"clanked" poems
Every morning I would hear the metal wheels grind against the rails as the garage door opened
Leave for school as you were under the hood staring at horse power repairing every engine that was broken
Returned home and now you’re underneath a different car, your face blackened from the dirt, oil and debris
And at night sometimes I’d hold the flashlight for you, pointing the light at the wrong spots of the engine, I’d help to some degree
Rarely spoke but wrenches clanked, ratchets ticked, screws and bolts rattled and power tools revved
It’s the language that I never understood but it’s the language I know you’ve said
The garage doors would close, I’d smell the scent of Mary Jane coming from your room, swear the odor was limitless
Then I would hear the rifts and solos from the guitar strings that were plucked by your fingertips
Life as a grease monkey and a rockstar but you loved every second of it, you love everything you do
I wish one day I could find my own love and become something just like you
I see why my mother loves you
You called me your son though we’re not blood I swear I miss you in every way
You’ve alwayz told me to look out for my sister and to protect her everyday
Happy birthday
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
In your very pure mouth ( god save it )
clanked metal mouthpiece
by cold water in a strange basement
or perhaps even less
Morning doves catapult
leukemia
Astro goth acid wars
White fire black ****** mania
Could we just kiss
right here this September
not have to wake up
or sleep ever again ?
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 3:43 AM UTC
The doctor of Geneva stamped the sand
That lay impounding the Pacific swell,
Patted his stove-pipe hat and tugged his shawl.
Lacustrine man had never been assailed
By such long-rolling opulent cataracts,
Unless Racine or Bossuet held the like.
He did not quail. A man who used to plumb
The multifarious heavens felt no awe
Before these visible, voluble delugings,
Which yet found means to set his simmering mind
Spinning and hissing with oracular
Notations of the wild, the ruinous waste,
Until the steeples of his city clanked and sprang
In an unburgherly apocalypse.
The doctor used his handkerchief and sighed.
3k
Creased felines crossing lines,
Pressing claws into dust.
Western hemisphere,
Reviving the pilgrimage.
Bubbles and logs
Satiate their under garments.
Enhancing hair follicles
Resembling shards and spurs.
At a woodsy bar,
A tabby liberated the fangs
He rented last holiday.
The bartender shook with perplexity.
Reacting simultaneously-
A minor character, Little Leon.
The dusty town called him
Leon, for he was alone.
Little Leon got taller
In a basement full
Of water. The dusty town
Was an adjustment.
The tabby and Little Leon
Faced off for recognition.
Leon wretchedly charged
The floor boards with sopping ends.
Crayon versus colored pencil;
They chose their weapons
Anxiously. It was
Bring your son to work day.
The bent bartender
Spared his child’s eyes.
“I’m not your little boy,”
The child shrilled at him.
“I don’t want trains,
Or fake guns meant for play.
I miss my mom,
And dresses on Sunday.”
Cats on a pilgrimage,
Rarely stop from
Slurping a drink. Pity refilled
Cups, as tails twitched in trial.
The tabby and Leon
Came to a halt, seeing as
Punishment was engraved atop
The bartender’s grungy mitts.
The clowder gathered,
As the Tabby scolded the man
Behind the bar. “Remember where
you leave your beverage.”
And that was that.
Leon’s internal complexity,
Being left with only himself,
Dissipated. There are others
Who feel more alone.
Tabby picked up his crayon.
His spurs clanked
And spun, as his guided
His feline friends out the front.
Tumbleweed skidded
Outside the bar.
The bartender finally saw
That his son was not a son.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
The mystic Sadhu
chants cryptic
mantras,
I hear
the Hammssss of his voice,
He is lost in his world
Like I'm with mine,
Above me, the bridge
clanked gleefully
announcing the arrival of her lover;
Shimmering in white, honking
it moves slowly like a big serpent,
Ending the tryst
with a flickering red light.
Several mounds, smoldering woods,
and one body stuck to
the trunk of the bridge
swirled in me the fear of
leaving this world early,
leaving all that I strived to
achieve, and leaving all of
it in the middle.
Buses pass on the next bridge
A hand came out
and aimed the stream with
something, probably a coin,
to compensate for wrongdoings,
Coin-collectors waiting like a
starving lion in a zoo
pounced on these throwings,
aiming the spot
with a magnet like
a trained ninja in nocturnal warfares,
After a few unsuccessful attempts
A boy yelled in joy
"Har Har Gange".
The Ganges was like this
from the beginning,
She was moderate in demands
offering so much
at the cost of a penny,
Throw a coin and
you are absolved from all your sins.
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 7:31 PM UTC
we held hands through
the halls of a concrete
elementary school;
the new shoes
our moms bought
us at the "back to
school" sales at the end
of a short summer, clanked
and screeched and
skited across the freshly
mopped floors
we laughed at recess and played
too much dress up
my best friend,
he hung from monkey bars
and smiled at the ground
and I still remember the first
time he asked to play
hide and seek
with a glaring look in his
big blue eyes
we shared head phones
in squishy army green
seats on a warm yellow bus
on the way to middle school,
and rested our
heads on each other's
shoulders at lunch,
laughing hard about
the summer,
complaining about the heat
my best friend,
he hung upside down
at the edge of my bed after
class was finally over
and he said "I think I
liked that other place
a little better"
we passed bottles
around basements
and blew kisses in gym class
we sped down noble rd
in our brand new
used cars on the way
to high school
screaming songs about everyone
we'd lost and all the ****
we wished we hadn't found
my best friend,
he hung old pictures
in his locker and he watched
the days as he fell behind them
we graduated
with slumped shoulders
and shadows under our eyes,
piercing smiles
& enough memories
to last a lifetime
we went off to college
and got ****** noses
from blowing lines
and telling lies
my best friend
he hung from
an extension cord
in the bedroom closet
of his ninth story
apartment
I still remember the first
time he asked to play
hide and seek
with a glaring look in his
big blue eyes
looks like we can
all use to be found
this time around
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Tiny clumps of hair
Once caramel in color
Crumbles beneath the lowest
Lair of pallid
Trampled dust.
A lump in the back of my throat
Rises as the bone shows.
Our teeth have clanked
Collided in battle, our hooves
Finger-less and delving, we were
Ambiguously a hiatus in the water-color
Sticky like honey whilst Satan licks up my spine.
Burning sweet like the water that runs from the Nile
Into the mouths of every little insensate frame and comatose sky
Lacklustre pallor only children could buy.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
So, how did the war go?
I was captured and whipped
I collapsed down low,
Tears from my eyes dripped
They were tears of pain,
they were tears of woe
***
I remember:
That evil one was one large ****
He was a helper to the evil king.
He was as ugly as a deformed pug
and he towered almost everything.
He used his weapons. He abused his might
but soon a general came.
They greeted each other. They started to fight.
Both weapons a sword, they entered the game.
Both frightened, and prayed to the very Lord.
They sweated and beamed, it shan’t be the same.
The big baboon gleamed. He sharpened his aim
as swords clanked like a rattling chain.
***
The soldiers died in strife and pain.
***
Back at the duel,
swiveled thoughts of fear.
The good general slashed the brute’s very ear.
They slashed one another.
Blood spilled out.
***
The dying people screamed with a ****** shout.
Launching arrows using bows,
each one struck with a ****** stab.
Stung and torn by the vengeful foes.
The thunder shrieked with gravity.
Many died in depravity.
The corpses dripped crimson gore,
red as the sun on red sand
***
But back at the duel, the king was abed.
The brute was gone. He was pale dead
By the king’s bed, the general gave a grin
and performed his final sin.
And now they shout, the soldiers shout:
Death to the king! Death to the King!
The Tyrant is gone forever!
Yet this war, this dreadful war
will leave us to ponder as well.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
a peaceful click tapped on his shoe
as he strode tippy toes out of the blue
his stern face was burnished with shine and glow
yet mr. nutcracker still clanked up at do
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 6:48 AM UTC
When the breeze rippled,
the green rice saplings,
the brook on rocky path,
clanked it's anklets, i let myself go.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
We clanked our wine glasses together
Suits for the occasion
And I tried to remember the names
Especially the ones who’s faces I recognize
One man in particular looks older than I remember, with a haircut far too young
Talking all about
The deal of the last year
Maybe a Christmas bonus this year
So he can go home to his wife
“Look honey we can buy another car”
And maybe this time she won’t sleep
With the neighbor
I shake his hand hard because the poor old b*stard needs something
And maybes its this extravagant event
guys like me shaking his hand firm enough
That he knows he’s important somewhere
And we are all impressed by his hard work and loyalty
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 3:44 AM UTC
Twinkling fireworks on a warm summer night
I’m enthralled by the starkness of radiance,
The thunderous boom and magical shine.
And yet they flee
I watch them falter and fall,
Quietly acknowledging the sentiment
They banned us from building more castles in the sky,,
so we made forts in the basement instead
Clanked our glasses for freedom and self- determination
Embracing our glorious reign
Pencil drawn blueprints, methodically planned
Smudged lines of dreamlike destiny
We would have made it too.
Had we not carelessly lent them to fate
The blackness of the sky made them perish
Glittering ashes settled at my feet
Nothing but a smokey shadow marked our sweet juvenescence
The stars and the moon unscathed
It really was a fantastic show.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
The rowing boat gave you half an hour
On a murky lake in the middle of a park
After waiting in a line for quite a time
One took the paddles and jumped inside.
The boat it rattled and rolled, the paddles
Clanked as each backwards move pulled
Fingers floated wide stretched in the leaf
Sycamore seeds dust meniscus shimmer.
Autumn holiday glitter in St James Park
Where the Serpentine under arch bridge
Eating sandwiches and waiting for City
Christmas lights to brighten Selfridges.
Love Mary **
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
It has been two months
And more
Since I moved my mouth around
Your name
It clanked on my ears
And it
Tasted rusty on my tongue
Funny
How one syllable
Is so
Hard to think about saying
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
The valley whispered the secrets of the mountain
As it strummed the strings
Of the acoustic
Guitar.
The chain’s links rattled and clanked against the hollow
Crypt. The melody
Drank the morning dew
Drops.
The monotone drone of the arcane one man band
Scattered all the bats
From ‘neath the golden
Bridge.
The nomadic minstrel strummed his last chord last night
His magnum opus,
His audience of
None.
Taps rang from the pipes at the caskets lonely hour
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
His presence tagged along behind him like it wanted to.
The old man was genuine and worn like a leather glove, from his bow-legged stance and his unfitting P.O.W M.I.A hat to his squinted-eyed look of disgust and confusion toward the world.
He came from when boys were men.
We stood across from each other like two towers for a moment, then he broke the stare.
He wedged the bow of his pipe between his majestic fingers and pulled it away from his mouth with a tail of smoke.
This man took his time like he had time to take.
He blinked and dampened his lips, the air was ready for him to speak, and with a powerful voice that reflected all of his years and experiences he rumbled: "whats your name, boy?"
It in a sense startled me.
He sounded like a god of a man, and i heard his voice echo in my ears.
I didn't respond.
So he brought his pipe back to his lips and puffed it once, Squinting, but never breaking his heavy stare.
His cane then slipped from his grip and clanked on the tile floor.
Pause, silence, he wobbled slightly.
I cannot explain what happened next..
He spread his fingers and lifted his warped arms to his sides, palms open.
He Was Glowing...
The deep wrinkles in his face and hands began to tighten and his liver spotted skin cleared.
all of his features transformed around his unchanging eyes that continued to keep me in my place, stunned. His youth was being injected back into him. year by year, day by day
Then his flannel shirt, khaki pants and suspenders began to smolder and burn as he rewinded to adolescence.
Still the calm look in his eyes was tied to my head.
When his clothes had finally burned to an ash nothing was left but an infant suspended above the ground.
Squirming and crying reaching out at the air.
Man so Rare.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 4:03 PM UTC
I’ve been watching you since that first hit
four and a half cigarettes ago. I haven’t taken my eyes off you since you moved
down two seats closer to me and ordered another drink.
Three drinks later my eyes still hadn’t moved away from that deep red-colored flannel.
I couldn’t taste what I was drinking any more. I would regret it in the morning
but I didn’t care. I would keep drinking as long as you were
there. You finished your eighth cigarette and slipped
out of that flannel to reveal a white V-neck that stretched over your strong arms
you’d probably deny you worked hard for. Another drink
was placed in front of me. Looking at the bartender
he pointed to you.
For the pretty lady that cost me more than half a pack of cigarettes and six drinks.
Raising his drink, we clanked glasses and I took another sip of what I swore tasted just like I imagined
Your lips would taste. I woke up
the next morning with a folded piece of paper
lying in the empty, wrinkled sheets beside me.
See you next Friday. It was then I realized
he'd forever be my favorite hangover.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 5:06 PM UTC
Defiant is this youthful balmy air
which cracks in cold like horses' rapid feet.
And you, my friend, in silent fall are fair,
but chasing tracks in circles when we meet
discussing how a love disguised by dust
could lead to such a loathed disgust. In lust
You fall for what you, hopeless, thought was true
in moot pursuit the tracks are chasing you.
And though you're young this lesson you've learnt best:
that chasing dreams in circles brings no rest.
A carriage drawn in sunset central park
in clanked incessant beats brings wild joy.
And catching wild leaves you hoped a lark
would sing an angel's melody, young boy!
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
It was a clear sky of blue
A little patch of green
By me were a dog or two
And a home so serene
The wind chimes clanked
There was a chill in the air
For September had just begun
What was it, if not a little bit of heaven
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
Some moments you’ll find can never be recreated a second time.
Such as when we first met; a moment I assumed I’d easily forget.
But it still lingers in my mind yet, even though nine months have passed down the line,
I still remember that night.
When I entered the room to opened armed embraces.
Where the bottles of beer clanked together as we matched up our names with our faces.
Our conversations hatched open common interests as we spoke of the things we liked best.
Spilling the alcohol scented thoughts off our tongues that run as wild as our mind traces.
Our futures memories of the coming months would become locked behind the
handles of our rooms,
Held imprisoned inside the walls of what became our nighttime tombs.
The voices of my old friends echo when they rebound of the walls filling their own voids in the now deserted halls.
That lie barren as they wait to be filled by the next year’s crew so that the endless circle of old and new resumes.
We’ve watched as our friendships have transcended onto another plateau.
Through break ups, fallouts, spilled wine, growth sprouts, chinstraps and dropouts.
But the end is here and it’s time to go home;
Time to close the curtains on that perfect view,
And open them up again to something new.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
There was once a man made of beer bottles.
they clanked together as he walked
and the sound echoed for miles.
his mind was hazy and full of slush.
the bottles' weight made it difficult to walk.
and he could not hear his wife's screaming
his daughter's sobbing
his son's pleading
over those **** clanking bottles.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
The gates of the ancient prison creaked
And the chains clanked in the breeze,
When we pulled in with our caravan,
As we camped among the trees,
The kids went off for a quick explore
And were back before nightfall,
They said, ‘There’s all of this nasty stuff
Leaked out from the old stone wall.’
They said it looked like a yellow moss
But it had a putrid smell,
It clung in lumps to the chains, in clumps
That were hung in every cell,
‘Do you think it grew on the prisoners,’
Said Ted, with his eyes a-glare,
‘I’ve got a terrible feeling from
The damp in the cells in there.’
‘It’s only an empty building,’ said
Darnelle, but her eyes were bright,
‘I heard the prisoners whispering
As they must have done, each night,’
She let her imagination reign
Or that’s what we thought she did,
I learnt to listen more carefully
When she said that she had, our kid!
So later, when they were both abed
I took Clare by the hand,
And led her into the ancient Gaol,
To that misery of man,
Our footsteps echoed on cobblestones,
My voice came back like prayer,
Bouncing back from the old stone walls
In tones of a pure despair.
The moon came filtering down that night
And made patterns through the trees,
While beams shone in to the cells where once
Old men prayed on their knees,
And Clare would shiver where candlelight
Was once the only ray,
To keep the spectres away at night
Until the break of day.
I kept on wandering further in
While Clare would turn around,
‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘it’s a scary thing,
We walk unhallowed ground,’
But no, I walked to the furthest cell
To the meanest cell of all,
And saw the bones, and the yellow moss
In a pile against the wall.
A beam came down from the rising moon
That lit up the pile of bones,
And there for a moment, all we heard
Was the sound of muffled moans,
A shadow rose by the weeping wall
Of a man who cried ‘I’m free!’
Who dropped the chains of his earthly pains
As he strode away, through me.
And all I felt was a deathly chill
As he passed right through my form,
My mind was frozen, my heart was still
And I felt I was unborn,
But then the morning arrived at last
With a terrible sense of loss,
For all one side of my face was gone,
Covered in yellow moss.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
TRIGGER WARNING
I lay awake at night, reflecting on the way your lips feel on mine,
but like a reflex I compare them to the many pairs I’ve felt in many places, how some lingered over my goosebumps, maybe to try and turn that feelinginto lyrics, I don’t know, while others bruised and pushed, too starved of faded
love pangs that the only pleasure was to fill something—
But one pair tugged and burned across the delicate paleness of parts not meant for him, stinging red from fingers that squeezed with fight and pulled with rage and scratched with a greed that blocked any thread of humanity from a woman’s fear.
His arms created no protective cage around me because he never desired to have me but to hold and pry my legs to take a barely blossomed womanhood waiting for that boy on that bed listening to that song
but teeth bit into my flesh offering no promise of soft, loving nips meant to excite the blood that should have flowed sweetly through my heart instead of pumping so hard it drowned
out my broken no’s as they quieted and died.
I noticed how his lungs labored with power as he finally burdened me,
shamed me with his need, but I realized later even if his eyes had locked with mine, nothing of his liveliness, nothing of his friendship would have lingered there. Going home, the jeep clanked and wheezed, sounding as used as my folds felt—but then he told me,
“I gotta fix that”
The dark corner of my mind rasped that he didn’t mean the tears of my skin or the abandoned pieces of my trust, never to be molded together again, not even by you.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
I held my keys to my side as I walked home tonight
Let out wails and cried by the schoolyard
All I could think about was the way the clasps of your heavy leather jacket clanked against each other next to me
It's an image so vivid and familiar
I could probably tell you all the lines on your palms based solely by the many times I have felt them in mine.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:17 AM UTC