"clangs" poems
Can I be graced by a kiss from your aura,
Does the same feeling reside deep down inside,
We’ve been separated for so long my friend,
It scares me to see you like this,
Abrupt erections long gone,
The insecurity of prolonged exposure,
Sequences of nausea,
Seek and destroy,
The sickening of the tunnel vision,
How strange it seems now,
To look back at you,
How amazing it is,
To be myself again,
Made different by time,
The same ****** hole,
The singular aspect of oneness,
The grand expanse seemed so small,
Ironically,
Now seems to drag on with the whistles and clangs,
The bangs the song the spiral never ends.
Somewhere a part of my innocence was left behind,
Left to wither in the shared tunnel,
The smell of the air expelled made the hairs
In my nostrils stand on end and dissolve.
Now that I think about where I came from,
What happened to me to this point,
I’m happy it didn’t end so soon,
That I’ve been reunited,
Drawing a conclusion doesn’t seem so difficult,
When the beginning is just around the corner.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
4.6k
the grating voices of neighbors unsuccessfully singing Celine Dion ballads
the monotonous mechanical humming of the metal factory
the squealing of housewives watching an afternoon soap opera
the blaring siren of a firetruck racing with tragedy
the clunks and clangs of a nearby construction site
the roaring of the engine of an overloaded jeepney
the chiming of laughter from kids playing in the streets
the calls of the street vendor peddling sugary cotton candy
the whining of the dog begging to run around outside
this is the music of life in the outskirts of the city
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Come prisoned moon in steep cloud-fastnesses,—
Throned queen and thralled; some dying sun whose pyre
Blazed with momentous memorable fire;—
Who hath not yearned and fed his heart with these?
Who, sleepless, hath not anguished to appease
Tragical shadow’s realm of sound and sight
Conjectured in the lamentable night?…
Lo! the soul’s sphere of infinite images!
What sense shall count them? Whether it forecast
The rose-winged hours that flutter in the van
Of Love’s unquestioning unreveale’d span,—
Visions of golden futures: or that last
Wild pageant of the accumulated past
That clangs and flashes for a drowning man.
2.7k
February Morning!
How gracefully you in your nostalgic attire trigger memories
and this profound understanding;
The rushing energies before school
How I wish I could go back and take hold,
Of those hours of pure fantasies that wasn't disturbed
by the thought of my parents getting old;
February Morning!
Maybe your fragrance wouldn't have hit me so hard,
If I wasn't preparing towards a seemingly fresh start
in the lands of the lake poets;
And I now wonder,
Intimidated by your Swift withering,
how life has hypnotized me into singing
words of worth
for the synthetic and tangible shimmering;
I feel you've woken me up from an hazy conscious;
Next year,
If I'm to feel your caressing light again,
It mightn't be from my beauteous and evergreen nest;
Maybe you'll come in a different costume,
bearing a distinct scent
That I'll both adore and hate;
Maybe because
your wind will then carry a cold solitude
and I'll terribly miss my brother and our silly disputes;
while the chaotic kitchen clangs would seem so distant
comparing to the silent heaves of crocuses in outside gardens;
February Morning!
I know if I get to know you there,
My heavy hours in library won't stop me from reminiscing;
Maybe,
Nostalgia would strike me more violently
but this time
accompanying a yearning that'll pierce my heart silently;
Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 1:13 AM UTC
I remember the day we just spent hours and hours together
Even though
I know
At the time it wasn’t quite so interesting
Now with my infinite wealth of knowledge
Granted to me by time, so arbitrary in nature
It seems to me like those were the good old days
Just you and me together
I can leave out all the tediousness
The clangs and clutters that inhabit any day on this strange planet
And just remember what it was like
To be with you
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:51 PM UTC
I can still remember.
That burning feeling of inspiration, bubbling up through my body.
It dominated me, defined me, led me to believe that I was my own hero.
A protagonist on a quest, a road to travel on, certainty in my bones.
Driven by love through the narration of my world, my story.
Words overflowed from my heart.
Staining the tracks, pages, and lilies of my life with my fire.
Every heartbeat resounded like the clanging of a tower's bells.
Each ring dictating time, order, purpose, place.
I can still remember.
The lingering taste of coffee on my tongue, my face sore from smiling.
Hours spent talking and listening.
The content of my life summarized like chapters of a book.
The way my heart vaulted when your eyes met mine.
It was like the moon pulling at the tides.
Giving the waves motion and momentum.
So I spilled my ink and blood, writing you into the story.
I can still remember.
What it was like when it was over.
I hadn't realized I had been living in a cell.
Scrawling my visions of the world onto every inch of those four walls.
Diagrams and diatribes, the things I considered to be myself.
Going mad in the most wonderful fashion.
As I left I saw them for what they were.
Mosaics and memorials.
Poison and poetry.
