Best Dry Mouth Poems
I feel your unrehearsed pauses--
the rustle of a blue shirt in leaving
a tangy ache your firm lips make,
holding back cold, collected words.
This rendezvous ... a slow-fire quiver
an ending which has it's own interment;
and outside, night wrestles with time
brittle dew against my eyes, dry mouth
licking an estranged bite that reminds me
of your frivolity . Until sighs
become hollow and stuttering
like a thirst from a weltering breakwall.
So it is with discovery,
the trails of affection are never mine
as I call you grimly,' 0 heart-breaker'
while banging shells litter on the dunes
as this heart shrinks from tangled lies:
There is still much to learn about
young passion... needles upon my chest
losing you from sight like a migrant breeze...
for a woman , fragile at eighteen.
There once was a fox, as wise as can be,
He lived in the hollow of an old oak tree.
Not so very far from an ol’ Farmer’s Farm;
A farmer he knew would do him great harm.
Also, on that farm lived a lively young goose,
And he caused the fox’s dry mouth to juice.
Without a care, the goose gandered about,
Causing the fox great apprehension, no doubt.
One day they met at the edge of the farm:
The goose knew, for sure, the fox meant him harm.
Mr. Fox, I know you can eat me, he said,
But, I know a better way you can be fed.
The farmer has many an egg you can eat,
and they are more juicy than feathery meat.
I’ll tell you just how to gain your supply;
as quick as a wink, or the blink of an eye.
The farmer is rich and he doesn’t have need
for all of his wealth, and all of his greed.
We poor of the earth, he cares not about:
We should take eggs from the lecherous lout.
Sure, he feeds us, and quite well in fact,
But he profits from the sweat of our back.
We animals are brothers, and should take heed
About each others wants and each others need.
You can sneak around by the ol’ mill gate,
while I distract the hound, down by the lake.
His threat to you I shall circumvent,
and you can then eat to your hearts content.
The sly ol’ fox, he surmised this odd tale:
Hen’s eggs were delicious, he knew quite well.
Oh, this we will do, he quickly agreed:
Eggs, he knew, were quite delicious indeed.
So, the goose set off, the hound to distract,
And also the fox, to the mill gate out back.
But, the goose had another plan in his mind;
A problem solution of a far different kind.
He enlisted the hound in his subversive trick,
To solve the fox dilemma finally and quick.
He sent the hound round to the ol’ mill gate,
Leaving himself to just piddle and wait.
Then suddenly upon him with claw and tooth
Pounced the fox, ‘fore he could honk or hoot.
In this moral lesson we all can deduce,
Why no-one says: “he’s as sly as a goose”.
The SLY fox knew: “If the goose would betray
the farmer that feeds him, he will betray me too.”
Lionel
Slack sails await winds.
At first nothing...stillness, then a wisp.
Awakening becomes triumphant,
And he dares to have hope.
Sails hoisted high, hands shield the sun,
Squinting as the rays are interrupted by
Swollen clouds, yet puffs of nothing.
Waiting for snow in the summer,
A blossom in the winter.
Yet nothing exists but hope- dared hope.
Hope left to Sea Gods, hammering thunder into bolts.
It arises. Dragon's head drawn to earth.
But Elpis is silent, no sign of mirth on her face.
Then a trace of smile...Mona's smile.
A quickening of pulse. A slight glance.
A sense of thrill. Wet hands. Dry mouth.
Awaiting with bowed head and clenched fists,
But still no answer. Last chance. Dies Irae...it has to be.
Desperation and despair. He hears nothing.
A feeble dance with destiny, a waltz with faith.
Yet there is that. There is always that...Hope.
Scuba Diving
Heavy SCUBA tanks
As if flying in water
Everywhere blue
Dry mouth icky salt
Regulator gets knocked out
Can't breathe in water
See a shark hiding
Marveling in its stealth
Hope it's not hungry
Running our of air
Better get to boat fast
Stupid lungs why why?
Brightly colored fish
And coral everywhere
I wish I could stay
The Birth
1
Breathe baby—breathe.
2
Out of the darkness of night
crept the dawn;
steaming with thirst
the dry mouth sun rose
inebriating its self
with the morning dew—
leaving empty blades of grass
scattered across the landscape.
3
The lazy old sea
urged on by quite winds
laboriously spat out
lethargic waves—whimpering
tears of fickle frothed faces
repeatedly slapped at the shores.
4
A lone sea gull sliced
through the salt laden air
leaving a pasty white trail—
an umbilical reminder—left
behind the perilous journey’s end.
5
Laying in veranda hammock
of roped womb, I cracked a smile—
whispering to the Creator—singing
praises for yet another birth of day.
Furry tongue, dry mouth
Head throbing in guilty pain
WHY?..Did I get so drunk.
I teeter on the edge
Of a crumbling cliff, beneath me
Is nothing but cloud and indistinct shape,
A bird or two, laughing at my wingless back,
My songless throat. I spread my arms
As if they had feathers, and taste the wind,
But my feet are planted on shifting gravel.
Behind me, another wall, pushing closer,
Impenetrable force, I have nowhere to go
But out and down, down, down.
Toes at the edge, dry mouth, nothing to swallow.
He said he’d be a swallow, if he were an animal.
Focus. The horizon spreads wide enough
To swallow me whole, to inhale
My tiny universe. Hands trembling, I think of home,
But where is home? Is it the desert,
Where tumbleweeds chase you down the road,
Or is it the pendulum- deathly winter one minute,
Blossoming paradise the next?
My breath catches in my throat. The wind
Dries my eyes of tears, and always that wall.
I am stalling, and everyone knows it.
I consider jumping. I consider it for a long, long time,
But I can’t see the ground through the clouds,
And I am still not a bird. Pebbles roll and fall
Off the edge, pushed by the force that threatens me.
I do not hear them clatter on the ground.
Maybe there is no ground, and if I jump,
I’ll fall until I die of old age.
What a joke for the fates to play on us.
I think and I muse for too long; the wall at my back
Leaps forward and I am thrown headfirst
Into the abyss.
Sitting in rags all tattered and torn
He gazed through the window and loved what he saw
A raging coal fire, and some children to play
Just what he wished for on a cold winters day
The frost bit his finger and nibbled at his nose
and his shoes, thin as paper, could not warm his toes
But the warmth and the love that the family there told
Reached into his heart and blessed his wee soul
The dear little beggar boy was welcomed inside
To share christmas gifts and a log of yuletide
A meal that he'd dreamed of was served in a dish
And the sweet little child got his christmas wish
Sat near the roadside, a cup in his hand
sat a merchant, a peasant, a pitiful man
Selling flowers to towns folk, from graves freshly plucked
He watched as the villagers tucked into roast duck
Nose pressed to the entrance, inhaling the feast
He licked his dry mouth as they carved the cooked beast
A little old lady arose from her pew
and gladly she told him "There's plenty for you"
All grubby and dusty with an ache in her back
A frail, crinkled lady read palms from a shack
Not making much money, spending winter alone
She watched families rejoicing, and wished for her own
Trying to remember, a life led before
With her sister and daughters, before she was poor
A kind gent passed by her and decided to spend
his christmas or longer, for she needed a friend
Sat at the butchers and begging for meat
Dusty the mongrel was just under their feet
Just a scavenger, all dirty, they shoo'd him away
and he got used to the harshness of being homeless each day
Tucked beneath hedges, to escape winters bite
He flopped down his head, and he slept for the night
Dreaming of children who'd bring him a bone
Rescued by a schoolgirl who gave him a home
What do you dream of, when you're sat all alone
Money and chocolate, a new mobile phone
Or the simplest things that are taken for granted
Like a home and a family, to be loved and be wanted
Do you think of others or not have a care
when enjoying your holidays, do you have time to spare
See the dear little beggar boy at your windowsil
Let him in, spare a second, 'tis the season of goodwill
Along a summer road of eternal dust
that flies in the face of poverty and disdain
red and hardened faces with hands
as brown as the shine on shoes that
at one time reflected in their youthful faces
oily overalls now replace the snappy suit
he used to wear and the shiny automobile
that took him to his job in the city
memories well up in tired eyes that
fill with tears as bony shoulders heave
and protrude from a undernourished body
blows his peeling nose on the red handkerchief
stuffed in a torn back pocket
crafty crows swing from last year's harvest
as a dry wind rustles and crackles through
skeleton corn stalks...
he searches in vain for one piece that
the crows have missed as he salivates
thinking of the kernal mash in his dry mouth
crows heckle his futile attempts and take to
wing as back to the road he trudges..
back to that tiresome journey called life..
with ravenous intentions, their clothes getting tossed about
before retreating to seclusion under virgin white sheets
chests heaving, bodies writhing, lips locked and never parting
frolicking over and spent, he on his back, her on his chest
a few remaining kisses venturing up his chest to his collar
the warm breathes expelled from her lips exciting his skin
silently baring fangs, she takes hold with both hands and teeth
still love drunk, he lies unaware of the life fleeting from him
each warm, ichorous mouthful of vital fluid tightening her grip
nearly drained, he can feel the fleeting pitter-patter of his heart
all the strength he can muster to shed his aggressor is no match
his life flashing and vanishing before his eyes bit by bit by bit
after drowning herself in several liters of lifeblood, she releases
gasping and groaning as she raises up, whipping her gossamer hair back
staring paralyzed, his vital fluid running down her chin, neck and chest
arms weakly outstretching, lips moving but words having difficulty escaping
arms collapsing, eyes closing, labored breathing as death's veil draws near
the light of his eyes growing dimmer, dimmer still until all but gone
her hardened nail slicing at the wrist of her unnatural pallor stark skin
providing a lifeline to her future child, trickling over his pale lips
dry mouth opening, tongue slithering to take first taste of his new life
in a mere instant, he can already feel a degree of psychosis taking over
strengthened and frenzied, he raises up and leeches onto his new sire
the holy grail of madness emptying and replenshing his once vacant vessel
Take in everything
Forget
Take in everything
Forget
Sweat
Salt taste's good
In a very dry mouth
But
It's sickening
It teases with a start of reassurance
But then
It trails down
With less tiles to run on
It's starts tip-toeing moisture out
In the middle of your tongue
It dehydrates the rest of the setting
It causes a calibration to be joined
For a message to be made
That
I
Am
Thirsty
But
The problem with one cloud
Another could form
And another
And another
And Another
And if they join together
A storm could come
I am thirsty
Thirsty?
Thirsty for what?
Water
Clear Odorless Tasteless Neutral Liquid
Sufficient isn't it?
That's all you need?
That all you want?
And if they join together
A storm could come
Thirsty
I've been oh so thirsty
And that's when invisible hands start to open doors
Unlocking every category
What's Behind door number one?
Childhood memories; only child; key home kid; first friend
And door number two?
Liking boys; liking girls?; not liking girls. Crushes; first boyfriend
And door number three?
Losing work; bills to pay; break ups; single
Lonely
Lonely
Lonely
Lonely
A storm could form
And if it does
It rains...
Everything that time or tide may tell
a silver birch rise in an azure sky
Moonbeam with its wrinkles and dry mouth
captivated by the mournful music
The perception of something eternal
is in itself a utopia -
but an encouragement on a cloudy day
Don't tear up the roots or retouch the story
An eternal escape as the waves
Morals and principles despite the prize
The traces of a heart that sought balm
will be buried in the underworld forever
17.03.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- 'M' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
When love strays, no one knows why it turns
you're caught off guard, with a heart that burns
left with a dry mouth, and a mind that's numb
with no strength to cry out, your pain is mum
Yesterday you felt loved, he was the only thing on your mind
then, you were so sure he was your godsend, such a rare find
yet today you look for answers, answers for the grief you bare
making a vow to yourself, never again to fall in love, you swear
As time passes memories fade, wounds have begun to mend
going out with your friends, once again looking for a boyfriend
this endless cycle continues, maybe there will not be an end
adolescent years with many challenges, never to comprehend
There comes a point in your youth, when happiness you will finally seek
a happiness you now understand, not surrounded by the false mystique
love will not be found by searching for it, it's something that must find you
finally coming to realize, your eyes will only mislead you to a love untrue
Coming to this truth, you acknowledge there is something you need
if you want to find true happiness, and if you really want to succeed
here is the one truth for you to know, the power for this happiness is from above
G-d alone weaves the circumstances, joining two beings with happiness and love
Don't look for consolation to life's disappointments in an illusionary, temporary escape
and do not become content, in the unsafe harbour of your mind's imaginary landscape
joy and happiness and true love in your life, G-d will most certainly cause you to find
perhaps just maybe then you'll understand, why true love must necessarily be blind
constructs of the abstract
intangible pillars supporting
heavy weight facts
fat psychedelics
slipping
tripping
dripping
through the cracks
odd formless blobs emerging
from the dark vast primordial black
two speeding bullet trains crossing tracks
ending in catastrophic spilled brains contact
special edible weird astral voodoo extract
out of body experience
but now you're back
new air of awareness
winds rushing and relentless
blasting bold and bodacious
strong winding vexations
smothering the human senses
awe stricken dry mouth
have some taking it all in
slapping refreshments
sugar coat this with a pastry reference
who exactly sent this text message
The tan ropes are rattlesnakes
that tie and untie themselves,
clumps of spines untangled
from earth, loops and S’s
curling, like damaged ribs.
My body is a tight cage that
the snakes move away from.
My hands: closed canyons,
manzanita, sage leaves, moon-dew
marked by footprints.
I watch you pick one up, feeling
distress from its rattle cut into
my nerves. Heat from its mouth
hisses, like splintered glass. You
hand it to me,
it crawls through my fingers:
skinny road-lines on a map
charting the back fields that
lead to the foothills. Red dust
flames in the air. Dry rain falls.
A voice says: “It’s a conspiracy.
This is how they do it: They shed
their skin to be unrecognized
in the future. Their shed skins
are thoughts with blank memories.”
The voice continues: “Be cautious
of the young ones. They’ll charm you
with their bodily curves, then secretly
overthrow you, defame you, and
trouble your future.”
I stand here in the red foothills and
can see that the snakes have no empathy.
Like a shot, something burns my ears and
burns my hand: a hot pistol. Suddenly,
dawn sun-paints my bedroom.
I lie silently still listening to my mind’s
unfinished opinions. The insides of my thighs,
fiery, like a venomous bite, the sheets cast off,
like shed skin, and my thoughts flame and burn,
like morning’s dry mouth.
_______________________________________
This poem is from my fourth book 'The Translator'
from 'transcendent Zero Press' 2015
it was first published in the magazine, 'Orion headless'
Editor: Sara Fitzpatrick Comito
Amazon search: "the translator/dah"