"rackety" poems
It's like the crowd in a concert,
These feelings that I have for you,
They're tough to control and rackety,
They're wild and can't be underestimated,
It's simply obstreperous.
4:56am and you're breaking my reverie.
But this seems good, continue it anyway.
I want this solitary time with you.
Whilst you're annihilating my mind,
I wish to confess something,
But with denegation, I'm frightened.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
rickety rackety hickory sticks 10
bundled for the burning 6
finicky syncope, verse that predicts 10
a pleasure twice returning. 7
clickety clackety silver-wrought tongues 10
kittens and cats in cahoots 7
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Our hearts are locked,
how could we set them free?
For sure with the remembrance of God,
our hearts are filled with glee.
Don't let your mind get crowded,
and the judgements of people get in your way.
Breath in, take it easy before it gets flooded,
one step at a time, if you may.
Our hearts are like sparkly gems,
even if we cannot comprehend or truly see,
but once in a while, it should be cleansed,
if not, how could it stay luminously shiny?
Why are we serving these lusts?
With full obedience and loyalty?
We should break away from its crust,
even though it's tough to control and rackety.
I know it's simply obstreperous,
but try to never give in,
it is treacherous and perfidious,
all these temptations of sin.
No matter what you have done,
know that God is readily forgiving.
Believe me, life is short, oh little one,
for verily from Him we came and to Him we are leaving.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
Top of congregates
sorrowed skulls
blending a reality of
sunken oil paintings
in the pavement-
-depravity
reflection metallic
on the
NOISY superstructure of
false Eden
struggling with
numerous pandemics-
-dawn cooling break of day
before dissolution
and the rackety BANG
that is
worldly affairs
beginning early on
in the coral sunrise/
seaside city losing it's scorch
from the ocean-
-distant Port Angeles murky
in the humidity
of Summer.
Black coffee sweeps away
the sleepies
and I'm ready to
throw myself into the
-ULTRAMODERN CATASTROPHE-
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
The patient came to me with a plea I couldn’t refuse, so I placed my hand on his cold spine and warmed up to him, I the fire and he, suffering a harsh winter. With the rapid beat of his heart drumming against my palm, I doctored and diagnosed him. I fed him medicine and he was fine for a temporary time. A temporary, potentially affective, time. So warm, so brief—full recovery could’ve been conceived during the month of July if it weren’t miscarried, leaving that promise as a seed forever forgotten during harvest.
The patient would come back monthly for his check-up, claiming a new illness, begging for a new medicine. I’d give it to him willingly. After all, he needed help.
After about a year, I gave out so much to him there was hardly medicine left for my other patients.
Considering, I reduced his dose to even the imbalance.
“Can you not see how I need your help?” said the most desperate wrinkle of a face, “Did I do something to deserve this?”
“No! No, of course not. There is just limited supply and high demand. You are one of many mouths to feed!”
“Do you not care for me anymore?” Was the worst one. Of course I cared for him. Admittedly, I cared for him more than all my other patients. I know this is not professional of me to disclose, nor is it fair, but it is an honest guilt that tugs at my hair like a gluttonous infant.
Blame was thrown at me like cannonballs. Suddenly, I was the cancer he tried so hard to fight. That thought alone was too heavy a burden to bare, so I reluctantly gave him the entirety of my supply.
Day in and day out, I began to hear the other patients drop like thick glass behind me, where I would never look back. I kept a steady eye on him, as he was my child in a rackety crib I was too afraid to leave alone for the fear that he’d stop breathing at any moment. I am a miserable, exhausted mother of a child that never matured.
And it’s just he and I now, forever in frozen time.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
Once upon a time, when time
is not yet the time I called mine.
That it's seems none among you
didn't have it yet, but we knew.
Thus, we just have the same petals.
I crossed the irritated river rather
than to skip my mother superior,
jumped up to the last rock of ages,
Frontally, I had bitten those arrow's edges
Thus, book's wings are immortal.
I got smelled crazy grass,
saw a crystallized granule,
a beans can pop my lust,
and watched a riot's failure.
those aren't mine but a warning signals.
I saw an abandoned cat who adopt me,
A surrogate flower with an opened gate,
She told me about her petals, silent sea,
wounds from fortifying the book, it made
Her rugged but its a pure story of past trials
I found that i'm just petal without "s".
A rocky river with its rackety drift,
Just a spark frailer than a atomic blitz,
and null, a shoot with a smallest leaf.
How strong she is that she made me feel mortal?
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
I am a novel waiting for writing.
I am shiny, as a Christmas bauble,
So sparkly,
I am waiting to be displayed,
I am a dumb mute,
I am waiting to speak,
I am never quiet
I am an appeal waiting to be made,
I am the contents of a treasure chest,
The stifled lid lifts slowly,
so slowly,
Awaiting the coming changes,
self made,
a manipulation of myself,
the stagnant waters,
well,
they are running free now,
aerated and breathing,
Clear and fresh.
As the rickety rackety wheel turns,
I can feel the classic turning over.
Coffee tainted pages in my hapless history,
now it's all about me,me,me!
(C) Livvi
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
A journey from a city to a small town,
And I thought... I would go down,
(I was nervous, not too many adventurous bones,
Not everyone, after all, is Indiana Jones..)
A rickety-rackety propeller plane ride,
Tossed and hurled me from side to side.
Amidst jets that sniggered and scoffed,
The propeller plane, nonchalantly, took off.
The gall of the small contraption,
Of their majestic magnitude, just a fraction.
A take off with a war cry,
A noisy leap into the sky.
And though perhaps lagging in the race,
He chugged at his own pace…
He rocked and he plunged,
He plunged and he lunged,
He shuddered and he swayed…
Rather unsteady all the way.
Bullied oft, by clouds of turbulence,
That looked menacingly dark and intense.
But all the while, in tune, in sync,
With the wind beneath his wings...
And though I thought he would nose dive,
We landed and we arrived!
Interesting it was to see him share space,
In the hangar, in the sky, while defining his own place.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 12:16 PM UTC
There is river that we drift upon.
Keep thinking we're making it, but then we drown.
You're full of sorrow and I'm full of bubble.
All we seem to feed upon is each other.
We thrive upon wonderful music taste and litle bits of trouble.
I'm trying to reach you.
And still I float.
Riding the waves on a rackety boat.
You need to know I love you.
I know you love me too.
I'm there to support you.
Together so long.
We can't do right for doing wrong.
Waking up with you is precious.
Sleeping with you,
Well it's just the best.
Lets fight to survive
We're both still alive.
I'm there for you and you are for me.
Frankie.
I don't wanna be free.
(C) LIVVI MMXV
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
i promise to never drag you on roller coasters you don't consent to
and if you do take a chance on the rackety rails
i promise to never let go of your hand
i promise to never pull you through this life
if you don't wish to be by my side
but, if you do decide to accompany me on this journey
i promise to never let go of your hand
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
Our Science Film
Autumn colors leave me
Pining for black and white
Grammar school reel to reel
Science films snaking through
Rackety Cold War projectors
Chalk motes swarming
Cones of gibbering light
Can-do voice-overs
Always a hiccup off
Read by radio men
Sporting pale miens
Pie plate headphones
Brylcreem slick
Perhaps a Scholastic
Short featuring winsome
Child actors playing
You and me
Button noses
Wrinkled in stricken
Joy at a baby bunny
Wide eyed and stock still
In an apple crate
Beneath an apple tree
Leaves schooling in binary
Shimmer on the summer
Breeze blowing through our film
An introduction to photosynthesis
Or the metamorphosis of caterpillars
It matters little to you
Beribboned in gingham
Or me flying flapping
Dungarees
Platinum hair
Whipping our faces
Sky a china white
Behind ivory billows
Framed forever
Dimpled and laughing
Milkweed exploding
From our fingers like secrets
Shared in alabaster
Sign language.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Lawnmower, Chlorophyll, Birds, and Love
“A little place in the country, a dog, a few good books –
every Englishman’s dream”
-David Niven as Sir Arthur in 55 Days at Peking
A lawnmower is a rackety thing
But the garden doesn’t seem to mind at all
This second mowing of the season:
“Just a little trim along the edges”
The bees among the flowers and their little pool
Bobbin’ robins up early for their worms
Woodpeckers and finches at the feeder
And young oak leaves showing off their new green
Honoring each life as a sister or brother –
Love is much better than shooting each other
Mar 25, 2021
Mar 25, 2021 at 9:03 AM UTC
People tell me that things will get better
to trust my gut and hum my songs.
But to waste goes all I've tried and done
left in deep dark drains and pitiful pits.
I envision my endeavours in magical colours
that seems so mundane, that haven't been
discovered.
And writing my dreams on a bland blank sheet
it feels so incomplete.
I cross my heart and swear
I swear
that the pieces I create shall be priceless and
timeless.
And that whatever lays in the far-fetched future
will only be sparkles and glitter-full glory.
With the rackety clack of a Newton's cradle
I live on in envy of what I have created.
My eyes are shut
so I can see
a myopic view of me.
Like Icarus who fell so far
my ambitions fly close to the sun.
The Phantom whose love was stolen
away
left trapped in a Box 5.
I drive myself to my greater potential
Like Jason and his Argonauts.
The insanity of such greatness is flattering
and absolutely morale flattening.
I keep my thoughts in stasis
pulling them
apart and piecing them back
the creativity of lego pieces
infinite
Corralling my inspirations
like Noah on his Ark.
The warnings given days too early
and now I hold naught
but the night hallucinations that
keep me going
and the sun in the dusk sky
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 7:37 AM UTC