"pling" poems
he was a tambourine
_cling-cling-cling_
competing with the guitar,
_strrr...uuummm..._
bass,
_puuu-waaa...ssh!_
and drums
_BO...o...Om!_
In the orchestra
he was the conductor's baton
_swish-swish-swish_
drowned out by the oboe
_BRRR...Rooo..._
cello
_teener-neener-teen_
violin
_Neee-nah-neee...nahnahnah-nee..._
When he went solo
he was a harp
_bling-bling-bling-bling..._
graceful, delicate
_tling-ling-ring-bling..._
his strings plucked
_pling-pling-pling-pling_
by angels
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Making me sing daily for her,
Far used to be the sorrows,
Maddening was my love,
Made her feel special..
Me singing & writing poetry,
Separately for her was regular...
For her I will improve myself,
Testing my capabilities I am,
Reeling the love I kindle inside,
Peeling I'm my hard outer shell..
Companion of mine is perfect,
Together we gelled just so well,
Tomorrow seems very golden,
Grappling with all the troubles,
Challenging time with my effort,
Focused were all my techniques,
Graduating in the field of love,
Completed seemed my jigsaw.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
^^^^^
Sizzle Sizzle Dumb-pling
Sizzle sizzle dumb-pling,
Lóg, lóng góne,
zapped his head with electródes ón.
Skull half fried made brain bóuillón
Sizzle sizzle dumb-pling,
Lóg, lóng góne!
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to John and the Dumpling)*
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
endless drip-drop-plopping pling-pop puddles pooling over
their self-constructed boundaries,
spilling into rainbow chem-drip paintings on the darkened pavement,
melting into unseen hues of wetness.
the super-saturated ground continues to collect the leaking of the sky,
compiling samples of the potions spilling from clouds who gathered too much magic to hold onto by themselves.
bustling busy-bodies cower under fabric roofs,
only to be barraged by rising tidal waves rolling at their feet,
sneaky splattering from dirt sick of being stomped upon.
under the cover of brick and mortar
searching eyes are stuck staring out blurred window-panes,
hypnotized by the water-works and
feeling nostalgia for a time when they lived under the sea,
evolutionary longing for ancestral roots that escape understanding.
entranced by the suspended flight and splendid crash landing of
parachute droplets sent through a long descent as singular entities
to dissolve back into a homogenous being at the end of the journey -
separating and reconvening, reforming and dissipating.
drip-drop drip-drop all the same,
everything as everything else under the guise of arbitrary names,
dripping-drop plopping in watery refrain,
I am the same as you are the same as we are the same as the drip-dropping rain.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
I rub my fingers back and fourth,
brush the dust off of the books,
try to wash the stained pots and pans,
swing on a swing,
it creeks as if its in pain,
hopping off,
find a rusty nail,
through it into the sewer,
then it makes a sharp pling,
I try to scrub you off,
you create a deathly smell,
I throw the brush down,
scream, and attempt again,
I find an old chess,
but I can't open it,
the rust binds the lock together,
I get a new key from the locksmith,
its stuck inside the lock,
its completely broken inside,
a pile of rust in the corner,
inside a dump,
I feel like rust,
I just can't come off.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
K
NI
VES
are sharp
in birth but
blunt against
words. Though
I have become
used to pulling
knives from my
back, the words
that are said are
dropping pebble
in a still pond, rip-
pling through my
soul till the end of
days. Wounds heal,
right? The pain still
feels too fresh. And
do scars fade? How
many do I have? Oh
well. I guess, no, I am
grateful, to be honest.
For every knife, I've cut
the cords of things unn-
ecessary. But the demons
plague. My face is but stone.
My tears are void.
My heart is black.
The bare slashes
on me, I can deal
with. I can cope.
I can cope well.
I can cope. I can
cope. I can cope.
I-I-I just wish for
one thing. I just
wish that I was
easy to fix. I wi-
sh it was easy to
breathe. Am I
dying? Here?
Alone? Yes...I
am, aren't I? Fr-
om my first bre-
ath, I slowly be-
gan to die.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
Go to work.
Get engulfed.
Thicken your constitution.
Deaden your nerves until
feelings glance off of
your steely exterior.
Your apathy is a samurai,
deflecting emotions
with unnatural precision.
PLING
PLING
PLING
PLING
the fallen garnish your feet
like pencil shavings.
You are sharpened.
[reads a news article about people suffering]
Somewhere, seemingly distant, a voice cries or sings. It starts faint, but you know it's going to get much louder. No. That's not quite right. You know it IS much louder.
You know its volume is being filtered somehow. You know because you're doing the filtering. Or a least you're trying.
[trying is the wrong word]
fighting. You are fighting this noise down. You are an indomitable force that fights everything. Wasn't it you that moved like wind? Wasn't it you that struck your enemies true? A warrior that stands fearless above all.
[something is looming]
Of course you would want to tune this out. It's not just a loud noise. Pretty sure there's pain involved. Pretty sure you might be hurt. That's why you had to turn the noise down.
[it's a scream]
the scream down. I mean, even a warrior is scared by pain. No shame in that. The scary scream had to be muted. It's what anyone would do. It doesn't make you less warrior. I mean, did you see those moves out there?
[PLING PLING PLING]
But something is not right. This [scream] is somehow frightening. You don't feel very warrior–like right now. You feel ill. Weak. How long have you been fighting this noise down? How loud is this thing? I mean, is it safe to check or will the noise crush you where you stand?
It's considered unwise for a man to open his door when he knows a flood is on the other side.
But you need to open this door. You've been dishonest with yourself
[Sun and moon and stars and void]
You've been dishonest with the cosmos and it's time to repent. You will drown.
It will be relief somehow.
[Go home.
Get engulfed.
Open up your conscience.
Feel your scream in every
emotion as they ripple
throughout your juicy guts.
Your catharsis is a newborn fawn,
clumsily alerting
every predator.]
You are broken.
You are crying.
You are the screaming.
[steel melts]
You were cutting down yourself
with precision.
[PLING]
You'll wonder how it can be so,
in a fair world,
that this scream should be turned against you.
After all, you've been taught
that a warrior keeps their screams to themselves.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC