"reverberated" poems
He strutted down the hall with confidence.
His crooked smile reverberated goosebumps along my bare arms.
His deep soothing laugh drew me to the heaven light.
His blue grey eyes held secrets of pain that made my heart scream for him.
His foolish jokes made my frozen frown thaw.
It was not till his warm hand brushed mine that I knew I had oblivious eyes.
I had fallen for this gorgeous human being without knowing.
-Susan
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
Through the forest of trees from your lips
I can read your unspoken words.
As each leaf falls
the view becomes much more clear.
Words that once reverberated through the forest
seem as lifeless as the fallen leaves at my feet.
I await a rush of fresh air
to stir and animate the dead silence around me.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
The shells lined up nicely.
"At attention," the conch yelled.
He was curled black, with boiled blue spikes.
And so they stayed, in a perfect line against the wall,
until the wave,
washing ashore, it plucked three.
One was an abalone,
almost full grown,
with five holes descending down its left side.
A sheen of gold and silver out,
murky indigo and forest green in.
He lost grip first,
and was pulled into an incoming breaker.
The second was a conch.
Chocolate and vanilla swirls coated the outer layers
leading in to slight pink.
Her name was Neapolitan.
She was once an adult shell of the queen conch,
washed ashore and set into a line by small hands,
that were gentle and soft.
Zander
A soft voice called.
Inhaled by the mouth of the ocean,
exhaled into a bout of seaweed.
She was lost.
The last,
was a cowry shell.
He was old,
or at least he imagined so.
This was not the first time he had washed ashore,
nor had he figured, would it be the last.
His back was ivory white
with brown speckles,
in such a pattern
that he imagined himself to be, at times, a turtle.
He had first felt and then saw reflections of himself in sea glass. He was gathered in a bucket and rubbed so that his design reverberated until he felt, every shimmer of himself.
Knowing not what lay ahead,
but understanding,
he held no grip and went where the ocean led.
It's getting dark Zander.
The others gasped,
in horror their screams rasped.
"Save us. Plea...se he...l...p."
As another wave crashed into the wall and stole four more,
again,
till all were cast away from the wall
to be laden across the expanse of sand.
Soft brown eyes stared,
at the empty holes,
where shells had been placed,
as decorations to a most deserving sand castle.
Turrets and towers,
hard packed by child hands,
with a red flag flapping to the sea breeze.
*A crude skull was drawn,
for it was a pirate fascination that encapsulated this year.*
He had spent hours seeking and finding,
the perfect art,
to be the binding,
to hold his wall against all defense,
but all had fallen in the first wave of battle.
"Oh well," he muttered.
He would try again tomorrow.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Tearing the sky
storms and thunders grunted
eliting the trees!
First rain drop fell
floating like angel, like dead leaf
rinsing my brevity.
Gestures of steams
driven the beauty of crazyness
to mingle with my soul.
Charmed by enthralling
rhythms of mismerising rain
my heart became wet!
Strokes of poetry
in the ruined part of my heart
reverberated unconsiouly!
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 4:01 AM UTC
The drifter in the room is a stranger,
he is crazy, is Bigfoot with deer moccasins on−
monster of condominium rooms and dreams.
The drifter in this room used to be my friend.
He spoke straight sentences, they did not sound like poetry-
reverberated like a narrative, special lines good a few bad,
or stories being unwound by the tongue of a gentleman,
lip service, juggler of simple words to children.
The night is a dark believer in drifters,
they sound sober, affairs with the wind,
the 3 A.M. honking of the Metro trains.
Everything sleeps with a love, a nightmare at night.
The drifter.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
A flashflood of morning sun
emptied into the valley
and transformed the hills
from green to the kind of electric
gold only reserved for ancient kings.
Somewhere on a sunbeam
someone tuned a fiddle.
A flowering June breeze
cruised in from the north
pulled into the valley,
parked, unpacked,
and set up camp.
The high and lonesome sound
tumbled downstream.
Bodies and blades of grass
moved in unison
with the June breeze
and the music reverberated
in the air between.
Somewhere on a sunbeam
a memory was composed.
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
--To M. M. M'B.
Above the Crags that fade and gloom
Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat;
Ridged high against the evening bloom,
The Old Town rises, street on street;
With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead,
Like rampired walls the houses lean,
All spired and domed and turreted,
Sheer to the valley's darkling green;
Ranged in mysterious disarray,
The Castle, menacing and austere,
Looms through the lingering last of day;
And in the silver dusk you hear,
Reverberated from crag and scar,
Bold bugles blowing points of war.
