Best Gnaw At Poems
LIFE'S UNDISCOVERED PASSION
I reached up far to touch a star.
It only took a second.
I thought I heard a salient call
alas it did not beckon.
While looking for an artful craft
and finding none; the time blew past
I looked toward the heaven's stars
for talents that could break these bars
Like thickened paint on canvass fashion
Mixed with rich excitant passion
From Starry Night to sheer delight
but never wrong and never right.
Should I envy those with deep affection
with skills that move in-synced direction
for passions born into their soul
to define their purpose-- take control.
Athletic prowess, artistic flavor,
a builders trade, a science major,
musicians joy and mountaineer
for all of those we stop and cheer
and think if we could only be
but they are they and we are we.
Somewhere, somewhere deep inside
are struggles there we cannot hide
doubts and fears that suck the joy
from life's sweet gifts; a noxious ploy
of destiny failing in an attempt
to re-discover a lost lament.
CAK 12-2-2012
SYNOPSIS
Sometimes, I find myself lamenting
that I do not possess an
exceptional skill or talent. It seems
many people find great joy from theirs.
It seems to gnaw at my being and
I grow sorrowful that somehow
I am missing something.
Monsters may not want blood,
and they may not have claws,
nor the mandible, drooping—
the smiling jaws;
without scales or hair,
even growling, I dare
say that monsters may lurk
deep inside you.
Still, without teeth
they may gnaw at your soul;
without mouths, they may take you
and swallow you whole,
or leave you in tact
save a broadening hole
that pulls you inside
and reminds you.
Slow or fast
we think behind a slip stream,
a contrail of the gone;
of what went by a momentary window
long ago.
Asleep under a blacktop,
street-cars roll over my me-mind,
the crunch of old bones
crackles like thin ice.
I am recalling a time
now set in resin.
Desiccated bugs bite through,
gnaw at half-painted pictures.
Lost paths
for the somnambulant dead.
Elephants gather to revisit graveyards.
Alive in a memory,
but let’s not call this 'living,'
double, treble dipping
into the time-worn.
Such old imagining's will eventually
kill every analog clock
with their own internal hammers.
What am I writing now?
Yesterday and tomorrow sway
like old measuring scales.
Should I think like a Greek,
or a Jew,
arise and dance
shaking my head back and forth
as if awakening
to every fleeting pause?
This is what I am writing
upon the underside
of a road...
an odyssey of sorts
one taken by a horde of lemmings.
A talking point
indicating how I got here
recalling this and that,
but then again
nothing is now real forever.
Dear Mother,
I didn’t understand before,
As much as I understand now.
No matter how cruel a mother you may be,
You are still my mother.
You wore me down to my brittle bones,
And continued to gnaw at the little marrow that was left.
Go on, finish me off, and eat the rest.
Birth me again, and maybe this time it will be different.
Remember when I was a little girl, and I would catch
You critiquing your reflection in the mirror?
You told me you hated how you looked. Did you know
That people tell me I look so much like you?
You didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault.
It wasn’t your fault you were born screaming,
In perfect unison with your mother,
And that you never learned to stop,
Not until I was born, screaming just the same. I forget
You were a girl once, too. Also
Making lemonade for quarters,
Splitting clementines with your friends,
And begging for your mother’s attention.
We were so angry
At each other. I was afraid
Of becoming you, and you were
Afraid of me becoming better.
I didn’t understand before,
As much as I understand now
That I want so desperately
To crawl into your lap and never leave again.
I’ll rot there and be silent,
If it means that you will smile down at me,
The same way you did the day I was born. With
Your eyes wild and full of compassion, unknown of who
I’d become, if not a mirror of yourself,
Holding the same knife of rage you held at me.
Rock me, Mama,
I promise I understand now.
Nowhere for you to sleep, but on the street.
Go old man, go sleep on that cold steel grate.
Beware! Beware! rats may gnaw at your feet.
Don't give up the fight, don't die in defeat,
don't let your soul be consumed by your hate.
Nowhere for you to sleep, but on the street.
Sleep lightly old veteran of the street.
The vermin of the night could seal your fate.
Beware! Beware! rats may gnaw at your feet
Fight back, the street is no place for the meek.
Regain your pride and your place in the state.
Nowhere for you to sleep, but on the street.
Don't walk in circles with sores on your feet.
Go back through life's gate before it's too late.
Beware! Beware! rats may gnaw at your feet.
This abyss will leave you hollow and beat.
You must abdicate your place by the grate.
Nowhere for you to sleep, but on the street.
Beware! Beware! rats may gnaw at your feet.
Tomorrow is coming, it always does,
yesterdays gone left in the dust.
A hungry child dies everyday,
someones mother has cried today.
Children growing up in poverty,
the tears have washed away his dreams.
Her belly hurts the food is gone,
Its been many days since she had some.
The rats they gnaw at her mother's pain,
they've eaten up every grain.
Food is the sustenance of life,
his hunger cuts the bread like a knife.
Vickie Hurtt-Thayer
We're furry and coloured grey, brown, or black
Be-whiskered and sleek and reeking of fat
We'll squeeze through a hole, a gap, or a crack
For rotting flesh or dry bones to gnaw at
Four-legged dealers of lingering death
Malodorous creatures crawling with fleas
Exhaling our pungent foul-smelling breath
Urine and droppings on foodstuffs we squeeze
Our bellies swollen feasting in famine
Scrape on the ground as we scurry in swarms
Our carte du jour is often Scotch salmon
But our tastes transcend conventional norms
Some hang up meat to improve the flavour
We like ours scabrous and oozing with pus
Seasoned with still soft faeces to savour
But with or without we don't make a fuss
Our long yellow teeth are honed to the point
Where nothing's too hard for us to devour
Bone marrow, muscle, fat, gristle, or joint
We’ll crunch them with relish in half an hour
You clearly love us – we’re treated like kings
The streets are knee-deep in tit-bits half-chewed
Hot dogs, hamburgers and delicious things
Like deep fried chicken or vomit you've spewed
We're stealthy and brave there’s naught we don’t dare
To avoid rat-catchers putting us down
But once in Hamelin pipes played a strange air
That drew us deep in the river to drown
Next time you hear a scuffle or squeaking
In a cavity wall or from the floor
It might be us foraging and seeking
To build a little nest and breed some more…
“You walked many miles,
Climbed this mountain
To confront me,
A dragon with the reputation
Of being fierce!
All to possess a so called
Chalice of Courge.
By doing all that you have done
You proved that you already possess
The courage you seek.”
The dragon smiled once more
As he saw understanding
Washed over Leonid’s face,
But soon followed sadness
And disappointment.
“Do not ever regret this journey.
This journey was not to acquire a chalice,
This journey was to unblock
The spring of courage
That resides in you,”
Said the dragon.
“This spring will never grow dry
Unlike this chalice.
This spring is natural
And there will never be any side effects,
And one day, this spring
Will become a strong river.”
These words made Leonid stand a bit taller.
As it had turned dark,
The dragon allowed Leonid
To stay the night
As the journey down
Would be dangerous in the dark.
The dragon and the young man
Talked most of the night
And it was quite late
When they both fell asleep.
The next day,
After they said their good byes,
And as Leonid was about to leave the cave,
He turned back to the dragon.
“Dragon, even though
I could not drink from the chalice,
May I, at least, see in it?”
Asked Leonid, timidly.
Understanding how curiosity
Can gnaw at a person’s soul,
The dragon tipped the chalice
Low enough for Leonid to see in it.
The Chalice of Courage
Was empty.
“Sometimes, we need something
To aim for,
For us to take the journey
We need to take,
Even if that something
Is nothing at all,”
The dragon said.
Leonid nodded and left the cave.
He made his way down
The mountain safely
And when asked,
He said he had drunk
From the Chalice of Courage.
Leonid had gone on
To becoming a great warrior,
And only to those closest to him,
He would tell the true story
Of The Chalice of Courage.
Form:
the good
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
happy memories and joyous events,
the loves, and lifelong friendships
A cul-de-sac, though a dead end,
has a circular finish, a merry-go-round
that accumulates happiness as it spins
into a cloud of beauty and nature,
compassion, gods, and faith.
The breathless moments in life,
birth, newness, novelty, exuberance
in being, living, experiencing
laughter, butterflies, and springtime
within my soul, my gratitude.
the bad
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the pocks of the years that came
to leave their soured, sadistic truths.
So, like a cul-de-sac you may enter
but the exit is the same as you came.
A Ferris wheel, past the highs and lows
of lost hopes, of murky dreams that end
with more questions than I will answer…
A dead end with death as the prize
for endless dreary days and noxious nights
of sorrow, sadness, misery, and grief
with no hope, no desire, no ambition
faith gone and forgone, abortive.
the ugly
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the sear of anger and revenge
spiraling apocalyptically.
The cul-de-sac where giant wind turbines
turn and churn and gnaw at my insides
generating incompressible turbulence
that amasses until it ruptures, spewing
rage and outrage that I will honor…
In and out, inescapable, dead
like my heart, my soul black as coal,
seeking retribution for perceived
wrongs against me, ill-timed and
sanguinary persecution.
BOTTLE DANCE
Across my land, abysses gnaw at automobiles,
From the foot of the mountain,
To the shores of the oil fountain.
Certificated youths drinking piss to mellow their brains,
Clutching at wheels, dodging bumps into fog lights.
“Stupid, ing dog” curse survivors of amputation “you bastard”
“Who cares, you swine” retorts I the offender
just before crashing into the next one.
In my shack, counting my yields and sighing,
evading the burning eyes of hungry breeds.
How did I ever get here?
In the ring stood I, surrounded by Foncha, Endeley, Jua and Ntumazah
Um Nyobe sang the UPC song and they danced.
They danced the bottle dance.
Sandwiching in the center, on the slaughter slab, my motherland.
Nigeria to the left, La Republique to the right,
Trampling upon outright independence.
Foncha danced and Endeley danced and Nyobe sang and Britain watched.
The tune was clear, the rhythm was jazzed but the lyrics were blur;
Whence had a nation’s independence,
Been conditioned upon attachment to already independent states?
So how did we ever get here?
A loaf of bread baked in the flames of WWI
And served into the plates of Imperial barons of foreign insanity
Too blind to the tongues of oneness.
Drawing a line far far away in the halls of mirror
That tore grandmother’s breasts apart.
The story of the Ewes of Togoland
Was being whispered in her land while she slept.
A line dragged across the highlands of the Adamawa and drained into the Atlantic,
Sullied the virginity and orthography of kamerun.
Grooming a set of dysfunctional twins through years of alien doctrines,
Only to be reunited in an unholy matrimony called Cameroon or Cameroun.
Testaments of tongues foreign like those on a devil’s Pentecost,
That sowed seeds of immortal division.
So this is how really I got here!
A son deprived of the warmth of a Mother
Drained of her milk,
Tapped and shipped offshore.
Scorned and oppressed by a brother,
His name slowing fading away from the sands of time.
And now, the land of bottle dancers clamour for a new dance:
For I know how we got here and I too want to dance;
Federation to the left, secession to the right,
Trampling upon the pseudo 1972 re-unification.
The blood of the brave pipe the tunes
And rhythms of gunshots meet hallelujah,
Sang in a coffin.
drowning...
Screaming silently for that one breath
of life...
that whirling maelstrom of beaten-down loss upon wrap-around defeat
of life...
that mercilessly shovels heaps of leaden rubble as you try to get back on your feet
drowning...
mute and dumbly flailing in the raging torrent
of being...
but a mere speck of dirt on the tapestry of a world, that at times, is quite abhorrent
drowning...
quietly wishing to surrender to the nothingness that seductively beckons, as you gasp
while...
hoping against all hope that a lifeline would appear suddenly within your grasp
drowning...
yet caught in the ghastly waters of unchartered isolation
feeling...
a trickle of hope amidst the gushing liquid of sheer desolation
drowning...
whilst holding on to slivers of sanity when blistering madness calls out to you
as...
faltering weaknesses snap and gnaw at your state of being, out of the pristine clear blue
drowning...
i have felt the pull of life's devious current as it has stripped me of my self and left me naked and bare
and still...
i fight with every suffocating breath left within
to surface and to cling onto
another gulp of life's coarse and putrid air...
Form:
You are always on my mind
Like a virus eating away my soul
The more I try to get you
Out and be free the more
You gnaw at my resistance
Tormenting me day and night
I try gently to ease you out
I try violently to oust you
From my veins
But every effort bounces back
Why are you so cruel to me?
You swore you love me no more
You claim we had nothing going on
Please free me and let me go
Refrain from killing me slowly
This may be the last you all will hear from me.
I have my own real life stuff to deal with and
thats my priority, and my duty before God. I
wont get into online squabbles that should not
be happening to begin with . Yes we all have
hearts and feelings that get stomped on from
time to time, but you have to be the bigger
person in these situations and make peace
asap. A life without peace will root you in
bitterness and will gnaw at you like cancer.
When i was new here you all treated me with
kindness and respect, i loved you all for it and
anyone who knows me knows i have never
once made any negative or derogatory
comment and if i ever offended someone i
made peace in an instant. Examine your own
hearts, be true to yourselves and God above,
he truly blesses those who forgive. To those
who have showed me love and kindness , i
thank you, to those i havent had the pleasure
to meet yet, please read my words and put
them into practice here and you will be fine. I
have prayed about my decision. I mean no
one any disrespect. Love Carl.
Suffering can end or come to a new beginning
Unheeded wishes can gnaw at me
Ignored to a painful point
Creating space between those around me and myself
Isolation becomes comforting and frightening in the same moments
Dreams are always nightmares where I am to blame
And I deserve none of this, but must take full responsibility
Losing all hope for happiness in the future
I am a cute little pussy cat
I love to lie on my mama’s cot
I always chase the ugly rat
That comes to gnaw at my master’s hat
I wear a striped coat of fur
When I relax, my tail I stir
You know it is milk, I prefer
You can hear me sing a refrain- ‘purr’?
On my face I have pointed whiskers
But nothing as those of the tuskers
Sharp are my ears, that I catch all whispers
I have claws as piercing as pincers
Everywhere I freely wander
When I am at rest I always ponder
When pulled down from the border
I land on my legs, a real wonder
By nature I am very cool
But don’t take me to be a fool
Some see me as a ball of wool
Fish often makes my mouth drool
I am everybody’s darling pet
Those who see me give a gentle pat
None can hate me, I shall bet
At night I wander like a bat
I have a pair of gleaming eyes
They are of the shade of blue skies
When I meow, each rat in terror flies
Among cats and mice, there’s no compromise
June.4. 2022
~Placed Second~
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