Best Constriction Poems
Her face may show a rosy blush
Peering through a favorite bush.
Perhaps you'll greet with great delight
This newcomer dressed in purest white
Miss Morning Glory, sweet and lush.
Well known as bind-weed, Nature's thug.
She sidles up with gentle hug
Then follows with a deadly squeeze
And takes her neigbor's life with ease.
She is more evil than the slug.
So if you see a pretty vine,
With lovely blossom, so benign
Beware and with your garden knife
Take this imposter's wicked life.
Let greedy slugs upon her dine.
If you should choose to let her stay,
She will not ever go away.
She'll use your favorites for suppport
And bend them in a strange contort.
With their very lives they're forced to pay.
Your helpless beauties cannot shun
This grim tormentor and can't run.
As this anaconda steals their breath
They'll die a most distressful death.
Death by constriction isn't fun.
For "Flower" contest
Wont you find me here?
Drifting in an expanse of swirling storm
Outstreched fingers graze debris...
recklessly circling reminders.
Stand in the eye with me
Hold
This
Ground.
Lick our wounds rebounding
Warriors victoriously smiting circumstance
leaving wolves discouraged
disparaging darkness with insane glee
Walk here and find me
Reach out think here
You create me and I construct you
Piece me in missing places
Mending voids delicate and knowing
I slay inherited growths of insecurity
Stating truths untold to your beautiful ears
Combine
Know this warmth....
Let these branches sprawl
grow in all directions to withstand walls closing in
A grand old tree would remain...generations of our eyes
taking glance from limbs strong and true
You crush my cycle--end it's existence
I'll destroy your boundary...kill it's constriction
Our tower stronger and rooted
Yet with loftier cloud grazing height
lets disorient ourselves in this foreign altitude
Touch this sky with me
For Andrea’s contest
Show me the Funny (part two)
Eskimo Nell & the Door Repair Man
Now Eskimo Nell
Has a story to tell
A tale, about my last visit
Into her igloo
I went through and through
Though this entrance I’m told is illicit
She said, “Just for you
That one will do
Coz the wind, it chills to the core
Me back gets stone froze
When whoever, God knows
Is hammering, at the front door”
I told her, “Thank you”
And with no more ado
I slammed that back door with some might
I was grateful to seize
Some relief from the freeze
And discover it fitted so tight
She said she was pleased
That it had come un-seized
For some of her clients she thought
Preferred the back door
Where nobody saw
They were doing what they hadn’t ought
“I’d keep it well oiled
Coz you don’t want it spoiled
As it sure gets a great deal of use
So if it gets dry
You’ll find standing by
This bottle of lubricant juice”
Then the bolt was so stiff
Which was nothing diff
So plenty of juice I applied
Coz I’d known from before
It could give you a sore
If the bolt did not easily slide
Now the bolt it was cold
Like an ice cube to hold
And to warm up it needed some friction
It, I moved back and forth
For all I was worth
And it helped being in such constriction
She asked “Are you done”
I said, “No, not yet hon”
So I picked up the pace, worked like hell
Soon achieved my aim
She said, “Glad that you came
You’re great service to Eskimo Nell”.
United Colours: Orange
Sponsor: Silent One
Pathological agreements made from your spicy allegations,
neurotic contributions based on a fire lit from clay,
all the inescapable state of affairs from intimidating celebrations
my amber ways, your mania stays, controlling on display.
Your jealousy contingent upon my belated positive actions,
my fear portrayed from your rusted all-consuming conditions,
you've torn my ability to react in sanity, that's only a fraction,
I'm left like a prey from a tiger meal, a life full of constriction.
Burnt fanatic beliefs you have seen me as your property,
your bronze so metallic it shines through out the universe,
I need an escape from your unrighteous crowned monarchy,
you never knew how to treat me right, and put me first.
It has been stated from the fellowship I carry outside you,
I deserve fields of marigolds with apricots for dessert,
I made myself a promise to stay away, now we are through,
no more bittersweet memories, I am done being hurt.
Different shades of orange:
1. Fire 2. Clay 3. Amber 4. Rust 5. Tiger 6. Bronze 7. Metallic
8. Marigolds 9. Apricots 10. Bittersweet 11. Spice 12. Burnt
~Date Written: March 4, 2016~
WILD NATURE
Far from squabble of snobbish sniffy people
I wish to visit a wild country
where loud amusement has no entry to disturb
simple innocent naive populace.
Bathed in soft Sun rays at delightful dawn
gazing at close by pinewood
I would like to lie supine not on smooth lawn but on feral grasses
on non-mowed meadow,
where light and shadow play hide and seek game.
I will enjoy crazy cattle grazing chewing coarse grasses and foliage,
or camels thriving on thorny bushes making barren field fertile.
I will walk on furrows of field of crops
Kaleidoscope of butterflies on flash and flutter of colorful wings
***** unfamiliar bird whistles to startle or croons in cadence.
My pleasure to pass through pathless wood
My rapture to feel fragrance of wild blossoms
I would like to venture verdure of verdant valley.
and watch wild insects allured to juices of agrestal plants.
I will feel offer of Nature as bliss in every limb
in the wild country.
I wish to escape compulsive constriction of city life
I will sleep sound in quietude on serenity of sublime solitude.
04/10/ 20
Fourth Place
'Wild' Poetry Contest by Anthony Slausin
First Place
-A Brian Strand 1092
Contest by Brian Strand
Goodbye, Odie
My little old cat is dying.
His steps are awkward, eyes unfocussed
and he cries when he can’t see me.
I’m not sure I want to be in a world
that doesn’t have my tabby Familiar.
I am feeling widowed, again.
I’m resigned to be grieving, again
outliving another love who is dying.
There’s odd comfort in this ache, the strange familiar.
I gaze at him imploringly, in tears, unfocussed.
He is my greatest love in our small world.
He reaches out a snow- capped paw to tap me.
Here I go again, making it all about me,
fighting to accept death must happen, again.
It seems that these past years, this is my world,
sitting by the bedside of the dying,
as they gaze at unseen figures in the room, unfocussed,
but they hear them, and they smile, voices familiar.
I push my face in soft ginger fur, the scent familiar.
He always smelled like vanilla cookies, to me.
Green eyes stare into mine, they’re focussed.
I watch as death opaques the life from eyes, again.
I hear my husband’s voice as he was dying;
“I am tired. It’s time to leave this world.”
Death has been a constant in my world,
an entity with which I’m too familiar.
Such a selfish act on the part of the dying,
to love me absolutely, then leave me.
I feel the empty chest constriction of grief, again.
I clutch a lifeless body, I am unfocussed.
I can’t see through tears, unfocussed.
Odie leaves a gaping hole in my world.
I’ll struggle with condolences, again.
My grief is in my chest, pain so familiar.
The last time one I loved held on to me
while completing the evolution of dying.
No longer unfocussed, I rise to greet grief, again,
it’s now my world and it enfolds me,
my dark, familiar partner in the dance of dying.
In the increasing constriction
Of government restriction
I offer the following observation
Of freedoms suffocation
Of daily liberties
Savagely curtailed
Of your war on everything
That has sadly failed
Of your attempts to control the masses
Becomes comical as it passes
Many like me question your sanity
Or is it simply blind vanity?
Why is it so important to control the mundane?
Why is power such a treat?
Why relish the suffering at your feet?
Do you really believe
That you’re the “elite”?
I can’t help but laugh at that term
Please forgive the disrespect
As I snicker for effect
To me it’s simply ludicrous
Because you’re such a joke
The masses you seek to silence
Are angry and awoke
I wish to simply confide
That you might want to step aside
Before the masses take you for a ride
To your “unfortunate suicide”
Are you getting the vibe?
Eric (and sometimes not)
In the beginning the Lord created a great deep,
So deep that no eye saw anything but obscurity.
This deep we now by name call the heavens,
Accompanied by the creation of great vacancy-
A formless void that is uninterrupted by shapes.
It is the undefinable foundation for that yet to form,
A place we now think of as the planet earth,
Which passed the tests of the primeval, perfect storm.
Now with this creation comes the beginning of time,
And for measurement a transparent hourglass,
With an exact amount of sand enclosed within,
Which has until this moment been at an impasse.
Not a grain has been able to pass the constriction,
Until the Creator has commanded it to go.
As the primal beauty comes into existence,
Change enacts sand to fall in the chamber below.
With the passage of time within the hourglass
The Lord’s creation enlarges and expands;
It becomes the abode for another creation –
The harvest of the Lord’s desires becomes Man.
To Man the hourglass is a no longer fashionable,
And it may even seem to be ruling his day.
So he looks to the Lord for a savior—
For someone who-win or lose-will want to play.
The solution from the LORD is Woman,
A helpmate fashioned of Man’s own bone.
His dream has become his reward,
And She seems even better than homegrown.
Her figure is the perfect hourglass,
And her countenance is a bonny display.
Plainly It seems Man never saw the lady coming,
Since his plain morning bird became his bird of prey.
3.
The Last Good Day
All looks well when half a week's gone,
Though I wish the same might be said
Of the outside world.
As morning sunlight streamed into my lower-floor room
Shining bright among the hopeful on a cooler morning
Just as Gulliver's god was beginning to matter to me again,
Madness claimed the rush hour.
Five random shootings occur
All over the nearby city
Marking the opening
Of a festival of Death
Soon to rage 'til October's end.
Now each day that follows
No one outside of walls can call themselves safe.
Unknown to me then
I was no longer safe myself.
Invisible snipers of a different sort
Collected to come for me.
All seemed so well;
The crashing feeling of the Sitting-Up Ritual
Was receding, the ally of morphine
Less and less required.
But a strange constriction announced itself,
Some subtle, unseeable python
Was beginning to coil about me;
The drawing of breath gets harder and harder from this day forth,
No one seems to know why.
Light ribbons in one eye we fear
Precede headache pain that's severe
Drug firms clearly bribe
Physicians to prescribe
Migraine meds but I'll imbibe beer
Authors Note: If you are in a safe place (not driving or operating machinery), this home remedy could be better than what the doctor ordered. I keep a few medicinal bottles ready in the fridge for just such an emergency. Lime is optional.
The clinical trial: An authentic "migraine" headache is accompanied by blood vessel constriction. There can be 15 to 30 minutes of shimmering lights in one eye followed by a headache from hell. Having learned that alcohol dilates blood vessels, one day I tried chugging a beer just after the shimmering started. The lights subsided and there was no headache. Beer just may be the second best medicine ever created.
Breaking free from collusion
A watch tower stands tall a look out in the circular prisons
surrounded by wardens laying down prescriptions and rules
with us in the centre fragmented in dead ends and schisms
mirrored glass no one inside we internalise as obedient fools
At the gate high walls conscience barriers and road blocks
imagined barbed wire where we pay fines in constant delusion
monitored in constriction we fail to walk outside of that box
abide by dogma norms lack vision to approach our confusion
Afraid of cul de sacs dead ends stop signs for individual drive
we halt and abide arrested immobilised for society’s sake
accept torturous certainty admit to all guilt and as we shrive
cannot distinguish from needs what is causing us mind ache
Roundabout’s exits guarded by our very own straight jackets
we spin around like puppets on strings to our master’s delight
The ‘panopticon’ demands obedience and we cannot attack it
for lack of conviction rebellion introspection rigorous insight
Unless we break free from chains of what others demand
disregard our dreams our beauty default on individual virtue
the road ends at a four way stop where forever we stand
disunited abolished forgotten and constant imagined taboo
4th January 2017
Written for contest: At the end of the road
gluteus maximus left and right half moon cheek
re: byte size buttock
attached via usb (uniform firm behind) to this freak
with bowel movement incontinence + gas filled gut
evoking contortionist frown stretching to lowest peak
perched upon porcelain goddess where elimination did jut
held captive hostage atop toilet seat for many a week
exertion to expel rock solid turd required utmost effort
to force jammed bowel movement free
inducing excruciating abdominal cramps that really hurt
plus sharp jabbing spasms within high knee
innards rent asunder from obstruction as BB size PELLETS did spurt
from lodged fecal matter refusing to budge from me
caused by severe constipation whereby prayer a waste
delivered only increased sphincter muscle to scream
for rectal relief this mortal man faced
a worse fate than death, he would deem
since demise would allow alimentary misery to cease
versus remaining in this impasse for what might be years
unless perchance some **** lubricant or special grease
would bust loose abominable constriction in arrears
finding me unable to pay rent or renew lease
best prospect of remaining stationary with words to wax
poetic found a glimmer of luck
when a kind wildebeest delivered this message via fax
to help attend male in dire per situation get poop unstuck
with outsize mug of exlax
to help unclog rectal muck
access to get expunged to the max
but once expulsion occurs DO DO PLEASE DUCK!
Here comes the stormy fire,
Burned out my desire,
Racing against my chest, my hearts pacing,
Beating the pulse to a pulp, draining me dry,
Now’s the time to let go of this tandem rope,
Crash through this masquerade, there is no hope
Nobodies to blame, but myself,
It was all coming lose at the seams, piece by piece
The music was just too loud; the symphonies were burning my faith in hope
Nothing hurts like you do, walking away never giving me a second glance,
Pompeii, rain down on my parade, burn this farce of a show to cinders,
These ashes of our lives are like pythons underneath my every step,
Each sting a cry from my hearts to live again
Not saying goodbye was the cruelest act.
No words of comfort or embrace to spare my arteries.
So now I am sitting here listening to the dragon that breathed our love,
Its dying a slow death.
With every inhalation of this noxious gas, it only exacerbates the constriction on my lungs
Its evident to me that, love is dead.
Its all burned away, there is nothing left
There is no love left.
Love is dead.
Love is dead..
Is love dead?.....
I am an obsessive, possessive compulsive
Besotted by your flawed brand of perfection,
My love for you is a grasping fist -
Crushing you, slowly suffocating,
Squeezing the breath - and the resistance –
from your lungs, from your soul…
Constriction breeds subtle friction,
You flail now and then like a landed fish,
But you can’t escape me darling…
You can’t get away because you don’t want to,
Your willpower has corroded, has eroded to dust
I am your heroin, killing you softly as the old song goes,
Caressing your heart into fatal submission…
Oh I don’t deny, sometimes the drug wears off,
And you have a bad trip -
Sometimes my whip lash fails to strike…
And your dormant defiance rises with bullish temerity…
Sometimes I nearly lose my hold, and the fist weakens, flaccidly…
Then I have to rein you in and force a harsher bit between your gritted teeth
Ha ha, oh yes, it can be a cat and mouse game, this romance,
A tenuous balance of shifting powers,
Like tectonic plates, seething beneath the surface…
The scales tip seductively in your favor, then in mine -
Sometimes your fingers slip round my throat,
The manacles of my love asphyxiating…
Sometimes I lead you by the ring in your nose, my bovine beauty –
Sometimes it all becomes too much, like black waters rising,
Closing over my humble head,
And I start to choke…to drown…
But in the end, my fingers are locked round your heart,
And if I go down – baby, so do you
The song wafts down with the wind
Pulling at the heart’s strings
Its sweetness lifting my fallen spirits
Gifting them with invisible wings
To soar high in the sky
Releasing the constriction
That comes with being tethered
To worldly inhibitions
My eyes search in vain
For a glimpse of the one who
Owns such melodious strains
And yet wishes to remain unseen
I withdraw my steps
Allowing the space
So fiercely guarded
Somewhere among the green
Am happy that I have
The sweet voice to listen
When the maddening world
Crawls up to my inner being
Our dens are amidst the din
Yet one remains untouched
While the other’s soul
Lies tormented and scorched…