2k
•
When I saw you crying,
My heart was crushed into smithereens,
*Your sobs reverberated into my world,
And gives the most disconsolate euphony within me,*
**All I ever desire,
Is for you to be happy,**
*Oh how I really wanted to hug you,
Comfort you and wipe away all those tears from your eyes,*
But I knew we are far from each other,
**So let my genuine love enclasp you,
And give you the best console.**
with love <3
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
It was 3:30 in the morning
The aunt died, heart attack they said.
I only have a pale memory of her
The pink-house, protest and abuse.
Grandfather plucked us from there
the next day
The pink hibiscus my mother planted
did not depart.
She is dead today
I went to see her in black clothes,
The house, an empty aluminium box-
With kids playing ‘ring around the roses’,
Uncles debated politics and aunts gossiped
And some moaned inside.
I waited outside with few strange women,
They asked me questions
plenty of them
The anti-social me smiled.
The morning was usual
Mother made noises in the kitchen
with her steel plates and old radio,
Father forgot the fish on his
green kinetic honda,
Cats had a feast that evening
I did yoga, read newspaper and did-
not take a wash.
The dead body arrived late noon
in an ambulance with her expatriate son.
There was a sudden burst of cry-
inside- her daughter and grandchildren.
She looked like the fish to me,
The fish my father brought that morning
from the market, cold and dead.
Her daughter’s cry reminded me of-
an elapsed day in my pink house.
My father kept pink flowers on her feet
and prayed
I did not move, sat with the same chitchatting
women
The chanting became loud and it reverberated.
The body was finally taken to the fire
My mother came late, she wept.
The body burned down in minutes,
Dear relatives decamped.
I sat on the same chair
with my cousins
drawing the family tree, locating stories
and laughed over family jokes.
Then we sat tight lipped with brandy fumes
and cashews.
I came back home with my father
in the green kinetic honda,
I looked for the fish and the cat
I could not find both.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
We sat aloft a dune
peering over the ocean,
waves mesmerizing
our inner turmoil,
grainy surf dimensions
cut into psyche,
voices turned hazy
midst broiling sun
washed back with
salt water tears,
there was no lighthouse
to guide the way
nor save disparate crests
no words reverberated the sound,
just the floundering of
gritty restless emotions
that once were blissed horizons
before moon lost its balance
to relentless torrential currents
of neglectful destruction,
drowning in ambiguous undertows
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
In the shadows of the walls
where laughter once reverberated
as a symphony of gleeful bliss,
intonational inclines arise in the dark
as dancing phantoms haunt
the smirking silence which dissipates
from the splotched, upended floorboards,
while midnight footprints breathlessly creak,
cradling the demonizing affirmations whispered,
the very ones I knew would never become true.
We stood by, powerlessly spectating
as the love we once shared
gasped for air, red in the face,
its gushing carotid bulging in desperation,
four lungs incinerating themselves
with imminent anticipation
of the death gleaming
just over the horizon,
its violet hues juxtaposing
with the glimmering night skies
of faded constellations comprising the celestial
as moonlit silhouettes waltzed across the water,
a bright cerulean rippling in our presence,
the genesis of a journey unforeseen.
Brutal acceptance rains from my eyes,
a rumbling river that reigns supreme
over the rounded stones stacked high
as a towering dam of branches and rubble,
leftover waste long forgotten and forlorn;
hometown fantasies of childhood memories
linger longer than our lost loyalty,
liberating me from the rusted chains
you'd stapled into my brittle bones,
a leash tied tightly around my throat
to **** me from my courageous caution
back into the splintered wheel
dictating our selfish agendas,
empty promises of dilapidated affirmations
now turned weary and worn
with this newfound sense of reflection,
a dichotomy depicting time's own passage,
the consequence of a metamorphic resolution
of open wounds blossoming into eroded scars.
Futuristic visions of lesions now mended
seamlessly fuse with renewed self-reception,
your broken promises stitched with the threads
ripped from the capillaries comprising my core,
blood-stained carpet of scarlet and crimson
fading into an aged and weathered maroon,
never truly waning in its acquainted pigment
yet blossoming into a stained fabric
portraying the promises of the past,
of decayed ruins now industriously erected
into a radiant utopia of gallant, rubious valor,
the final product of an unyielding resolve
to have our story rewritten, our own steadfast evolution.
Jan 6, 2024
Jan 6, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC
It was social experimentation
To be locked away, windowless
Four walls, perpetually fixed
- as his figure in a lightless room
Ears removed, mouth sewn closed
Eyes blinded, no light, no sound
Muted humanity, no dignity
He happened upon a laughing child
before the procedure
and that sound echoed inside
Deep within his bowels it reverberated
Through his blood
Distorted in his stomach
Youthful innocent laugh,
it grew monstrous
It began to talk
and the beast within was personified
Day one he lost his mind
Day two was still day one
(how irresponsive time becomes)
Day three the laugh became a growl
Day four the voices started
Day five in absentia
Day six he was done
Day seven, bizarre interim
- that between life and death
Profoundly lost in swingin' psychosis
Met by the devil in detailed cerebellum
Watched memories deteriorate
like some reel-to-reel burning, spluttering
His wife now only a hydrogen hallucination
Do you, the reader, know true loneliness?
The observation deck was packed on day eight
Muted, yet guttural screams of anguish
from deep within his throat
Were haunting reminders of the damaging effect
of psychological studies and the fragility of humanity
The cataract voids in his stoic face
they betrayed fear, and begged captors
for some respite from this hellish dream
Until in a tormented blinded haze, the voice was clear
His ears still dead, though this voice was true
Spoke but three subtle words
The subject experienced simultaneous neurological
Joy and fear
He had heard the de facto vocalisation of some supreme
he spoke them aloud
his only utterance
and the teary eyed scientists gathered
sterile needle
no words
dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
All your beautiful creations
Rot underneath the heel
Of bated breath, once warm, gone cold
Which witnessed writhing death
It reached its slender fingers in
And plucked out every heart-string
Till all the air reverberated
With hopeless dreams and dead-end letters
Cropped tongue and sentence
Amongst the wreck
Of a thought that came off
The railway tracks
Left seething, restless, a blackened stone
Where tender beat met the sixth rib bone
To weigh a heavy anchor, from the clouds
Leaving nothing,
But doubt
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
I was sitting in the middle of crooked roads
and singing to the passersby about us
and our love
a lie
the bridges were slowly thinning in to
nothing
but old DVDs we used to watch when our minds were marinated with
empty vow books
and
your memory was seeping away with every note
dissected
in to atom-sized pieces of photo paper that was
impossible
to mend
I saw the sand particles of hourglasses run out
and almost forgot you
but then
whispers of your voice reverberated
swinging recorded words like tongue twisters
I covered my ears before your wavelengths could clash with
mine
and we would be
whole
once again
We are out of time.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
We have seen your greasy lips
Of supple warmth nibble our geographical space with relish
With your cerebral repertoire of Machiavellian tactics
A savage sage gleaning with resounding skill
And crafty navigational sail
Your masterstrokes through climes and tongues reverberated
With your sparkling craft of vile crypt
Across regions, tribes and locales
Of your fangs that foiled good governance
But this time…
Your gladiatorial glide on this political turf
Shall experience a firestorm of rejection
Your emissaries across territorial divides
Shall be hounded to delusion
For the masses shall maul your mushy mantle of self grandeur
To the abyss of dishonour
For your subsequent arrival shall be booed to your doom
Your waning clout shall swing you to judgement
Of abysmal invasion
We are watching your fragile trot through this fearsome terrain
Of your permutation in levitation
For Damocles’ fiery sword shall haunt your ambition
Your raging mist on this cloudy night
Shall encounter a violent tussle
Prepare for war!
The scarlet venom from your cruel camp
Shall cease with instant visitation
From the warhorses of this fearless infantry
Armed with the right tools to disarm your fortified fortress
As you dispatch your foot soldiers
Of monsters and Leviathans
To play a callous hoax like the cunning fox
Their morbid mien shall encounter an eternal fall!
Let the music begin…
Onuchi Mark © 2010
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:32 AM UTC
On the plains of forgotten dreams a wondering
Night terror awoke, its sluggish motion once
Dormant but it had its banshee howls reverberated
upon the old stained thoughts that grew.
Always reaching for a purpose, but the wail shattered
Them into pools of liquid fantasy evaporating into
Nothing so long they had they grown now they were
But as forgotten as all in the land. dream now awoke.
Blinded by darkness it succumb to primal fears, ripping
Upon a daydream now scarred in thought. The forest
Of dreams growing to bear fruit in minds yet to see,
Now bleed tears liquid terror as it screamed.
A dream walker happened upon the ether that radiated
So, perpetual mist gathered around. It screamed and
To knees pushed upon, a dream catcher worn charred
By the breath of fear so strong. on feet once again stood.
Words whispered, as layers wisped in to the impressions
Changing essence like leaves falling. Like a melody they
Washed over, cleansing the fears that blanketed its un-awoken
Motions on the land. And still it became, its true form shaped.
A child yearning self, a fear gripped upon Its subconscious,
Needing to hear its mind, afflicted that which would not let
It awaken to the realms of reality. But trapped in darkness
Within ones self, and he raised his hands over and sang.
"Little one of light, grasping on night tainted touch,
"Free is your dream, no terrors touch on you tonight,
Slumber in peace, no other fear shall greet you this night,
Awake little one, and faded into realities grasp did this
Little one glide. The night terrors are dormant creatures
Who's howl signals fear in this realm. But I will be here
To guild those who scream into fear of the night.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
when the Tuscan sunlight trickled through the blinds,
pouring gold specks into the room
and your light hums reverberated into my ear
as we laid in tangled sheets
it dawned on me that
home was never a place —
home was a person.
this is it, i thought
this is home.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 9:34 AM UTC
The silence grows deafening,
and the stillness screams;
the darkness over powers me.
i look all around and i see mirrored walls.
and in them the eyes!
eyes that bore into mine seemed to accuse,
they seemed to resent being trapped in here;
along with the very ghost.
i whirl around and see another pair,
appraising the view and seemingly smug.
so terrible yet so beautiful,
and wondering when the show ended.
i close my eyes, my heart speeds up,
i turn slowly and find another image.
hungry and dangerous the eyes came nearer,
with every step going backwards,
the ravishing the ravenous eyes came closer.
till i could smell her breath on mine,
intoxicating, alluring and beckoning me,
till i could fight it no more.
i tried to turn my face and again,
she smiled and waved at me,
she trilled a little laugh;
at my terror stricken face.
the sound reverberated off the walls,
that were also mirrors.
"why are you scared" she looked at me,
"we are all a part of you,
we sleep with you and wake with you,
and eat with you and we watch you ****
we are your nightmares revisited,
we are the unspoken dreams,
the tales untold, the songs unsung.
all your deeds good and bad,
come undone with us.
for we are your friends and family,
we are only, you."
she bared open her heart
and i saw that it was mine!
and i heard the songs of the requiem,
or was it only my scream?
trapped within my own mind,
with the inner spirit.
she tortured me and tormented me,
till i was no more.
but when i start to think of it,
was it all just a dream?
but then she comes at night to me
and then i see it was me.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
They came down the shining mountain slopes
In robes of reds and golds
Moving lightly on their dancing feet
Their happy laughter filled the air
Along the forest paths came others of their kind
Dressed in robes of russet green
Singing the sweetest kind of songs
All gathered in the sunlit glade
Beside the crystal stream
Then accompanied by golden harps
The elven host began to sing
They sang of past winters vicious bite
Sang of the beauty that was spring
The sweetest songs of midsummers day
And of the bounty autumn then would bring
Garlands of wild flowers
Were twisted in their hair
And the songs of birds and insects
Reverberated in the air
Honey cakes were eaten
Horns of mead were drunk
For some the water of the crystal stream
Was used their thirst to quench
Long into the evening
They danced and sang their songs
Now the glade was lit by fireflies
Dancing to the harpen strum
Suddenly came silence
Suddenly the elven folk were gone
Suddenly they had all slipped away
Midsummer day was done
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
I cannot hear.
Sound has lost its crispness.
Articulated consonants
have merged into blurred murmurings.
The loss was not sudden.
No cataclysmic happening
but rather a gentle deterioration
of a faculty, once taken for granted.
Normal conversation, once a joy,
has become a struggle.
Repartee, chit chat, a little banter
is no more.
The quality of sound
once reverberated and filled spaces;
now I have no spaces – just tinnitus,
constantly grinding away.
To be sightless is to be aware,
with other senses sharpened;
but deafness leads to
introspection, loneliness and deep despair.
The half blind wear their glasses
and look so very wise.
The deaf man, with his hearing aid,
dithers.
I should know.
~
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 6:00 AM UTC
Grandma Clarice,
or Chub as I prefer to call her,
is tough as nails.
All 90 pounds of her on her
not-even-five-feet-tall-frame,
she always told the funniest jokes,
and her laugh was one of
those laughs
that just
reverberated so warm against your
eardrums,
contagious like the
common cold,
you couldn't help but catch it.
Chub always made the best pies,
any kind your gluttonous mind could
imagine:
cherry, blueberry, apple, peach, lemon chiffon, anything creamed;
don't get me wrong,
my mama inherited the gene,
her peach pie my absolute favorite
in the summertime,
but still,
mama learned from the master, and Chub was
the master indeed.
Chub was witty,
she was poised,
she was so many things that I
don't even feel like I ever really have figured out
what all she was, she is.
But I can't deny the
memories I have of Chub
smiling
as I played Christmas tunes on the piano,
looking collected and cool as she
whipped up another perfect meal,
her voice inquisitive as she
asked me about school,
the teacher in her proud yet astute.
Chub can't remember anymore,
but I remember for her,
the laughter, the
impeccable odors wafting from her all-white kitchen,
the late night games of Rummikub,
that tough-as-nails Chub who will always
exist in my
memories.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
There’s a key
to open the lock
of the door
that leads to
the alley
hidden from
everyone’s view
old buildings
graying facades
history peeling off
exposing
the strong walls
not many
have walked
this alley
for many centuries
forlorn and tired
history sleeps
memories sigh
waiting to
be heard
the last footstep
that reverberated
into oblivion
lost glory
passionate dwellers
abandoned
for centuries
stripped off
the lights
and long forgotten
switching off
the town’s existence
now only
if one had the key
to walk down
the forgotten alley
history would wake up
to narrate
so many stories
put under
a long spell
an effort to
wipe away its existence
but it soul
still lives
and the key shall be found
to the lucky one
walking amidst history
transported back
to the past
to feel the essence
of this unnamed place
almost wiped
away by time
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
The shattered concrete sidewalk spits shards of itself to the side with each crunching step. A stagnant yellow light suppressed by oppugning umbra strives with zeal to illuminate this phantasmal ambiance. The cadence of footfall hesitates at the corner of a decaying building. Eyes locked on a crimson door fabricated by the hands of Bhairava. It was this remorseless portal that produced the walker of dreams. With her approach the obscuration of scenery increased until there was nothing but two beings converging beneath the steadfast but dim light. Without sound the first tear fell to the ground. It grasped towards the earth below, delayed as if opposed by gravity, but with weight enough to overcome. The rest followed, after observing to make sure the first hit its target. Clairvoyance had become a curse to the seer, as the plight of the dreamwalker was revealed without words uttered. Secrets poured out almost as quickly as the now rushing tears. These concrete slab secrets attached ropes to the empathetic sleeper's wrists and anchored him beside the dreamwalker. With each thought that passed the bindings tightened around his appendages. And then this intruder, void of but a few secrets, looked up at him with horror. She comprehended too well the anguish caused by this affliction. As she rose beside him an embrace was offered, to suppress the gravity of the situation. For the first time she spoke. Her whispered words reverberated with such intensity that only dust and thread existed where the bindings had pulled and gnawed at skin. "It will all be ok now". She had come seeking comfort, but left beyond that horrible door with only the comfort that his memories would be purged upon waking. He woke with a heavy heart tied to concrete blocks, contemplating whether or not to utter his sorrowful knowledge to the one that provided it to him unknowingly.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
I wonder what everyone else was feeling
when you were rushed to the hospital.
Again.
Eyes rolled,
mouths scoffed,
unsurprised.
Like the only place it made sense for you to be was
locked up
or six feet under.
I managed to stitch together the fragmented sentences
I had heard
and fill the spaces in between
with what I could infer.
Two sole letters
reverberated off the cave walls of my mind:
OD,
OD,
OD.
An anthem I fell asleep to where I dreamed of a bedroom
for remission to make love to your addictions.
Those two letters became five before I could grasp the finality.
D
E
A
T
H.
I was shattered.
The pieces of myself,
I’ve retrieved off the floor
and put them together in the puzzle of my life
where I have no place for drugs to fit.
I think about you more often than anyone is willing to believe.
When you took your first sip of alcohol,
a mixed drink of
one part peer pressure
and another part curiosity,
did you know you’d end up drinking your life away?
Driving and drinking don’t go together-
but maybe no one ever told you that.
But soon, it wasn’t enough.
You felt the need to get high to get through the day,
but did you hear your life start to break and our hearts along with it?
You always had a ‘go big or go home’ mentality,
I just wish you hadn’t applied it to drugs.
“Drugs don’t **** has become the war cry.
I know.
They do so much more than that.
They rip families apart
steal honor from fathers,
children from mothers,
and life from anyone.
You huff and you puff and soon you become
the big bad wolf who brings
the house d
o
w
n
I still hold you in the highest respect
and I can’t make that point clear enough.
You never stopped fighting.
That monkey on your back didn’t live an easy life.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Have you ever heard your truth
Echoed back to you from another's lips?
Like a droplet into still water
Their words reverberated through my soul
They mirrored back my struggle with trauma
With their walls of fiery anger
Holding onto rage like a lifejacket
We've been floating in similar waters
Preparing for battle in every moment
While we're the ones aiming the guns
Grasping so tightly to our secret truth
That one day the pain will **** us
We're acting like we're already dead
Before we ever learned how to live
Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 11:21 PM UTC