"shrillness" poems - Hello Poetry

The wind rushes though my hair, Whistling it's shrillness in my ear. The thunder gives a deafening boom, Echoing inside my skull. It never ends, The crashing of water on rocks. Like war soldiers in battle, The waves cry out. Desperately wanting to Be rid of such pandemonium. I'm unsure of the havoc it's caused, With all the loudness it brings. Everything is on hyperdrive, My ears even more so. Now the wind is coming much faster, Causing me to loose all sense of direction. The high pitch of an alarm is off in the distance, Still trying to resonate above all the turmoil. Suddenly, everything stops And I'm left to wonder where it all went. No nosie, no thrashing of the trees, Complete silence - trance like even. It's over. I'm free.

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Jul 31, 2018

Jul 31, 2018 at 4:59 PM UTC

Bethraylene

Through Blind Eyes

The wind rushes though my hair, Whistling it's shrillness in my ear. The thunder gives a deafening boom, Echoing inside my skull. It never ends, The crashing of water on rocks. Like war soldiers in battle, The waves cry out. Desperately wanting to Be rid of such pandemonium. I'm unsure of the havoc it's caused, With all the loudness it brings. Everything is on hyperdrive, My ears even more so. Now the wind is coming much faster, Causing me to loose all sense of direction. The high pitch of an alarm is off in the distance, Still trying to resonate above all the turmoil. Suddenly, everything stops And I'm left to wonder where it all went. No nosie, no thrashing of the trees, Complete silence - trance like even. It's over. I'm free.

23

The emotions of a human Can be lightly Played and strummed It can resemble the steady beat of a heart The sound cannot be replicated Repeated or duplicated Once the disturbing melody starts The highest strings Penetrates the mind Representing the sadness and anxiety For now you are quite alone The shrillness will increase in strength But will remain dark in tone The lower strings They are the loss of hope Relaying disillusion These strings are taut Specifically for you In my composition I will most certainly use them To complete my vengeful melodies The strands I pluck and choose Shall be your life's situation For you, my sly one are the harp And I am the musician I strum the strings one by one In a familiar rhythm, you know I am smiling at your rapid demise As your heart implodes silently and slow I will continue to play you Throughout your life My tunes filled with retribution Have no doubt We both know it is true You are the harp And I am the musician The strange and eerie song I play Notes chose for their intent For all the damage you have caused my dear The strings I choose will represent Now I perform this song For your blackened soul Upon which there will be many lesions Till the echoes of this music Shall drive you into madness For you are the harp my darling I am the musician This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

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Nov 23, 2013

Nov 23, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC

tammy-m-darby

You are the Harp

The emotions of a human Can be lightly Played and strummed It can resemble the steady beat of a heart The sound cannot be replicated Repeated or duplicated Once the disturbing melody starts The highest strings Penetrates the mind Representing the sadness and anxiety For now you are quite alone The shrillness will increase in strength But will remain dark in tone The lower strings They are the loss of hope Relaying disillusion These strings are taut Specifically for you In my composition I will most certainly use them To complete my vengeful melodies The strands I pluck and choose Shall be your life's situation For you, my sly one are the harp And I am the musician I strum the strings one by one In a familiar rhythm, you know I am smiling at your rapid demise As your heart implodes silently and slow I will continue to play you Throughout your life My tunes filled with retribution Have no doubt We both know it is true You are the harp And I am the musician The strange and eerie song I play Notes chose for their intent For all the damage you have caused my dear The strings I choose will represent Now I perform this song For your blackened soul Upon which there will be many lesions Till the echoes of this music Shall drive you into madness For you are the harp my darling I am the musician This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

50

Symphony No.9 in d – minor, opus 125 Allegro ma non troppo The silence gives way gently to quiet tremolos rustling beneath the beckoning call of distant horns. A melodic cell, nascent in violins, spirals down to the somber depths of cello and contrabass. A sudden cataclysm shakes the hall like thunder heralding our universal birth. Gales of sonic force splashed like turbulent waves against the rocky shores. Drifting sans glass or sextant on a sea of expanding mystery, we gaze to the heavens in hopes for a glimpse of our father’s aetherial dwelling. Molto vivace With hands intertwined, we dance in a ring to the capricious airs of the laughing gods with Zeus himself on timpani. So pass the wine and kiss your neighbor and fill your glass to the brim! For today is yesterday’s morrow and tomorrow’s history. Adagio molto e cantabile There is no greater and more healing light than the candles that shine in the eyes of a friend or loving spouse - tenderly lighting our paths through the storms and fogs that cloud our lives. Peace abides in a friend's embrace. An die Freude Against raging storms of strife and sorrow. we hear a healing voice A calm cello hymn - that migrates up to higher cords of violas and violins - breaking into joyous song sung by trumpets, winds and drums. Casting all shrillness of discord aside, a baritone lines out Schiller’s ode - and sings of Elysium’s daughter. Quartet and chorus enter in proclaiming hope for the human family, A tenor raises a stein to valor in the company of his friends. The quiet pulsing of horns and winds ushers in torrents of ecstasy. Arms clasped in communal embrace, we gaze to heaven on bended knees then rise with a majestic fugue that illuminates our souls like a blazing Alpine dawn. In a cyclone of passion, Schiller's words and Beethoven's notes entreat us to restore what custom has rent apart that each of us may live our lives as brothers in heavenly sanctuary. May 25, 2007

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Sep 20, 2013

Sep 20, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC

robert-c-howard

Beethoven and Schiller

Symphony No.9 in d – minor, opus 125 Allegro ma non troppo The silence gives way gently to quiet tremolos rustling beneath the beckoning call of distant horns. A melodic cell, nascent in violins, spirals down to the somber depths of cello and contrabass. A sudden cataclysm shakes the hall like thunder heralding our universal birth. Gales of sonic force splashed like turbulent waves against the rocky shores. Drifting sans glass or sextant on a sea of expanding mystery, we gaze to the heavens in hopes for a glimpse of our father’s aetherial dwelling. Molto vivace With hands intertwined, we dance in a ring to the capricious airs of the laughing gods with Zeus himself on timpani. So pass the wine and kiss your neighbor and fill your glass to the brim! For today is yesterday’s morrow and tomorrow’s history. Adagio molto e cantabile There is no greater and more healing light than the candles that shine in the eyes of a friend or loving spouse - tenderly lighting our paths through the storms and fogs that cloud our lives. Peace abides in a friend's embrace. An die Freude Against raging storms of strife and sorrow. we hear a healing voice A calm cello hymn - that migrates up to higher cords of violas and violins - breaking into joyous song sung by trumpets, winds and drums. Casting all shrillness of discord aside, a baritone lines out Schiller’s ode - and sings of Elysium’s daughter. Quartet and chorus enter in proclaiming hope for the human family, A tenor raises a stein to valor in the company of his friends. The quiet pulsing of horns and winds ushers in torrents of ecstasy. Arms clasped in communal embrace, we gaze to heaven on bended knees then rise with a majestic fugue that illuminates our souls like a blazing Alpine dawn. In a cyclone of passion, Schiller's words and Beethoven's notes entreat us to restore what custom has rent apart that each of us may live our lives as brothers in heavenly sanctuary. May 25, 2007

69

I think yesterday is years away; Between one and the other, Between fathers and brothers. So sisters and mothers Blink feathery at their watches. Hums like a hummingbird Flails to a shrillness, And a polyphonic fearing panic Pulls us all back by chance To the chancery. Somewhere after grandfathers Before grandsons, Like Robert Frost being a modern Not modernist— There’s the last of the conceivable eros— Conceived by sleeping Resource and resourceful Poverty with all the impressionism of the gardens and allegories at a dinner party.

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Mar 22, 2011

Mar 22, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC

chad-katz

Untitled

I think yesterday is years away; Between one and the other, Between fathers and brothers. So sisters and mothers Blink feathery at their watches. Hums like a hummingbird Flails to a shrillness, And a polyphonic fearing panic Pulls us all back by chance To the chancery. Somewhere after grandfathers Before grandsons, Like Robert Frost being a modern Not modernist— There’s the last of the conceivable eros— Conceived by sleeping Resource and resourceful Poverty with all the impressionism of the gardens and allegories at a dinner party.

20

Cast to the sea the ***** sought out the horizon, Yet, no closer did that lifeline magnify. While waves threatened to devour her very self. Fierce, some. They pounded to **** her asunder. The deep, bent on suffering her mind till it was pruned, soaked. Bloating her limbs, not buoyant enough to keep her afloat. Her tears locked, shut her eyes, In a zip of salt and wounds. Made them ready for the sun’s vicious fight. Eyes could not be kept dry, Seen paranoid shadows loomed under, over And under and over again ~ awash, awry. Haunting her in the shrillness of the current’s toss. She dreamt of her toes scratching in the sand, Of the waves giving birth to her onto the shore. The struggle and fear of it all ~ pending the end. She tore open her eyes to see still no view in sight. Breathed she did, as if the waves were the hum of the oceans lungs, Fought now no longer against the move. Given to the law of the nature she was, Floating and waiting. But not going down, not going down.

0

Feb 17, 2013

Feb 17, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC

raspberrypoet

The Stubborn

Cast to the sea the ***** sought out the horizon, Yet, no closer did that lifeline magnify. While waves threatened to devour her very self. Fierce, some. They pounded to **** her asunder. The deep, bent on suffering her mind till it was pruned, soaked. Bloating her limbs, not buoyant enough to keep her afloat. Her tears locked, shut her eyes, In a zip of salt and wounds. Made them ready for the sun’s vicious fight. Eyes could not be kept dry, Seen paranoid shadows loomed under, over And under and over again ~ awash, awry. Haunting her in the shrillness of the current’s toss. She dreamt of her toes scratching in the sand, Of the waves giving birth to her onto the shore. The struggle and fear of it all ~ pending the end. She tore open her eyes to see still no view in sight. Breathed she did, as if the waves were the hum of the oceans lungs, Fought now no longer against the move. Given to the law of the nature she was, Floating and waiting. But not going down, not going down.

22

There will never be a pause now it is the season of the first song at last the tremulous heart has found partner in the world's quivering. With growth and green fires, birds carry the wind, shaking out the bronze into a shrillness, warming and agitating every alcove. And also from up out of each lost pond comes the lilted piping of frogs. There will never be a pause now, The oldest news has gone through every chamber. like a road unveiled between mountains, The sun tightly wraps my seeking to you. With all the beaming, ingeminate sounds, with all the shaking green in us, there will never be a pause now.

0

May 25, 2012

May 25, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC

akr

agitation

There will never be a pause now it is the season of the first song at last the tremulous heart has found partner in the world's quivering. With growth and green fires, birds carry the wind, shaking out the bronze into a shrillness, warming and agitating every alcove. And also from up out of each lost pond comes the lilted piping of frogs. There will never be a pause now, The oldest news has gone through every chamber. like a road unveiled between mountains, The sun tightly wraps my seeking to you. With all the beaming, ingeminate sounds, with all the shaking green in us, there will never be a pause now.

16

The trees are stricken with a terrible illness a certain shrillness that permeates their perpetual stillness. And I have seen them. Their pitch dripped hearts buried underneath Their brown and rough bark, our version of skin. And I have cut them. Looking for their sap, their form of our blood Hoping to find it still sticky sweet with life, Hoping it has not succumb to their illness That is our men. Men, with burly beards and chainsaws That are the trees versions of sterile masks And metal toothed needles Chainsaw needles that pump poison into The trees’ version of our arms Their form of cancer that Ravishes through what would be our Organs. Men with saws that are our version of chemo Shaking off the leafs that would be What we call hair And I have seen them. They fall down the same way we would And are covered by our same dirt earth.

0

Mar 22, 2012

Mar 22, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC

hayley-neininger

The Trees Have Cancer.

The trees are stricken with a terrible illness a certain shrillness that permeates their perpetual stillness. And I have seen them. Their pitch dripped hearts buried underneath Their brown and rough bark, our version of skin. And I have cut them. Looking for their sap, their form of our blood Hoping to find it still sticky sweet with life, Hoping it has not succumb to their illness That is our men. Men, with burly beards and chainsaws That are the trees versions of sterile masks And metal toothed needles Chainsaw needles that pump poison into The trees’ version of our arms Their form of cancer that Ravishes through what would be our Organs. Men with saws that are our version of chemo Shaking off the leafs that would be What we call hair And I have seen them. They fall down the same way we would And are covered by our same dirt earth.

25

in cool piney shade on squat bushes spread wild blueberries grow on soft, mossy bed or under the ferns among meadowsweet on berms in the sun but sheltered from heat or on a bush rising almost to my waist so loaded with berries it bends down and sways I'm picking them plump and cool with the dew in dappled sun under the pines morning turns into afternoon I'm losing all sense of time cicadas' shrillness, a chorus of crickets, the red squirrel's noisy chatter, a crow's voice somehow reminds me of spring, but time just doesn't matter...

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Aug 12, 2017

Aug 12, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC

john-niederbuhl

picking blueberries

in cool piney shade on squat bushes spread wild blueberries grow on soft, mossy bed or under the ferns among meadowsweet on berms in the sun but sheltered from heat or on a bush rising almost to my waist so loaded with berries it bends down and sways I'm picking them plump and cool with the dew in dappled sun under the pines morning turns into afternoon I'm losing all sense of time cicadas' shrillness, a chorus of crickets, the red squirrel's noisy chatter, a crow's voice somehow reminds me of spring, but time just doesn't matter...

22

You are loud And you are drunk And I turn up my music Try to mask the shrillness of your laughter The bus is dark And it is late And I sit in my usual bubble of stillness As if I am alone. I hate that I can hear you. Takes me out of my head And into your world Where I've got no power. I sit and gaze out the tinted window at the streetlights And a car passes- whoosh Sudden like a knife Its sharp slice of color through the blackness Stirs my blood And I check my thoughts You are still So ******* loud And so ******* empty Here Take some of this And burn with it. See if you laugh then. But I say nothing to you. That is your place And this Is mine. My heel connects with the grungy floor And strikes a spark Bang Like a gun. Bang And flames lick the soft rubber of my boot It smells like a car wreck. I look away Disinterested And wherever I flick my gaze Embers flare. Fire races down the walkway towards the back window Orange and Breathlessly fast. Long shadows dance on the walls Glint off the windows And throw your faces into sharp relief Now you look Like laughing corpses Skeletal and distorted in firelight. I like you better this way. My coat catches And I feel the heat as The flames from the floor Lap at my fingers Like whining dogs And I feel them blister But they remain smooth and white. I flex them, testing their new hardness They are bone white Bone hard And they clink together And the flames Do not matter. You are still loud And drunk And laughing And you have no idea Who you're sitting across from.

0

May 10, 2014

May 10, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC

mikaila

A Bus Ride On A Sad Night

You are loud And you are drunk And I turn up my music Try to mask the shrillness of your laughter The bus is dark And it is late And I sit in my usual bubble of stillness As if I am alone. I hate that I can hear you. Takes me out of my head And into your world Where I've got no power. I sit and gaze out the tinted window at the streetlights And a car passes- whoosh Sudden like a knife Its sharp slice of color through the blackness Stirs my blood And I check my thoughts You are still So ******* loud And so ******* empty Here Take some of this And burn with it. See if you laugh then. But I say nothing to you. That is your place And this Is mine. My heel connects with the grungy floor And strikes a spark Bang Like a gun. Bang And flames lick the soft rubber of my boot It smells like a car wreck. I look away Disinterested And wherever I flick my gaze Embers flare. Fire races down the walkway towards the back window Orange and Breathlessly fast. Long shadows dance on the walls Glint off the windows And throw your faces into sharp relief Now you look Like laughing corpses Skeletal and distorted in firelight. I like you better this way. My coat catches And I feel the heat as The flames from the floor Lap at my fingers Like whining dogs And I feel them blister But they remain smooth and white. I flex them, testing their new hardness They are bone white Bone hard And they clink together And the flames Do not matter. You are still loud And drunk And laughing And you have no idea Who you're sitting across from.

68

She stands at the bottom of the garden a smile of dainty goodness smudging her chin, and a bouquet of somethings cradled in her white arms and she's a statue There must be a still wind coming from the west well, I'd forgotten the sound of Voice until now, when dinner wafts me in simply ~ there's an external source across my senses; I only get so far before habit breaks the adventure and I know the shrillness of my bark arouses the deity from her somnulence I feel blessed, then put the silly escapade down to dreaming But although I get something for nothing, she, who stood laying clothes in parallel stacks Recounting songs from a larger world, to me perhaps only belongs there now © Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

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Aug 29, 2013

Aug 29, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC

dave-bosworth

Mary

She stands at the bottom of the garden a smile of dainty goodness smudging her chin, and a bouquet of somethings cradled in her white arms and she's a statue There must be a still wind coming from the west well, I'd forgotten the sound of Voice until now, when dinner wafts me in simply ~ there's an external source across my senses; I only get so far before habit breaks the adventure and I know the shrillness of my bark arouses the deity from her somnulence I feel blessed, then put the silly escapade down to dreaming But although I get something for nothing, she, who stood laying clothes in parallel stacks Recounting songs from a larger world, to me perhaps only belongs there now © Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

17

Rest, rest now beneath my feet. Take comfort in your scarce heat. The grey cross erected in your name. Blackens now, and erodes away Beneath this stinging rain. Oh icy claw that grips your heart, I long for my body torn apart. Black crow, perched in tree, For this I beseech thee. I am no stranger to this bloodless air. I, in shrillness, would scream As my lungs did rip and tear. I stand above your sodden grave, And shall no longer by life enslaved. Death, death do conspire; Transform my black, funeral heart And wilting sadist mind into my pyre.

0

Jul 6, 2014

Jul 6, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC

alexandros

Quietus

Rest, rest now beneath my feet. Take comfort in your scarce heat. The grey cross erected in your name. Blackens now, and erodes away Beneath this stinging rain. Oh icy claw that grips your heart, I long for my body torn apart. Black crow, perched in tree, For this I beseech thee. I am no stranger to this bloodless air. I, in shrillness, would scream As my lungs did rip and tear. I stand above your sodden grave, And shall no longer by life enslaved. Death, death do conspire; Transform my black, funeral heart And wilting sadist mind into my pyre.

17

You had them, wore them like a festival tiptoeing through the roses of my mind and the rush of a running stream overtook me. I was awash in your dreams, screaming for our deliverance. O the tinkling, the shrillness girl.....yes, your bells, your whistle, this romance!

0

Aug 1, 2014

Aug 1, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC

jonny-angel

The Bells & Whistle Girl

You had them, wore them like a festival tiptoeing through the roses of my mind and the rush of a running stream overtook me. I was awash in your dreams, screaming for our deliverance. O the tinkling, the shrillness girl.....yes, your bells, your whistle, this romance!

16

from a boy of bliss to a joy to miss regret and shame mixed with a name the prices low but the chips high the crisis shows but the lips lie it'll be ok a deep pool of uncertainty it'll be today a beep a toll of serenity close your eyes and wait for closure open your thighs and take the exposure metaphoric and diabolic feel it in and let it go real it in and let them know everyday it gets worse everyday hoping for a hearse god why have you given me this curse? no way to express the feelings of doubt no way to impress the dealings I shout I hate this I want it to stop I hate this I want it to stop crack a bottle and reminisce think about the times when it was all fixed a picture now broken inside a house now woken by ashes trying to sleep the image clashes choices in a blurred sight of abuse the voices just tying the noose breath, another drink believe don't just sit and think she didn't mean it she doesn't go she could clean it and make it glow 15 years and still in sorrow another drink and it will be tomorrow of the things that happened I can never speak tolerance this month is at its peak drinking to drown the mental illness shrinking to crown the intentional shrillness you win take your lap you sin just to clap applaud the horrid things scaring a life while abroad the morbid things caring for a lifestyle I'm done no sense to ramble wish it wasn't my life you ****ed up with a gamble © 2 minutes ago, bob adult poems

0

Jul 27, 2017

Jul 27, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC

bmunko

thanks for the gamble

from a boy of bliss to a joy to miss regret and shame mixed with a name the prices low but the chips high the crisis shows but the lips lie it'll be ok a deep pool of uncertainty it'll be today a beep a toll of serenity close your eyes and wait for closure open your thighs and take the exposure metaphoric and diabolic feel it in and let it go real it in and let them know everyday it gets worse everyday hoping for a hearse god why have you given me this curse? no way to express the feelings of doubt no way to impress the dealings I shout I hate this I want it to stop I hate this I want it to stop crack a bottle and reminisce think about the times when it was all fixed a picture now broken inside a house now woken by ashes trying to sleep the image clashes choices in a blurred sight of abuse the voices just tying the noose breath, another drink believe don't just sit and think she didn't mean it she doesn't go she could clean it and make it glow 15 years and still in sorrow another drink and it will be tomorrow of the things that happened I can never speak tolerance this month is at its peak drinking to drown the mental illness shrinking to crown the intentional shrillness you win take your lap you sin just to clap applaud the horrid things scaring a life while abroad the morbid things caring for a lifestyle I'm done no sense to ramble wish it wasn't my life you ****ed up with a gamble © 2 minutes ago, bob adult poems

44

From ironed to crumpled, the sheet stays there disgruntled and awake, at the clock I stare the shrillness of my alarm is mostly unwelcome sitting on the chair scraping the floor let's build the momentum are you just thinking what's this all about? well this is how my life is day in and day out why am i doing this? All these worries and this tension Where is the beauty in this broken cup? when will it make sense, I say But I know I shall smile when I look upon this day As I'm doing this For tomorrow, for tomorrow.

0

Aug 31, 2020

Aug 31, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC

VelvetThunder

For Tomorrow

From ironed to crumpled, the sheet stays there disgruntled and awake, at the clock I stare the shrillness of my alarm is mostly unwelcome sitting on the chair scraping the floor let's build the momentum are you just thinking what's this all about? well this is how my life is day in and day out why am i doing this? All these worries and this tension Where is the beauty in this broken cup? when will it make sense, I say But I know I shall smile when I look upon this day As I'm doing this For tomorrow, for tomorrow.

20