Best Cuffed Poems
Abuses hurled and Alcohol gurgled,
In the vortex of confusion
And blurred vision.
Intoxicated pleasure from surreal leisure.
Fooled senses and numbed conscience.
Wiped existence of love and kindness cuffed.
Lashed at the one he once loved.
Cringed and clung to her faint faith.
She and her cursed fate.
Exploding paroxysm of hate.
Her whipped ivory skin and bleeding lips,
Eyes with teary tinge,
Has the harvest moon singed.
Stillness of the night, pierced
By memories of bitterness-sodden years.
"Hurt me not", she trembled with fear,
"let me live for my girl, dear".
The cries colored skies crimson.
Just one reason--Her little girl.
As her daughter stared
With flaming locks and eyes that flared.
By Angom Amy (15)
They’d …
They’d cuffed me when in error
They’d hold me when I’d be ill
They’d calm me when in terror
They’d wave to make me still …
They’d smooth my hair back on my head
Before the camera’s eye
They’d touch me when I went to bed
They’d sooth me when I’d cry
They’d wash a million dishes
They’d fold a ton of clothes
They’d help me with my wishes
They’d warm my freezing nose
They’d point at things for me to do
They’d help me with my plans
And that is why I miss so much
My Loving Mothers' … hands.
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
I don’t know what I’m complaining about,
it’s not like I’ve been cuffed,
All I have to do is show up for dinner.
After all it’s the bird that got stuffed.
It’s not like they’re asking a lot from me
they won’t work me till I’ve croaked,
All I have to do is show up and eat.
After all it’s the bird that got smoked.
I can’t tell you that they’ll torture me
and it seems to be reasonably priced,
All I have to do is visit for a while.
After all it’s the bird that got sliced.
I could tell them things to make them laugh
until their gravy becomes splattered,
All I’d have to do is tell a joke to them.
After all it’s the bird that got plattered.
I think that it smells good enough that I’ll eat
until they claim my leg’s been hollowed,
All I have to do is not complain about things.
After all it’s the bird that got swallowed.
I’ve never given it much thought before
but a bird’s life is really kind of murky
I guess I’d rather be the Thanksgiving guest today
than be the Thanksgiving Turkey.
Amidst the solitude of empty pews in hallowed halls
she took a seat and prayed she would not be forsaken.
Candles lit, soft glow throwing shadows on the walls.
Tear glistened cheeks, cries for all death had taken.
In whispered breath she begged for her heart to mend,
taking comfort in memories to free her from the gloom
of misery so burdensome that she could not comprehend
why the one she loved lay buried, sealed within a tomb.
Fate's sting cuffed a cruel blow with its callous reach,
leaving her heart stabbed deep enough to make it bleed.
In supplication, she prayed for healing and to beseech,
that in her time of need, "Merciful Father, please intercede."
In her hand, a wilted rose; once a radiant crimson flower,
its fragrance mingled with the scent of votives as they melt.
No solace found; she left the darkness of that sullen hour.
Remaining was the imprint of sorrow where she had knelt.
She walked in moonlight, grieving for love, once savored,
mourning, bereaved and lost in deep emotional despair.
She sang a hymn with lips that trembled and quavered,
mist falling on widow's weeds, she had the need to wear.
December 19, 2020
A Rhyme Story-Poem with Eyes On
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
"Sanskrit"
Tears like pearls of wisdom
crystal diamonds slip salty cool
hour glass down cheeks to lips
purse of gold unzipped
forms exposed vowels and consonants
in the hostage pool
forming ebullient echo words
on moist glowing cupid’s bow
a ripe plumb kissed, then, juicy silence
words tightly bound
all thoughts and unnecessary sounds
cuffed, suspended
tongue licks locked lips
passing key portal bit
softly sparking electric tangent
speaks of sibilant semblance
sensation solitary succulent
seeking sensual sanguine silence
hands between pages
two legs of a chapter, verses read
scent of a journey
puzzles kept as secrets
a treat to be unwoven, deciphered
warm skinned, unknown, token
slippery lover's notes
fingers following the lines
along wet Sanskrit
heart of body
tantric
broached
free
never owned
hot wired
removed
yet responding;
conduit opening
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"I Like It" / Moby
https://youtu.be/TdXLNHWmurM
http://jayarava.blogspot.com/2013/02/emptiness-for-beginners.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Two_truths_doctrine
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_Sutra
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tantra
Stood on the roof of the Empire State
Two American men and their new English mate
It’s true that a bourbon or two had been had
Perhaps that’s what made them all act a bit mad
The Englishman, clearly, had drunk a bit more
His friends shared a secret which made them guffaw
One asked their English friend if he had heard
That bourbon allows you to fly like a bird
The Englishman grinned. ‘I’m not falling for that,
If I tried to fly I would fall and go splat!’
So one of his mates jumped right down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
‘My, that’s amazing,’ the Englishman said,
‘If I had done that I would be a bit dead.’
‘Nonsense,’ the other American said,
‘If you won’t do it, I’ll do it instead.’
True to his word he jumped down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
The Englishmen gasped. ‘I can’t believe that
You jumped off the roof but you didn’t go splat.’
So both the Americans said he was scared
And after a while the Englishman dared
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I think I could do that.’
He jumped and smashed into the ground with a splat
They gazed at the gory result of their plan
And Spiderman said, ‘That was mean, Superman.’
***
Secretly watching from behind a tree
He thought to himself ‘They could never kill me.’
For they hadn’t known his identity.
Or that the ‘splat’ was ground beef for his tea
He hadn’t harboured malicious intent
When he had adopted an English accent
But in their ‘day wear’ he still knew what it meant
When young Peter Parker said, ‘Meet Mr Kent.’
It was nice to see that the graveyard was stuffed
He grinned to see Spidey and Superman cuffed
Soon he'd step out for his mourners to see
For now, Batman giggled hysterically
6 September 2022
For contest: superheroes or Supervillains
Sponsor: Robert James Liguory
Oh, my gosh, I’m freaking and feel such dread.
What the hay is this nonsense on my head?
I can’t go to work, can't enter the office!
I will be seen, visible to peers and bosses,
be the fool who provided entertainment gossip.
God, please, send help, I am stress-nauseous.
I do not care about appearing faultless,
but I'd rather errantly tuck a dress in my hose
and walk through the office cluelessly exposed
than have everyone think this is what I choose.
I wonder if I should call in with a case of ugly,
hire someone to gently, but effectively mug me?
Perhaps I'll get pulled and cuffed on the roadside
for publicly exposing the ugliest hair ever dyed.
Shame a wig class wasn't at business school:
"How to Avoid Looking Like the Office Fool."
I look like a horrified, horror movie hostess.
Even my own mirror is refusing to focus.
Here I am, paler than even fresh new snow,
with midnight black hair grooving to and fro.
My very first dye and, oh my, I could just die!
Box said ‘brown’, now I'm so down, I might cry.
Universe, please – send a natural disaster,
nothing fatal, it's just one repair day I’m after.
Strum on my wrecked nerves 'til I faint
cuffed and connected to your pick;
I'll be the oil on your guitar
hitting your pulse points with my gasp;
Left with need I'll have no complaint
except when the encore's a trick;
That just takes it a step too far.
like your hand on a broken clasp;
Turning you on with my desire,
becoming the craving you rasp.
It was all in the late night,
they took everything away,
it was all in the late night,
getting home an early day
from a trip to the west coast,
where I’d gone and closed the deal,
I came back on a late flight,
then everything became real.
It was then in the late night
that I saw through a window
a sight I never hoped to see,
rage I’d never hoped to know,
a stranger in my bedroom,
I just could not understand
why my wife did lay naked
underneath this sweaty man.
It was all in the late night,
with a bottle of Champagne,
I burst in and saw my brother,
then I went a bit insane,
I broke that heavy bottle
right over my brother’s head,
grabbed my hidden thirty-eight
and shot my cheating wife dead.
They cuffed me in the late night,
was no point hiding the guilt,
said I won’t breathe free again,
I suppose I never will.
Mother cannot stop sobbing,
and father has disowned me,
Ii they’re raised their boys better
they’d not know such misery.
f o r g i v e n e s s
is the window
to unknot the twigs of tainted trees,
where cuffed anklets
around the star-struck skin of
seraphic silhouettes
feel the suppressed sighs
of the ice-moon,
while
cocooned in a nest
of clamorous clouds,
blanketing rivers of love
flowing within
the esoteric orb,
like the raining snowdrops,
designing a bed of purity and humility,
to rinse the remnants of
stinging sorrow,
pricking thin feathers of phoenix wings
in compassionate clemency,
sealed in envelopes
carrying inked veins of a
weeping violin...
and as the city lights
adorn the panoramic view
of this bleeding boulevard,
I search for a verb
that hides between verses,
woven from heartbeats
of you and I
from pools of poems
poignantly painted
within closed pores
of persimmon pages,
locked with glimpses and polaroids
of
unscripted
t o m o r r o w
that only the soul of swirling
comets
can decipher~
for this is a tale
of peacock butterflies,
mirroring blue-ringed topaz,
like hibernating eyes
that seek not
ephemeral effervescence
jinxed by the touch of
two-faced artists,
performing hypocrisy
in perfect tenor,
like alchemists
dressed
in neon fairy lights.
So take these words
as memoirs of m e r c y
this soul is the soil~
where chamomiles bloom
in the glass garden
of forget-me-nots,
as my mind is
a beloved heritage,
awaiting drizzling rays
condensed with contentment;
a tempest
sedated and subdued
in
ultraviolet grace…
These words that I write will cause quite a stir.
Taken out of context can be seen as a racial slur.
I grew up and live where people are predominantly white.
I have not witnessed first hand the black man’s plight.
I can travel anywhere without any fear.
Even if I get pulled over for speeding while drinking a beer.
I have never been cuffed because of the color of my skin.
If wrongly accused I don’t have to take it on the chin.
I am white and privileged I will never be black.
I will never experience the fear of a racial attack.
I’ve never lived in a slum without money or food.
I am a white man and this is how I am viewed.
The police won’t be called if I’m just walking around.
I am a white man forever on hallowed ground.
I understand racism finally after 49 years on this rock.
It’s easy to judge and easier to mock.
I will never feel your fear, I will never be blamed.
No fingers will point and I will not feel the shame.
I’m sorry I’m white and I’m sorry you’re black.
But if given the chance I will now watch your back.
Ghetto me be a bleating poor refugee,
albeit I’m Goshen rich in faith
Got a manger stall in the USA,
Pilate shepherd of the Cesarian peace
Time stamped stillborn delivery
tis iron Roman numeral four C
Furnace cast existence: bane brand bound
Babylonian condition, a marketplace sound
Fleeced heritage ... sob separated,
I am just the latest stolen cargo generation
being cerulean cloth asphyxiated
By legion overseers of an ungrateful nation
These pyramid gnash, link bled bones
twas being Pharaoh oppressed: Prey worked to death
in a Memphis factory plantation owned
Where noxious hate suffocate poverty-cuffed breath
Be daily double tasked in a graveyard shift
Those pale hearts so addicted
to the golden flask, err tilted
Drunk on power, they cull with a siren sift
O miry, downtrodden me ...
temporally chained to this wavy treachery
Verily, a wretched place for a black sheep —
such cotton weary misery!
So after four centuries of Cain deluge,
I do still tearfully seek
A rainbow ark sacred place of refuge
promised to the meek
The Asian community is scrutinized,
Blacks are killed and cuffed on the street.
You’ll order Pei-Wei and Big Bowl,
Then scope them out, target practice.
The very people arresting blacks,
They are protected by their acts.
But America doesn’t see a uniform,
They only see black and say wrong.
America is so resistant to change,
Failing to admit that their slogan’s fake.
America calls itself the land of the free,
The constant racism could have fooled me.
We can’t sleep in peace for Breonna,
For George Floyd, we got it right.
Justice is still so seldom served,
Living freely is what we deserve.
Sorrow lies within
My heart, heavy.
Weighed down as if full of stones.
My soul, restrained.
Cuffed to the bottom of a seemingly endless well that is this shell of a body.
When did the light go out?
When did my life essence become so shrouded in darkness that I know not who I am anymore?
In a blink of an eye I have become a prisoner of this monster called Depression.
Begging for mercy, please let me feel the warmth of Sunshine's embrace.
Denied.
How can you be so cruel.
Deprivation slowly turns into familiarity.
Settled into my bones like an old friend.
I know this.
Mechanically routine.
I hear Depressions laughter as I use the last bit of strength to fight back.
Question, are you okay?
Mustering up a smile, I'm fine.
Trying to cling to this lifeline.
New feeling, hope?
Trying to convey with my eyes that I'm not
Fine.
Walking away, insides screaming, please come back.
Help me! Please
Save me.
Too late, I am defeated