The passionate magic of first and finals, the ****** taste of loss.
But **** it was beautiful all the same.
I can still remember.
What it felt like to move on.
The taste of freedom and fresh air, an urge to defy what was.
And become something more again.
But suddenly, the bleeding in my heart slowed.
The resounding clangs of my inner bells softly faded.
It took years,
But one day I reached inside myself
Expecting to feel the fire burning inside me.
I can still remember.
The dread that came with the lack of heat.
The soul of myself, the definition of me as the hero.
Was only embers now.
The easy numbness that washed over me.
The determination and inspiration that was me had left.
I was broken, as I always was.
But I no longer knew myself as beautiful.
I was not a protagonist.
I had written myself out of my own story, slowly but surely.
There was no quest, no journey, no one to save or be saved by.
Just whatever I have become.
I hope one day to remember.
My clumsy and earnest return to form.
When my heart again bled ink and crackled with flame.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
It is the day when he was born,
A bitter day that early sank
Behind a purple-frosty bank
Of vapour, leaving night forlorn.
The time admits not flowers or leaves
To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies
The blast of North and East, and ice
Makes daggers at the sharpen'd eaves,
And bristles all the brakes and thorns
To yon hard crescent, as she hangs
Above the wood which grides and clangs
Its leafless ribs and iron horns
Together, in the drifts that pass
To darken on the rolling brine
That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,
Arrange the board and brim the glass;
Bring in great logs and let them lie,
To make a solid core of heat;
Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
Of all things ev'n as he were by;
We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, whate'er he be,
And sing the songs he loved to hear.
2.1k
docking on the fringe of a dry spot
the rain died in...
i set sail in solemn siroccos, fraught
with endive and lemons...
no chop. flat listing in the leaning theme
impervious to words lost
my ship dips in clean drink
and dark thought.
away, my anchor prods starboard
planks of salt wood...
clangs in a grog of lurching halt
raw ***** mauve tossed - and shriek blind.
a pennant of mock cause.
a scant curl of smoke, seized
in unseasonable Hypnos.
a whimsical Charybdis -
a thing i choke on.
i scoff
cough a terrible pen
my inkwell, topped off
with black pond,
quill qualms
of love's
dross.
the serenity of my tempest
and the skipping stone it cracked,
now, white sharks, prowling the yonder
of the nearby,
in debt to a far gone, yawning
rings,-
concentric to the naked eye, you clothe not.
lest the raiment be
the Emperor's
new lot.
A Stitch of Odyssey In Epic Fail...
to get more gone, but less lost
a journey of a single step
begins because... and
just because
you stop
stopping.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
Loud noises set me off
It's like they ricochet across the room
Echoing off of every single surface
And end by stabbing all the nerves in my body
I try to keep calm through them
But my emotions skip the step
Where my body warns me I'm upset
And suddenly I'm yelling at my cat
Or grabbing him by the scruff
All because he repeatedly paws at his food dish
And I can't handle the sound of the ceramic
As it clangs against the hardwood floor
And just as suddenly as I yelled
An intense hatred toward myself arises
Choking out all of my energy
I collapse back on my bed and wish I were dead
Until the noise starts again
And I'm back to seeing red
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC
There is a kingdom that resides in the sky,
Whose cool demeanor hold all upon high,
There be darkness within these walls,
Shadows to cause all to fall,
King makes his decrees,
Assasins plan sneakily,
Bell of thunder,
Of loud dismay,
Upon this altar,
Demons will rise,
To waylay all plights,
With great surprise,
Silence,
Then screams,
Innocence screams,
Terribly so,
But here comes the hero,
Bobbing to and fro,
Slash right then left,
Block left then right,
Sword clangs ring out,
Complete silence all about,
The darkness is dead,
Laid upon the battlefield,
Bled,
All will mourn the lost,
Was it worth the cost,
Peace throughout the land,
The king rewarded the merry man,
With fire,
And a wooden stand,
Burned at the stake,
A heroic man
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
firetruck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city.
1.6k
The seasons keep changing
She said
Green slowly turning red
Quickly falling as nature bled
I want to catch them, keep these leaves from
spinning about her head
A pretty, delicate dance our mother holds
calling us to get fed
Fruit of the spirit
Father preached
Stretch up and pluck your pick
A peach for each
Keeps the grey night at bay
Avoiding a breach
Fight the seasons or look up and pray for
Earth can never be impeached
The seasons continue to pass
Sister sang
Clouds roll through the grass
Sun shines dim as thunder clangs
I bring a basket through the fields
Out of the rain, slam the barn with a bang
Sit down and nourish
The seasons change but our seeds
Will flourish
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
Laughs the happy April morn
Thro' my grimy, little window,
And a shaft of sunshine pushes
Thro' the shadows in the square.
Dogs are tracing thro' the grass,
Crows are cawing round the chimneys,
In and out among the washing
Goes the West at hide-and-seek.
Loud and cheerful clangs the bell.
Here the nurses troop to breakfast.
Handsome, ugly, all are women . . .
O, the Spring--the Spring--the Spring!
1.5k
Violent clangs echo
From the TV,
And the Bride is a
Vengeful gazelle,
Galloping forth and
eviscerating the
ones who stand in
her path to---
**** Bill again?
Is that all you do when I’m gone? Snort
Coke, get high, lounge back
And watch this ********* ****
The cigarette burns hot in her fingers,
Smoke sighing from her lungs and
She smiles silently. Plum lips pucker
And one hand beckons him forth,
the other raising a silent finger.
Skin tight yellow and black
Hugs her curves and she
triumphs, golden goddess
Reclaiming herself in a
Blazen trail of ******
Revenge.
“Come on, I’ve been gone and now
I’m here. I’ve missed ******* you
And hearing your pretty little moans.”
Ashes on her pant leg, feet flex and
She rises up, eyes fixed on the screen.
Cat eyes smirk and she takes his hand,
Dark bob razor sharp as she dreams
About the day she’ll wield the katana.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
Skin supplanted by steel,
As pigment falls to paint,
A hollow duralumin chariot,
Ridden by the affluent,
Fortuitous souls, borne to their heart's requests
Down from below, as antipodes clash,
The behemoth clamors, with metallic clangs,
Conflicting privileges, one invulnerable,
Touted lands turned to tarnished wastes,
With a destiny targeted at armageddon,
Humanity's fate glides, like the zeppelin.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 12:36 AM UTC
"Dave?"
My stomach was shaking, almost churning to every single beat. Dumf. Dumf.
I remembered that day clearly, the 21st of January 1995.
My heart kept racing on but I still didn't know why it was so unsettling.
Most mornings, I had awoken to the sight of the ever so handsome boy-toy of mine, 'Dave'. This morning it wasn't the same, when I say it wasn't the same, it was like I was in a parallel universe kind of shit...'not the same'.
Most times we were attached, not in a 'meet you at the middle of the slice of pizza' kind but the literal kind. I haven't gone a night without sitting on the other side of the toilet door or as Dave liked to call it "Dear I'm just painting the porcelain because white is just way too plain", it was cute the first forty times but it still grew old quick.
The clock had turned its short hand to 9 and that was all that mattered to me in that moment. It was 9am: breakfast time. I didn't smell Dave's pancakes, I didn't hear the sizzling of frying pans or the clanging of things... I don't cook much, if not at all; so I wasn't really sure what Dave was doing but I knew it had a lot of clangs and dings.
My day was invaded by a little bit of rain, the rain pattering against the windows used to be what Dave and I loved. When it rained, it meant we could just stay inside and enjoy each others company.
Time passed differently
It always passed differently...
I decided to sleep most of the day away until Dave came back the next day because he always did.
_________________________________________________________________________________
25th June 2075
"Dave?" My stomach was churning to every single beat. Two women enter both dressed in some ridiculous halloween costume. "I just woke up"
"Yes you did", the blonde hair woman said to me.
"Dave?" I called out again.
This time the other one decided to open their mouth, "Ms Louise, there hasn't been a Dave for a long time. You haven't been taking your medication have you ma'am?"
_________________________________________________________________________________
26th June 2075
"Dave?"...
Time passed differently.It had always passed differently...
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
Slipping through the willow curtain
Easing among the leafy overhang
Green sheltering cloak that sways
With an invitation to be my guest
I pass through, broaden my peripheral vision
Turn my cheek and my eyes lock
Pulled toward fierce or friendly
Mottled door, camouflaged grey as a stone
I swivel to listen before leather soles
Respond and move me without guard
I feel fear, uncertain to obey my instinct
Ruining the scene for the ticket holder
The choice it seems is taken from me
Though temporal, the entrance hides...it is coy
The gatehouse of resistance clangs
Its repertoire stumbles but my vision
Knows its route....the pathway falls away
And unwillingness encircles me like a bear hug
I cannot turn or go back, the door makes way
To tumbling steps gaining their advantage
Driven pathway recedes and I stalk the
Shadowy shapes that spill out to paralyse
Locking me to the wall
Solid and comforting yet stalling
The dreaded moment of choice
Invites its gangsters to dine with me
The here and now overwhelming
Its clues forlorn and disadvantaged
Rounding the dark corner of courage
I strengthen my resolve, and
Claim the light I so desire
It throws open a vivid saffron
Vibrant colour penetrates, seeping into me
I wade through this maze of superb
Splendour and I am feathered to the ground.
Book in hand … I gaze toward the.....
Willow Curtain
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC
Crinkled and knotted,
Your mind pushes far beyond the last
Fluid dimension of thought.
Words and images
****** out, crossed out, and beaten.
Their meaning disentangled
From the syllables they’re bound to.
Stretched,
Pulled,
Prodded,
Poked,
Rolled,
And torn open.
Mile by mile, down a endless road,
Making no explicable progress.
Broken and battered,
Words, attempting equilibrium,
Burn off energy enough to care.
The unthinkable dread of empty canvas
Impedes on the black and white tile
That clangs too loudly
For reason to be heard.
Inspiration becomes an
Agonizing, ever-twisting labyrinth.
The climactic moment drawn out too far,
Centuries too far,
Tortures and torments you,
Tears you to pieces
Until, at last, you
Are indistinguishable from
The pain you’ve offered,
The discomfort you’ve endured,
The itch you’ve tolerated.
And the balance finally restores itself.
Rights you just at the point of ultimate collision,
Lets you steal a breath,
Before the next thought starts to pull.
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 12:57 PM UTC
The winter haze hangs on the meadow,
In the veiled sun the ghostly apparitions
Mourn the ritual of yet another day,
To smell the wet exudation of the grass,
To till the field praying for the sun!
Once a while moos pierce the silence
Joined by the clangs of the tiny bells
That adorns the creatures as mournful
As the ones goading them to move on!
They bellow when unable to take anymore,
Hoping for a miracle that would unburden
And bring a freedom only yearned in dreams!
But as ordained the pale orb grows bright.
God frantically pours his passion in the disc
Colors of which spill over in the firmament!
Blazes in another day of harvesting hopes.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.
<>
“For we are dear to the immortal gods,
Living here, in the sea that rolls forever,
Distant from other lands and other men”
—Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)
<>
*sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager,
our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged,
a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien,
the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods*
*no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with
their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life,
bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out
imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free*
*wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely,
alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts,
bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals,
water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie*
*the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die,
reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many,
adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any
distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together,
by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly,
and now departed*
<>
Shell Beach,
Shelter Island
August 2021
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
When someone asks,
“What did you do today?”
I answer, with a smile,
“Lived,” because what can be more
Fulfilling than watching
Rain drops streak down a
Cheek of a lover pushing against
The wind in a limitless
Dance, or more
Satisfying than slipping into
A fleecy coat and boots and
Splashing down a stream in the
Woods, the damp trees dripping with
Greenery on the one who is kept so
Dry? And hearing a kettle as it
Steams and screeches, ready to
Drink after being poured over tea,
Coupled with butter and honey
Drizzled on toast, as the rain gently
Clangs on my tin windowsill
Reminds me of the time that the
Phone rang, and the woman on the line
Had to say, “We hoped it wouldn't be today,
But your Grandfather recently passed away,”
When it wasn't sky water that streaked my cheek
On a rainy day.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 6:42 PM UTC
When the sun arises
And the grenades of raindrops cease
The war clangs of thunder ring one last time
One last shining stream of lightning striking down upon the unworthy soil
The storm is over
And the sun has come
Bringing a new day and dazzling rays
Cascading over the clouds like waterfalls
Dripping into the darkness below
Illuminating drops of sun hit the ground and burst,
A thousand bright shining orbs
Daylight has regained its throne
And the storm falls in defeat and slinks into the shadows, all depression disappearing with it
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
crimson rains when i see
here i was thinking free
sentences outcried
shackles clamp the lies
solidarity defines me
know i know
arm in arm
no show to go
regressing to masquerades
oh my everglades
rubble upon palisades
only sorrow here creates
watered things to take to sate
metal clangs, i close the gates
and a saddened whimper looks to hate
though anguish is all i can never fake
ripples alter feelings and sight
yet shelter offers no respite
the coldest frost the sharpest bite
with only my soul, around to light
gouge marks sink in
sorrow begins
clouds in my head
as nothing seeps in
all for willing within
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:37 PM UTC
Across the room they sat;
Sipping coffee and chatting.
Young, engrossed in each other,
Blind to the bustling cafe around.
But in came a man, maybe a bull;
His breath vanished when he saw her.
Boldly he challenged, "A duel!
For that hand, fair and pure."
At once hushed, we watched;
The challenged stood with pride,
"With sabres; at once!"
Aghast she watched lover and challenger
Take up arms for her favor.
Quick as lightning they began
Dancing with death as wounds developed.
Equal they seemed after countless clangs,
Suddenly slash! A **** grew
Across his throat, red blood sprayed
Spattering the victor; a messy trophy.
The challenger threw his sabre
Into the fresh corpse of his enemy,
"Now where is my fair hand?"
He could not find her amidst the cafe;
She had vanished. Enraged he withdrew
The weapon and impaled himself.
Where had the beauty gone?
Away with the victor true; who?
I, the bystander.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC