"jangly" poems
found
grounded bird closed in
ribboned-box and buried
underneath a willow snapped back
to finally relax
to decompose and nourish
by the lake in drooping shade
the felled leaves pile
candy wrappers gray snow in
parking lot corners
with pumpkin spice scented candles
with charred letters skirling up
the arm dropped to sizzle and puff out
white beanies
flannels
leather boots and jangly bronze-leafed wind chimes
I sit on the patio and listen to you speak
the chill of your words
perched like a squirrel barking on a fence top
hibernation preparation and breeze
the gospel of your autumn
it’s lovely.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
Saturday
Sounds like the pattering
Of bare feet
On a dusty concrete yard,
Smells of chimney smoke
And jagged coal heath,
Sheep-scent and
Wiry wool on a barbed fence,
Saturday
Is a jangly guitar
In a rickety truck
On a gravel road,
With a gravel voice
Rough as grit,
Deep as the caverns
Between the peaks,
Saturday
Is sunlight on an enamel ***
A tin kettle
And its blood metal tea,
It is blackberry-bitten legs
and iodine streams,
A canopy of heady bracken
Below penny-marked trees,
Then Sunday,
Slantwise
Against the setting sun
Away again.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
my eye lids are heavier
than canvas shopping bags
after a particular gratitious shop
(fret not, i bought your biscuits)
and my heart is full of jangly
indie twee pop with a stomping bassline
that makes me want to dance with
tears in my eyes at times,
happy ones,
the kind that makes old(er) people in
old or stereotypical things proclaim
'turn off that infernal racket'
'what is that god awful noise'
etcetera but less circuituously
look at me world, i'm happy
look at this ******* smile
look at it
look at my yellowed teeth and tell me that i'm not a woman
look at my hair and tell me that i wasn't born with it
look at my face and pretend you've never seen anything so confusing
wait the last one didn't work did it
let me try again
give me the key to the city and i'll give you the key to my heart
okay the last one was a lie but
you get or can hopefully at least begin to grasp the point,
I can recommend some secondary reading if you're interested in reading around the topic.
but yes, where was i?
ah yes,
i'm on the crest of a sugar high
and i think i can see my house from here
i can see the ruins and the new developments going up
and from up here, as always,
everything is pretty ******* beautiful
there's so little air
no wait
another lie, sorry,
there's empty space with nothing in it
not even gas particles
only me and my feelings and
so little room to move in this tiny car
but i'm safe and i'm well
and i'm strapped in tight
and i can see my house from here.
honestly, it's that one right there.
i can see myself at the window,
eating a bagel with margarine
and wondering how the hell
I ever got so high off the ground.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Walked down to the river at midnight -
Used to be terrified sneaking through that
Lampless village in the dark,
Could hear villains from a horror story calling,
Over the precipice of each passing garden wall.
But now I'm impervious,
Desensitised by hourly hauntings,
Which whisper that my adult brain itself
Is the spectre and the jangly skeleton,
That once lurked round those corners
And chilled my childish bones.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Slugging outside of this imploding cube
Instantly, the air is contaminated,
And only momentarily, will I pollute the entire room,
My jangly displeasure consolidated.
I come in solely as an interior
Burying my face in my cuffs.
You look down at me as I am inferior,
Smiling, with your hands full of ashes and dust,
Of all that remains from our cremated hearts.
Your swift steps reverberates the dilapidated tiled floors
Like the hums of wishes through laboured breathing,
Like the creaking in my head from the pre-vocalizing doors.
Sinking into the essence of my sadness,
Journeying back and forth and back again.
Uncomfortably, through these conditioned doors I crawl,
To seek and assemble words,
To position them like Velcro on the polysyllabic cerebrum walls.
That will shape the size of my cuts and bruises
In undeniable places,
As a mouthful begins to cascade and fall.
Sinking in my invertebrate state,
My physical texture of life
Salutes me once again.
Of the stem of creation,
And unpleasant satisfaction,
Inside my gelatin head.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
oh i searched
for that one lane that lead me through
the connected boughs above the sod
where the setting sun shone in between the trunks
the patriarch at its tip
i turned frustrated toward the triangle
that one remote turn-around point
to return home to a tune jangly
remorseful
that more time wasnt spent in awe
of all the places that have yet to be seen
remorseful
of the places below the rising moon
yet too be seen
of the places where puke has not yet been spewed
scrawling poetry on the back
of a dusty trunk
alone only with the spirit of her
laughing and chastising
this can only become more respectable
more
more
constructive
and wheels meander
and gears shift
until
im beneath a willow
long dead
cartwheel in
flop down
eyes closed
and dream
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
I have a tiny teddy bear, with a tartan collar.
It has a bell attached, just so I can hear it playing.
It sits silently on my pillow during daylight hours.
I gave it a name.
"Edward Surprisingly."
Someone bought it a rain hat.
Can't remember who.
I swear, that I heard the ringing it's jingly jangly bell the other night.
The darkness seemed to echo through the atmosphere of night.
Today I went to work.
I got in rather late.
Went into my bedroom.
Just to change my clothes.
I parked my posterior on my bed.
Expected to find him.
Smiling at me in a bear sort of way.
On my bed, right next to my pillow.
Nothing's there.
Not hide nor heel of Edward.
My ever faithful loving bear.
Heard a strange ringing running through my head.
Went off to investigate.
Edward, my lovely diminunitive friend, was curled up in my grandsons bed.
Maybe,
Just maybe Edward, had realised that the baby loves a teddy bear.
Rather more than me.
He felt that I'd neglected him.
He thought I didn't care.
I did.
Edward was my confidante.
He knows all things good and true.
A few bad things too.
Hoping in my heart of hearts,
that he doesn't tell you.
If he did I'm lucky, as baby, he so cannot speak.
My secret's safe with him as well.
(C) Livvi
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
summery strum
jangly notes bounce
through air
smooth cold lick
strawberry ice-cream
dripping
pale curves
where a bikini lived
your legs shimmer
bronzed sunset
wind warbles
blonde hair
a reckless shiver
sun hits skin
with a blizzard of kisses
touch me
you taste of something
succulent
something you shouldn’t have
all in one go
magnetic electric physical
consonants fluid
like warm water
hands a slippery murmur
around your waist
an us
not an I
we are rapid fire
a hot knot
of carbon and calcium
our lips
mouths
moment
present
one
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
Affinities bend the throttle, origin of our tribe
So hurtled as to collide, proving love weird
Instantly, expectations, hearts seared
To cool an overheated engine, a wide-eyed bride
Conjugal visits, if only this prison permitted
Yet recklessly committed, we find ourselves
Bound by obscurity promised, are elves
And faeries whose spells are transmitted
Who's dash against clatter does or doesn't?
What was or wasn't, how we might still be unclear
Still risking it all for fuzzy ambiguity, my dear
A six in one hand or that other half dozen
So we did it, it's done, and never more fun
My spun honey bun, I have no single regret
For you are my jangly chain, and I, your pet
Love run-in has been wet, and oh so wildly won
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
Oh, to be a person who
Stays cool, calm and collected,
Instead of one whose jangly nerves
Has stressing-out perfected.
To be the one who never sweats,
Whose heart won’t race on faster,
Anticipating something wrong,
From trifle to disaster.
I’d like to feel relaxed and not
Stretched taut with fret and worry
And take my time without the need
To feel that I must hurry.
To rationally make a choice
And never second guess it;
To analyze a situation,
With no need to stress it.
Oh, to be that person!
What a joy that it would be!
The only drawback is, of course,
That it would not be me!
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
seGment, bona
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aRe
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mIllionaire?” model
building suspense wiTh
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soUnd,
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inTo
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of building suspense wiTh
synths And bludgeoning
“genius junioR” offers
a janGly
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rIffs like
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Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
I don’t want to sound like a ******
Accidentally pretentious
I sense this, prevent this
With pausings in musings
But consciousness, man
It’s a whole thing, isn’t it?
Moving, zipping, travelling
Across time and place
No shifts in space
Ultimate game of Pong
Bats are half images,
ghosts of smells,
light or heavy ****** impacts,
sounds, songs, poems
Triggers lightly but firmly bouncing us from
now to then,
then to when,
but always here to here
Across time and place
No shifts in space
Sometimes transitions are smooth and buttery-safe
-- I didn’t even realise I was thinking about trains and now about dinner
-- ping, pong, ping, pong
-- a metronomic, Wimbledon soundtrack
But then one player hits the ball too short and too high
and then the
Echoing crack
Bats us into sometime somewhen darker
The feckless defensive player manages to scoop the ball
just before it touches sod, but too short and too high
and then the
Echoing crack
Strongly, crisply, sharply
Smashed into jangly memory
Clear and incomplete
Real and impossible
Laser focus on The Bad Thing
Other details, window dressing
Breathing quickens, heart keeps the beat
The Image, or
The Smell, or
The Grip on My Ankle
Is faithfully replayed
Full colour, Dolby surround sound, Memory cut
The Grip on My Ankle
Is faithfully replayed
The Grip on My Ankle
…
…
…
Mind taps out for a bit
Consciousness slide into foggy nowhere, no time
Breathing slows, heart keeps the beat
Might just stay here
Cool, fuzzy fog is my best friend
Until fog-resistant, persistent stimulus insists
that I return
Ping
Clear-eyed now
Pong
Pasta sounds nice
Triggers lightly bouncing me from here to here
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 8:07 PM UTC