"twangs" poems
It begins with the ominous clouds that roil and billow over the sky.
Then they darken:
Soft whites...
Seductive greys...
All the way to the purple black that haunts the skies on the cusp of a winter night.
The smell that follows this sinister nebula of vapor hanging over your head is that of life bringing relief.
The smell of dry earth mingling with that of the fresh water above reminds one of summer breezes, freedom and relaxation.
The cool but warm drops of moisture start gently stroking your shoulders and arms.
The strength increases, forcing you to squint as you take in the beautiful composition of nature above.
Soon you're covering your head as the rain pelts down and you race for shelter.
The puddles appearing on the floor disrupted by the matter consistently falling into them.
You peer into the world, completely changed, as you visibility decreases and smile, the metallic twangs to the rain hitting the patio roof fill your ears and soul with its rhythm and music.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
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america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
I see him there
But he doesn’t talk
He finds me staring
And turns around to walk
Is this what we’ve been reduced to?
Ignorant bliss - solely for you
Shackled to our bonds
And surrounded by brambles
Like sand castles by the sea
Strong foundations crumble
My hand shakes, my pen breaks
But I am not suppressed
Tearing grass and filling pages
With a force I never knew I possessed
Feeling unwanted, ignored and lost
I sink down with the approaching dusk
Losing myself in the thick mist
My identity becomes a mask
My lips start to quiver
Because you’re right there
But you’re looking right through me
I realize, with a shiver
Nothing remains, all is lost
My efforts are in vain
Pain and twangs of sadness are all I have
When you are washed away in the rain
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
For example: the frogs
find a dinner plate, and an acorn
makes funny gestures from beneath the dirt.
And the string twangs, as was expected.
How simple, how unlikely to happen to us.
Only a misplaced vector connects
the pine tree’s yowl to the sandbox,
which, if you don’t think about it, is alright.
I get confused so many times
before I stop and train my thoughts.
And again: the sound I hear
is either walnuts cracking or red birds
splashing into windows. But
the movements have been extinguished
and the two are so dissimilar they may as well
be the same. Or watermelons
stomping insects underfoot. In
the other room of this house is a man
walloping a rooster with a broom,
but the rooster is too scared
to tell him just how effective
positive thinking is, just as oceans
are too murky to provide freethinkers
with a useful metaphor.
Of course not, said a man
lifting his cat from pool. But then
it was too late, and something
was pulling whimpers through the air.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 11:28 AM UTC
*i was eating a pepperoni pizza today,
and took a salty tongue into the night,
£270 on my bank account - great stuff -
took five quid out, felt like buying four
oranjeboom reds at 8.5% each,
instead bought two, and
perrier carbonated glass-bottled water...
god the thirst in this cement sahara...*
the best transition accompanying drinking
and listening to music comes
from the heights of reggae to creedence clearwater
revival... no, not the eagle, not Leonard the skin-head
with an 'ard on... creedence... lebowski who
was bukowski's posthumous alter-ego...
so i did a galileo while drinking,
the light on my side-table by the bed light
glowed, put my sunglasses on...
the stars disappeared and the planets appeared...
oddly enough, as is usual the case of
counter-intuitive matters when looking
at astronomical geographies...
mars far left... venus in the middle,
and jupiter the biggest and therefore the brightest
far right...
i worked it out against linear tactics...
the distance of the earth from venus doesn't
make a difference with the distance from mars,
but the distance of mars from jupiter is greater,
see you in 100 years to prove the point
and whether it matches up to HARD, NECESSARY,
PROOFS... LIKE MAINTENANCE ***
******* a girl with a really really exaggerated
libido, having to wear a ****** while she was
on her period, in the toilet and she bewildered
saying: 'most guys don't dig the female bits...'
hell... i'd do necrophilia...
shame the relationship turned to a sour toast with her,
shame, really... really really.
oh yeah, after smashing that £600 martin & co.
guitar to celebrate valentines day
(chłopiec z gitarą był by dla mnie parą
my grandmother used to sing...
well... sorry to disappoint,
i had her rastafarian shoelaces for
a pin-up belt to walk and play, or simply
stand still and note string twangs...
była giiitara... ni ma giiitary...)
and bought myself a drum-kit:
well... just my finger-drumming antics
on my legs;
or as a wise man said: **** her, leave the rest
for a backward trek into life
without maps but only premonitions.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
I'm just an unlabeled mix CD.
Slightly scratched at the edges,
worn with the labors of love
and the empty rooms with the
twangs and bass of my soul
resonating off the wood panel walls
like they were midnight cathedral halls.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
An offbeat pang twangs in your chest
Your vision is dimmed but illuminated best
Is a figure you know immediately well
Albeit only from your subliminal self
It shimmers and shatters your soul into pieces
Each shard glinting with vibrant hues
Shining sharper are the eyes
That pierce in shades of greens and blues
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 3:59 PM UTC
You'll hear a pop and
a life time of
silence, this malice is unquestioningly
slow. Rapid hand gestures
blur and halt, as the shallow
drifter stumbles
on.
Soft skin
entangles, as your breath fogs my glasses.
A vivid note twangs forever
onward, though this ink quickly
dries.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
i love you, i hope you know.
i love you to the ends of this earth,
to the stars and into heaven.
but i stopped you.
i stopped you, because of him
because i was remembering his touch,
his hot breath and calloused hands
violating the sacred spaces of my body.
it brought me back to that night,
i had smoked for the first time
and the only time, since.
high and paralyzed, internally
praying for the sun to rise.
he says he's a Christian.
Well God, i hope you're listening.
life gives its strongest soldiers
the harshest twangs of pain,
like experiencing the perils
of *** after abuse.
God, i hope you're listening.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
She screamed she was swarming with locusts
Halos circling above her head like vultures
Eyeing carrion cooking beneath deserted desert sun
Maggots grew from her fingertips stretching towards me
Like tentacles grasping for the softness of my throat
Pulling at the strings of my heart with her personal touch
Compassion bruised corpses on the dance floor bump and grind
Fragile angel wings diseased with lice and fleas
Flying or falling from the grace of Heaven’s Gates
The last supper plagued with conversations of you
Impending deceptions and its weight in gold and blood
The solitude of bayou country and banjo twangs
The skepticism of fabled story tales
Condemnation of indulgence and redemption
The lies we’re fed from birth to death
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 10:54 AM UTC
Blank pages are instruments gathering dust in cellars of a palace once made of music.
Laughter fell in saturated droplets dripping like tears down still glass windows as the present blended in to memory.
And the laughter and the tears fed the river whose rapids once flooded the landscape of my mind.
Creatures of imagination, products of paper are crumbling. All the dragons turned to dust.
Does inspiration come at will? Or do you will it, thus it comes?
No, it comes like falling snow, gentle petals of crystalline individuality or
In torrents of the ephemeral rage of ages.
We had no snow this year, cold air pregnant with promise.We lived instead on the verge of expectation
with winter not yet born before it died.
Confused creatures braved the cold air
anticipating spring aeons too soon.
But the flowers didn't know and bloomed in sunny colours weighed down low with frost.
They hang their heads and crumble. Crumple. were they paper anyway?
The summer sky can be just as empty.
The land breathing calm under the sun's cautious care.
Its life juxtaposed to an empty mind, the ocean lying still in stagnant, airless dark.
I don't retreat to fantasy when the vibrance lies around me.
But still the music is gone.
And the hallways stand silent in the rain, their ends frayed and faded, their destinations gone.
And hesitant sounds plucked in the emptiness coax out jarring twangs.
The sound is wrong.
Yet the song itches at the back of my mind with infuriating patience
consistence
And so I play away,, the screeches of lifeless instruments echoing,
till my mind is naught but steel wool tangles
snarled
and rough
and angry.
and lurking in the darkness lie the lies that once were truth the memories I fled from, taste of rotting youth. I am looking for a lifeline, for a road to lead me home, because the current is still flowing, though th water looks so still, and the fear inside is growing filling all it finds until...
This page, it still feels empty.
And this poem has no end, because the destination's broken.
Broken pieces fit together, but they cannot make a whole,
so the rain falls on and dust falls slow ,
and I'm standing in the cellar with my pages in a row,
my pen is dripping laughter, but it's falling to the floor,
The ghost of me is leaving
and I can write no more.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
the disappearance of
lightning-bugs-scares
the little dark
place
behind my rib-
cage.
it twangs with
a need of a flutter
and a beat.beating.trying
flying- sensation of wind-under
a beetles wingss. a crea
ture. of peculiarloveliness that
twinges into theee word bee.t.ling
the disappearance of lightning.
bugss. I’m afraid to say. Is bec-
ause… I i I swallowed
them
into
and swallowed them
into the dark of
my chest.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
I'm in love with the couch
and the way that it smells
after a bottle of wine
and the feeling
that time passes by
lying drunk on that couch
and I could die in that place
where they don't let god in
and banjo music quietly
twangs diamonds from coal
'til the dawn spills inside
and reminds me that I'm alive
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
A glance. Then another.
Where a thousand smiles,
and laughter, hiding, finally found light;
Though lips moved no more than eyes.
Caught. Captured. Drawn in.
Like inescapable black hole gravity,
Taking us to an unknown realm;
The start of a glorious adventure;
A destiny we've always known.
In late nights, where questions became our partner;
Where longing had become our friend;
Where songs of Mississippi blues origins,
Teased; mocked, our souls;
Laughter, passion, shared thought,
Replaced them with answers.
We found memories that have yet to happen;
Comfort, yet to exist.
Tenderness, following seizured passions,
Burned audacious passions within our chests.
Fallacious reasoning? Imprudent coordinates plotted?
Not from the pilot's seat;
Mind; heart; spirit; guided the inevitable course of your soul's smiling gaze.
Now we are lost again;
Unsure of which path to take;
Questions as our company; longings as our friends.
Is it unfair to wonder? To wish? To dream?
Is that only torture? The life unseen?
The passions, only distractions from past and present obligations?
Were we stealing away what wasn't ours?
Or are the choices of the past, stealing away from us?
I know I can't answer those questions,
Sitting with my old friend, the blues, strumming;
haunting twangs in darkness; without laughter; without passion;
with your thoughts frozen and alone.
I think; I feel, I know. Yet your late night friends are a part.
They murmur quietly, indiscernibly; as if unstudied answers on a test.
Ones you feel you know; but frightened too much for rest.
It all could have been just one more life quiz;
To redirect our life's journey; asking what we shall miss.
If that be the purpose; no regrets will have claws.
I'll cherish the connection;
I'll remember the glance;
The smile of your soul has sparked in me, again;
A passion for a chance I'd hidden as if not wanted for fear of loss.
And though it might seem crazy, as weirdness abounds my being;
I DO feel loss. I DO miss memories unseen; swaying dances unrealized.
Yet, the silliness of pain is tolerable. I'll sleep again someday;
And dreams awakened, once lost, will guide our way (s?).
--Shane Bowles
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Banjos clang out a rhythm and someone hoots on a whiskey jug. A washboard rattles and feet stomp on old boards. A fiddle winds up and echos down the hollow, corn simmers in a *** and biscuits are hot out of the stove. A harmonica whines like a train down empty tracks and a juice harp twangs. People dance and laugh as children run around. The sound of the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge cannot be mistaken for anything else. People of good spirits and a hard working nature come together you see. They celebrate life and caring for each other at a Bluegrass Jamboree.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
Soon the parade of cruise ships will drop anchor
more than 50 over the summer from around the World
the winding streets will be full of expectant tourists
all hunting their very own small memory to buy
gifts for family and friends back home.
Post cards will be sent by the thousands and the
tills will ring with dollars and pounds and euros.
The throng will last for a season, foreign voices
will fill the air with strange languages and twangs.
Then all will settle down as if they had never been, at all.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
Cupid's bow twangs,
Broken arrows,
On my heart.
Lovely little sparrows,
Ripped apart.
I am dying.
But have no fear.
I am crying.
But shed not a tear.
I am trying.
But it's not too clear.
I am lying.
When I look in the mirror.
Death rides my soul.
Look into my eyes,
See an empty whole.
See the pain,
The fear,
The anger,
The hate.
See the strain,
From having to wait.
I deny love.
Keep it locked inside.
I defy love.
Feelings to hide.
Buried deep,
Within my being,
Notice the turmoil,
The blind are seeing.
Listen to the screams,
The deaf are hearing.
Feel the heat,
And the cold is searing.
Deep within me,
A fire burns,
Hot an' bright.
But I'm so cold,
In the midst of the night.
I breath.
So I must be alive.
But baby,
I need a breath of life.
Heal my wounds.
Pull out the knife.
I deny love.
Keep it locked inside.
I defy love.
Feelings to hide.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
Fingers swiftly plucking at steel spirals
Those sharp twangs echoing inside the body
Shooting outwards, escaping that hollow chamber
Sweet words flowing out of the mouth
Rolling off of the tongue so easily
Sounds molding together in a soft duet
Throwing themselves against every part of the room
Bouncing, ricocheting off of the walls
Hands pause, sound slowly fading into a stiff silence
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
It hit me like a brick to the face
How couldn't it?
Like whispering winds suddenly stirred
And my vision became thickened and blurred
Letting my hearing become one with the water
For the drops drip forever, forever becoming hotter
The twangs from the neck echoed throughout the ground
Letting itself be heard and recognized through each precise sound
And the sheer ecstasy created from the random places
Made on the several accounts of each sweaty faces
Let me surrender to the liquid floor
As I fall onto the wide open door
With the cascading abilities of one and within
This epic guitar solo stays right where it's been.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
Banjo twangs footpads on the hood
Chirps of birds eight cylinder ****** low roar of lion lust
A colloidal rust like metal out side the closed door upon its front a rap a knock a lightly tapping dot dot dot
Upon the inner ear is must have
Heard is must have been was seen
Long or near a time had been
That ****** a love sick note upon the metal roof or cedar floor calls a memory a dream but hooting owls do this at dark not upon a stark bright light who bays howls screams and cries I hear in earthen things and bowels barreling forth forlorn the calling masks an earthly scowl I have been misbehaved to take her gifts with no display of gratitude I gave or bow it any interlude to pray to gods gods or her the mother of all
Of our nature things
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC