nearer
And nearer.
The stranger clenched the boy;
The tail dragger impacted a rising knoll.
The engine clanged and broke,
Dirt enveloped the shattered cabin.
Silence smothered cacophony.
Conscious of being dragged
Through a **** in the fuselage
Out into open air,
The boy saw little,
Couldn't make out the stranger's face.
His mother came through the side of the plane
A Cesarean section, reversed,
The boy's hope reborn
At the emergence of his mother.
She appeared dazed,
He thought, unruffled,
Dusty with a smearing of bright red lipstick
Stretching up from the corner of her mouth
To the edges of her right ear.
The boy knew it must be blood.
His father lay,
Crumpled oddly,
Head twisted between
Stick and dashboard;
Right arm somehow
Lolling through the fuselage.
Blood smeared the arm, the head.
Everything still,
Motion slow...
Echoes.
The stranger moved on hands and knees,
Inspected the boy
His mother,
Pulled them away
From wreckage,
Surveyed the scene.
Turning then to the man
Twisted and still,
Grotesque within the shell,
The stranger gazed.
Gasping, the boy jolted.
Saw,
Thought he saw,
His father’s hand ****
Move up and backward to his face.
The boy heard,
Thought he heard,
His father sigh.
Fear surging
The son,
Caught in a wave,
Realized his first response,
Horror,
A sense of ******* returning,
Having glimpsed,
If only for a few seconds,
Freedom.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 1:26 PM UTC
a dark heavy cloak surmounted on my shoulders
sleeves tied around my neck
its tail pulling boulders
linked by chains that clanged the sounds of my heart
which begged me to stay
yet pulled me apart
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
I wanted to sleep with out a hitch,
no sound, no complaints or a twitch.
Closed my eyes and about to drift
heard my window clanged with a stick.
Cursing god for not giving an ear lid
went about clearing with a mop stick.
Settling down to sleep light, if not sound
wishing my sanity stays around,
a Cat's mew, woke me this time...
muffled voices adding to the strain.
Sure something gone amiss
woke again to see what it is?
The kitchen sink full of foam,
The cat mewing undertone.
Poor cat frightened and soggy
holding for it's dear life weary.
Counted to ten and went back to my pen
wide awake and at my wit's end.
I prayed, for a little quiet,
some silent moments out of riots...
If I do not find some little peace here,
I will lose my mind for sure.
There came the reason for all this pain,
looking like an angel with no complaints,
wobbly lips and cherubic smile,
walked with his cat leaving a trail.
felt like thrashing him with a pole,
but laughed and laughed till my throat turned sore.
A sorry etched all over his face,
And not sure how to plead his case,
looked at me with looks forlorn,
I shook my head for invisible horns
He with his teddy and me with my pillow,
A perfect combo not in need of a trio,
We started to laugh and hugged each other,
End of story between a son and his mother.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
A declaration of outright war,
followed her through the egg-white door.
Courage bellowed to hold the line,
but Fear already crept in behind...
I think Boldness ran first;
Wit just froze, likely to burst.
Bravery scampered close behind;
Their rapid retreat was well-designed.
Pride nailed my tongue to my teeth,
Fear breathed a sigh of relief.
Scorn decided she wasn't worth it
Seeing that she's less than perfect.
Apathy quipped, though a little tongue-in-cheek,
It was really he who had made me so weak.
"But enough of all this idle chatter,
after all, it doesn't really matter."
Of course, Pride would have none of this,
and began to expound on why he must exist.
Scorn simply sneered, Fear again panicked,
Apathy yawned, the Insecurity team was frantic.
The chaos of war crashed and clanged
Emotions surged like boomerangs,
But the arguring ceased and the silence broke,
when Courage stood, and Bravery spoke.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Surrounded by 3 walls,
he rose from his bed
and shuffled to the front
waiting to be fed
Against steel rod he clanged
routinely with his only ring,
a token from his previous life
one full of fame and bling.
But instead the floors opened
revealing a hole quite small
but enough to escape in
to his home in Montreal
His gut spoke and told him,
"Go! You finally have an opportune clearing"
But The Brain commanded,
"Stay with Know, fear Not Knowing."
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
When she was born she was my world.
My daughter Chloe always glowed,
With her around time always slowed,
After 5 years of marriage my wife passed away,
Chloe was born and I had little left,
No pity…no sorrow can fill my feeling of the hollows.
Every night I howl at the moon,
Baby Chloe clanged to my chest to keep my comfort,
The strong alpha weakened by the past.
Chloe grew as time went on,
When she was five I bumped into things more often,
Unaware and oblivious of their non-living nature I’d say excuse me,
Humble and edgy I’d tilt my head to watch my daughter smile and amuse me.
At ten she had reminded me so much of her mother and so came the lost of half my sight.
I could no longer see light with one eye,
I didn’t tell chloe and she never asked,
I’d always tell her stories of her brave mother and her strong dad,
The thing is angels with broken wings can no longer take off.
On May 5th…I woke up.
I could only spot darkness and my eyes wouldn’t adjust,
I thought my eyes had to have been closed and getting them open was a must,
Today was Chloe’s 15th birthday … I can’t go blind today.
When I felt the sunlight I began to tear,
The whole time I sat up… I had felt someone in the room very near,
I teared right before they began to sob,
I heard Chloe’s hurt voice say “did you forget? Daddy?”,
Silent I had hoped my tears stopped,
Sickened….I had hoped.
Chloe hugged me and for the following 5 decades I had hoped to see her face before my time came to an end.
“My baby…Chloe…I tell you this now but since then…I knew I wouldn’t ever live to SEE another day.”
May 5th, 2050…..Chloe’s father passes away.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC