Best Earshot Poems
Our oldest light goes by the name cosmic
microwave background radiation—
CMB for short. She's everywhere:
fluorescent birdsong of modern offices,
hum of corner store ice cream cases.
Have you heard of her? This gal was born
screaming into freedom from the expansion
of a bang so big we're still talking about it.
Expelled from the recombination's gender-
less cervix, before there were names for things
like body, or heat, or quiet. She slid through
the pitch of first dark, not yet sure what
edges were, dragging the weight of a beginning
behind, shelter for and shedding of photons
loosened from a fire she didn't start.
Somewhere in this thirteen-billion-year drift
her lips kissed the eyelids of stars that hadn’t
learned to die yet, passed the chubby fists
of planets still cooling in their cribs. Fell into gravity
wells, bent her spine around a gape of black holes,
and climbed back up again, tired but full.
We call her background now, like she's an afterthought,
the hum of hums beneath the humming—we call her 'it'.
Add a T to her beginning and we might as well
call her mother. And when she reaches us, frail
and stretched thin, we catch her in our instruments
(where we found her), our desperate, outstretched hands.
For our effort, like a good genie enduring a bad rub,
she tells the story of our origin from a certain point—
then distracts us with tricks when we ask her about
the end of it.
Renegades Foreva!
Renegade teenage rage babes
thinkin’ they all grown, all knowin’
when they seedlin’s barely sown
bleedin’ teenage angst with teenage crankst
always rhymin’ and mis-timin’ some poetry-crimin’
mis-mashin', diss-bashin'
word-clashin' song
heard on some half-sappy, sex-happy,
yap-rap, smack-attack vid
made by some brotha who’s just anotha
angry angst-ridden
wannabe gangsta kid
With a street beat
they be hummin’ or singin’ along
repeatin’ the deceit
not knowin’ curse verses
are just plain wrong and mostly maligin’
while grownups in earshot
takin’ all them swearshots
wishin’ them words had sweeter rhymin’
or that kids be more discreet
would take their claptrap,
no-class, crass-crack lyrics
and just tweet ‘em or mime ‘em
But if ‘dults could go back, meet themselves
when they was punk teens
fittin’ into pre-shrunk his or her hunk jeans
listenin’, partyin’ to poppin’ rockin’
unusual musical junk boy band scenes
and lettin’ out star-struck
super-charged
groanal hormonal
no-one-could-understand gland screams
then they’d be amused ya know,
might change their views ya know
cause remind ‘em not so pristine
when child and ‘dult they was in-between
Kids always lookin’ to find
who they are and who they be
imprisoned involuntarily
in their youthful penitentiary
no matter what century they be from you see
So if thinkin’ rap sucks cause
it’s just no-class hurls and low-class slurs
then fire-up that flux capacitor of yours,
head back to yo’ past and meet yo’ younger him or hers
see your own rebelling mis-teen-stakes
then rapping notions you might reshape
or rapping judgments remake
or least maybe now tolerate new-age teenage
rapping outbreaks and in-yo-face ear-quakes
realizin’ that come whateva or wheneva
that all teens now, before an’ where-eva
will evamore and eva be
natural renegades foreva!
© 2014 all rights reserved
GRAVE RECYCLING
Installed in cargo pockets,
A vivid-glass, a little green bag,
A pod, silverplatted case,
Which Guca-hides, Pallmalls, and a bic.
You're barfoot in tombstones.
You're father, son vulture slumped,
You befor etched letters on rock.
"Him", a glutton of Karma,
Rein ended, your fourteenth year,
Now, belly-heavy, smoking his brand.
On a Drive-by, visit home.
You're showing Gene shooter,
You're an arsenic lane of skin,
You tremble-digits, in belt loops.
A trailer in time,
Secluded woods, with pine scent,
Anger stranded from earshot,
Hand-fead, his hate's red attic.
Father giant, yelling lasting filth,
Son flesh impersonal,
Dark-spotted, and tie-dyed,
From Basketball champ fists.
You retreated-rightly to martyr mirth,
You still look for his bold heading,
Still Questing for embrace.
Pulling tube and ziplock from Cargo,
Following in bone-bared footsteps,
You spark, away walking,
Keeping his Armageddon.
it was dark out, school done for the year
i thought Mom forgot all about me
running the streets late with my friends
it was my first evening of freedom
within, mind you, earshot of her call
we skipped rope in a neighbour’s driveway
we laughed and felt a little grown up
it was a most magical night
we walked to the school hill nearby
we were all scattered looking up
on our backs, counting fabulous stars
had to give up, there were too many
that’s when i did get Mom's call, but
that first taste of freedom sure was sweet
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~LOOKING BACK~ 2023
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Trapped in a sinuous labyrinth,
I run down twisting corridors of well-trodden soil,
flanked on each side
by bushes twice my height!
I go left; I go right;
turning left again, I hit a wall.
For hours I have been inside here running.
Panic is swallowing my soul,
for I am horribly
horribly
lost.
Overcome by my anxiety,
I let myself collapse to the dirt floor
where I sit trying to compose myself,
and as I sit,
I struggle with the puzzle -
how to escape this huge web
with tentacles like those of
of a giant green monster of the sea.
How will I ever find my way
out of this impossible maze?
Afternoon’s glare barely reaches me where
I sit in the gloom of my doom.
Suddenly, the sound of happy voices!
And not just within earshot.
This sound is SO close that were I to just
reach out through one of these large bushes,
I am sure I could actually embrace
the sweetness of the joy I hear.
I have been left and right and all around.
these long paths,
and I refuse again to go down them.
Grateful to be wearing my long pants
and a long-sleeved shirt,
I remove a polyester jacket
which I have had wrapped around my waist.
With the jacket, I cover as much of my body as I can,
particularly my face and hands.
The lovely garden which I had viewed from the road
when I first came upon this miserable maze
is right on the other side of the bush
where I have ended up.
I know it; I just know it . . .
I take the plunge!
June 27, 2020
for Dear Heart's 'Maze - 10 Word Challenge' Contest
Submitted Sept. 14, 2021 for the ''L'' Contest New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
You walk a thousand miles in the span of a day,
All the while, the mind in motion, tearing through.
A sense of urgency with endless paths,
The voice never ceases; the noise is deafening.
But never within earshot of your fading love.
For you to hear it would only make you insane.
I would leap if I could. A thousand miles below.
I would pull the trigger if I could. A thousand feet per minute.
It is cowardice, I fear, that keeps me on earth.
And the earth that keeps me in oblivion.
I know, I know.
For some of you people, it's hard.
You have no choice.
Your parents didn't teach you any better.
If at all.
If you had any parents to speak of.
And the crowd you run with is worse than you.
So, in conclusion...where would you go to know.
Where would you learn to grasp the courtesy, the decorum.
The bourgeois sense of civility somehow afforded to the rest of mankind.
You wouldn't.
You didn't.
And there you are.
Flapping.
Flapping that big-ass mouth of yours.
Into your spittle-loving smart phone.
Spewing and flailing.
Mewing and assailing.
With everyone within earshot (read: a thousand nautical miles) absorbing your golden renderings.
Renderings filled with more primal, guttural nonsense than a naked mute, set on fire, playing charades.
More monologue than dialogue.
A demagogue with a catalog.
And then you finish your call.
And start another.
More nonsense about someone else we don't give a **** about.
And then you finish.
You go silent.
There's hope for us.
When all of a sudden.
The earbuds go in.
And the singing begins.
In tune, then out.
(Insert meaningless rap dribble and delicious mcnuggets of profanity HERE)
I guess naked mutes like karaoke.
The train arrives.
We all depart.
There is a G-d.
(5/6/14)
We used to Communicate, Brainstorm, Debate
but I find you've been quiet and distant, of late.
Just what aren't you Saying? What is the good Word?
To find out, I eavesdropped and here's all that I heard:
You Cheered from the couch for your favorite team,
then Boo-ed twice as loud when they ran out of steam.
You Uttered a curse word with nary a thought,
then you Muttered "I'm sorry" to those in earshot.
You Ordered a drink and took more than a sip,
then Explained to the waiter why there'd be no tip.
You Growled at the dog thinking he'd comprehend,
then you Howled when he bit you, cuz it was pretend.
You Broke the news gently when grandmother died
and Offered condolence when some of us cried.
You Whispered a prayer right before the big game,
then Ranted when they won, cuz they did the same.
You Offered to take the kids out for the day
then Recanted when you found out you'd have to pay.
You Requested a raise and when Boss Man said no,
you Suggested that hell was a place he could go.
You Gossiped about the new guy at the gym,
but Denied it when you were confronted by him.
You have Uttered and Muttered and Whispered and Lied.
You've Lamented, Suggested, Proclaimed and Denied.
You'll talk anyone's ear off with babbling glee,
so I ask - is there something you want to Tell ME?
================
Current Contest: Screwed V
Original Contest: Is There Something You Want to Tell Me
07/05/2015
here comes the night,
a deep pitch black,
what's sharper than a ravens call?
I know not,
ruffled and bothered,
who hears the raven?
it's the witch who hears him,
when he squawks,
her actions are wicked,
as she cackles and cooks,
black ravens fly,
as she stirs the pot,
her fingers are knobby,
and disfigured,
in all of their joints,
but you needn't fraught,
it's the raven's claw,
she's seeking,
for her spell,
to call out black rot,
as bad as she,
the fungus will grow,
rotting the forest,
wherever she doth trot,
the ravens aware,
that she,
needs his claw,
he'll not be caught,
he hides among the trees,
the branches all twisted,
and disfigured like she,
her cackles within earshot,
the wise old raven,
positions himself,
directly above,
the boiling cauldron pot,
the witch blows in,
pointing her finger at him,
I've got you now!
she thought,
the raven squawked,
"look below old witch,
notice anything new?
I've moved your pot,"
with that he flew,
knocking the witch,
into her own brew,
where she boils and rots,
so listen without fear,
when the raven squawks,
he saved his forest,
and whatnot.
She had nothing to gain
This is my only shot
Dance through the pain
It wasn’t my fault she didn’t have a main
Role. She wanted to see me distraught
She had nothing to gain
I can see her trying to feign
Support by smiling and whatnot
Dance through the pain
She waited to complain
Until I was in earshot
She had nothing to gain
The tears began to flow down my face like rain
Her words intruding my every thought
Dance through the pain
She’s jealous, get it out of your brain
They told me, but I cannot
She had nothing to gain
Dance through the pain
An extra shot of whiskey,
To keep my hands steady,
A potent dosage of psycho,
To kill everyone in this fermented grotto,
A torrent of tears,
To drown my homicidal regrets and masochistic fears.
Sadistically driven by revenge claimed so long ago,
Sewing makeshift stitches over my gaping emotional wounds,
Accumulated from years of abuse that created our antihero,
Performing nightly spectacles of barbarity to receive my dues,
I am a woman consumed by vendettas yet hollow to the core,
Trapped within empty bottles and dirty syringes,
Desperately searching for any hope to restore,
A fragmented psyche from becoming completely unhinged.
Another round of glaring lights,
To soothe the intoxicated patrons demanding a fight,
Another bottle downed,
To loosen the limbs and lose track of the ground,
Another match between the violently stupid and the hopelessly depraved,
To find out which ones which after I've vehemently raved,
At my booze for not buzzing,
At my chems for not lifting,
At myself for not quitting,
At my life for not ending.
How many more nights can I take of this,
One more shot and I'm bound to burst,
One more chem and I taste death's kiss,
Since leaving the womb my life's been cursed,
I should end it all with one good shot,
Scream a final "screw you" to the world through my double-barrel microphone,
Not like anyone's gonna listen whether they be across the Commonwealth or within earshot,
So it's either throw the match and die with the last laugh,
Or crawl into a corner and let my splattered brain write my final epitaph.
A sudden muzzle flash,
With the sound of cracking whips and roaring thunder,
The fragrant aroma entices my nostrils with the perfume of rabid gunpowder and easy cash,
A fight to the death interrupted by a hail of gunfire? Yea, sounds like my usual drunken stupor,
Maybe it's my guardian angel coming to save me,
Well she's got red hair and a nice ass so call me a believer,
Looks like you won't be taking me out tonight Reaper you old thief,
I've got a prior engagement with my shotgun,
And a date with destiny.
Sitting on this bench For an entire season Committed no errors No strikeouts No sure what`s the reason Made love to the manager`s daughter In the dugout Before the game Maybe this is the answer Where I should be putting the blame Thought I hit a home run When I heard her scream Always knew You were the best on the team Seems the old man Was in earshot of this Told me Your benched For going beyond the first kiss Well I guess There is always next year No more homeruns in the dugout When the old man is near
More Potential Limericks
Effective, live, give
Related, created, dated
Contemplated, illustrated, annotated
Realize, chastise, surmise
Talented, Sainted, painted, fainted
Proportion, distortion, contortion
Humongous, among us, fungus
Incantation, contemplation, situation
Intend, extend, suspend, upend
Support, escort, retort
Harmonic, Teutonic, tonic, bubonic
Criticize, realize, surprise
Limerick, pick, edict
Tutor, suitor, refute her, recruiter
Traitor, educator, date her
Weigh a ton, around had spun, start to shun, she's the one
Order was out, without a doubt, starting to shout
Debilitated, rehabilitated, rotated, rated
A mattering, started scattering, broke and shattering
Choke, broke, spoke, yoke
Table, enable, fable
Hostile for a while, quite a gal, would beguile, could compile
Seduce, reduce, produce
Abuse, excuse, obtuse, what's the use
Wangle, angle, dangle, wrangle
Worrisome thought, Lincoln was shot, outside is hot
In between was caught, hit the spot, ended with dot, within earshot
Now go for it. Jim Horn
A creature awakens
intangible in the haze;
a fleeting idea by faint, phantomlike, light.
Silver bars on charcoal clay
scarce, and inadequate
haunting, but in a soothing way.
Rustling bones chatter
a murmured chant just within earshot
lullabies for dream weavers
hushed and eerie.
Goose-pimpled skin bites back at the breeze
effortlessly gliding through
catching faint glimpses
which slip away just before taking form.
Somewhere a lantern burns
a glass walled prison.
Inmates dressed in dancing orange jumpsuits
convicted killers of predawn blues.
Light for light.
Gold for silver.
A creature retreats
intangible still
on the edge of a dream
to be forgotten by day.
With two left feet, no sense of rhythm,
Murmur of voices, giggles and gasps
Comes within earshot when I dance.
Oh, but in my head I dance seductively,
Grinding hips and dippin' with Patrick Swayze.
That 'climatic lift' in Dirty Dancing, no problo,
I fly in the air with grace and flair.
Repeated cheers and bravos I do hear,
For I now dance within my head.