Best Gouge Poems
i’m vinyl baby,
easy to scratch,
easy to gouge,
prone to warping.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
dot dot dot
from the seventies!
you know there’s
my black side,
my dark side.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
you,
you’re my diamond needle.
i'm your music,
you know me,
you play me.
you,
you’re my diamond needle.
gets under my skin
rides my
grooves
you.
still,
even pass these years,
still,
when my time comes,
pack me in my jacket
bury me in your closet.
you know i’m still
your song,
your tune,
dot dot dot
you make my life neat.
spin
like a circle
i’m the black vinyl
on the roundabout
you,
your still
the only
turntable
for me.
you.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
play me!
14~12~2015
Maurice Yvonne
Darling—
You strung together useless trinkets of imagination,
And pinned me up inside your head.
With dreams that stalked me across the night,
But were too big to drag out of bed.
You clung to the savior you rashly mistook in me,
Like a lover clings to her dead.
When I never meant a single word,
Of whatever I might have said.
Verily, I wasn’t rummaging for anything at all;
I certainly wouldn’t have begun in you.
The god you saw, I have seen, as well,
But only in the self I pursue.
And so I rose from shards of the mirror,
And snatched away from your fussy little hand.
For as I slept beside you, I slept nonetheless alone,
In a dream you could never understand.
I never used you because you were useless,
Never belonged to you because I don’t belong.
Couldn’t fulfill my emptiness with your own,
And could only pretend for so long.
But now I can’t gouge you out from within me,
From a place that never was there.
From a bottomless, unquenched solitude,
In which you simply could not fare.
What you wanted to see wasn’t in me;
I can’t give you what you think you need.
We’re ever alone, yet we try to outnumber our loneliness,
When in turning inward, we are freed.
Look into these eyes, these eyes show no mercy
Like flesh ripping off my skin, I scream
I shout the names of those I do not know
Like darkness I shall spread through your dreams
For they will become nightmares
Of which there is no return…
How you will cry, but no tears will fall
For you have sinned, and shall be burnt
Like a thousand suns you shall feel my wrath
Blood dripping from your eyes, ears and nose
The wall thickens with every breath you take
The truth I now expose
You have smiled at death… looked into its eyes
Seen the fury within the depths of his soul!
To bring you pain and much suffering
Is his aim, his only goal!
The fear from which he feeds
Is buried deep inside your mind
Laying dormant, hidden from plain sight
But eventually it will find you!
Haunt you, and bury you alive
Rip the jaws apart, gouge your eyes
Peel your skin off, until you’ve bled plenty
Only leading to your demise
For the pain doesn’t end there
It’s only about to start….
The executioner waits down below…
Ready to tear you apart
When you scream, the angels will but only laugh
For you did not listen well
You mocked them, ignored them
Now in hell’s kitchen you dwell
Into a pit of which there is no return
No escape only much suffering to come
This world varies in torture
Of which none can be ran from!
You will bleed endlessly…
Suffer like never before….
Praying to God to take you out
But he listens no more!
The path you chose has lead you to fall
And now your consequences you must face
Now endless misery and regret
For denying God’s wondrous Grace!!!
Eliel202
Belize (Country)
I'm glad to be a tree, but never a maple would I be
for in the months of Fall, my russet leaves would plea
for help when northerly winds blow them all away
I couldn't save them as they sway, clinging to me
I am tall but not as sturdy or majesctic as an oak
Providing shade is fine, but not for those who smoke
I'd be at the mercy of lovers, carving deep in my trunk
No, I'd not be an oak that people gouge, cut and poke
I would consider being a loblolly pine; an evergreen
where birds can nest and perch to groom and preen
Needles never shedding; my branches never laid bare
Blanketed with snow, in a setting tranquil and serene
Maybe I would be happy as a magnolia near a fence
Uprooted as a sapling, once living in a forest, dense
where my sweet blossoms attracted many honey bees
before becoming pods, red with seeds that I dispense
I like my life here beside a stream, content to be a willow
with lush green grass beneath me, used as a soft pillow
my leaves rain like tears, but new ones return in Spring
In sadness I will dwell until then. I am a weeping willow
January 28, 2021
If I Were A ? Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose ~ If I were a tree...
Let me take you on an adventure,
Through insanities doors, to the land of dementia.
I guarantee you will be spellbound,
While holding on for dear life, riding hell’s bloodhound.
To seek the excruciating pleasures of pain
Where your piercing screams will be my gain
Let me take you through the narrow passage ways,
With the wall embedded razor blades
If you must know, there is only one way in
If you try to go back the blades will rip you skin
And as the passage narrows, believe me the pain will be a real scream.
Why not try the bondage section
This I consider my favourite selection
Watch them sloooooooowly slice chunks from your flesh
And eat them while they are pulsating and fresh.
And when you cry out expressing your pleasure in pain
They’ll gouge your eyes out and eat them, the crunchy sound is appealingly insane.
So if you are interested just sign your name on this scroll
The price is not much just the price of your soul
There's a viscerally vial creature loosed,
Which is heinously hideous and vicious.
This barbarian monstrosity destroys people's vitality and flesh,
By raping and pillaging their lives,
Killing and ravaging entire families and villages,
Forever cursing all those it consumes.
I've taken up armament against this enemy,
Vowing an oath to eradicate this foe.
I wage continued war on this unholy vile behemoth,
Thrusting my dagger through its abdomen,
Ripping and slashing its bowels,
But it shrugs off the assault undeterred.
I shoot arrows through its heart,
Only to realize tis useless as no heart exists.
I take my sword and behead the beast,
But like Hydra, it restores its venomous crown.
I hack off its limbs chopping flesh and bone,
But it slithers demonically onward.
I gouge out its eyes blinding it from finding victims,
But it smells weakness, fear, and depression,
And tracks its quarry like a bloodhound.
I smash out its treacherous bloodthirsty teeth,
But it mauls its prey bludgeoning it mercilessly,
Slowly but surely till it's powerless.
I wrestle it and break it's back so it's paralyzed,
But its grotesque distorted mangled body trudges forward unhindered.
Nothing I do stops this devastating onslaught,
And I relinquish my battle and succumb unwillingly to this curse.
Destined to be enslaved to this ruthless foe forever.
Left helpless to struggle until I die,
Fighting with my own sins.
What is woman to you?
A womb with legs to bare your children?
Perhaps, a second mother to nurture you?
Sick, vile man.
You have corrupted me so much.
I wish to be free of anything womanly to you.
I shall remove the breasts which tender to child
And remove the greatest sin to exist: my womanhood.
I shall tear from me, my womb which makes me mother.
For I have no intent on giving myself to you.
I shall burn my face with acid and gouge out the eyes you call pretty.
What else remains, but the deformed remains of woman?
What else must I remove to stop being woman?
These smooth locks of hair, sit too idly on my head,
Perhaps removing them will make me un-woman.
Ill remove all curves and bumps known to make me female.
For I don’t wish to be touched by you.
I don’t wish to be complimented under the pretense of lust.
I would rather burn in the pits of hell, for you disgust me more.
Even Satan’s vile tongue seems sweeter,
And god’s love seems gone.
Dear younger me,
There are some things that I would say
to help you out along the way:
mistakes I’ve made and deep regrets,
things I would change you’ve not seen yet.
Dear older me,
All that seems nice,
but let’s hold back on that advice.
It may be true,
but I’m not sure you’ve thought this through.
Dear younger me,
Are you for real? Surely you jest!
I’ve had more time, and I know best.
The cost was dear: real sweat and blood.
Why would you choose to traipse the mud?
Dear older me,
Wake up somehow!
I’m worried ‘bout my future now.
I’ve played this game to some degree;
did not see you in future me.
Dear younger me,
But I could share: go buy this stock,
lay off the booze, don’t go in hock.
Just stop and think of where you’d be;
The best part is, the lesson’s free.
Dear older me,
Great multiverse!
The situation’s getting worse!
Just hold your tongue and say no more
or I am headed out the door.
My future is not yours to share;
the way is fraught with danger there.
Dear younger me,
Now I’m confused; help an old man.
Explain this out; that’s if you can.
Dear older me,
I’ll do my best, but just so far,
for I’ll not go past where you are,
for much of what I know as true
might change if I change future you.
You hope to spare my heart the ache
and help me choose the path to take.
The problem is, when I arrive,
what you call you won’t be alive.
Decisions made all shape and mold
the man we are when we grow old.
Just think, if we had stayed in school
and not become a drunken fool,
would we have ever reached wit’s end
and learned the broken also mend?
Would we have met our lovely wife,
and settled in your present life?
Dear younger me,
Gouge out my eyes!
I’m blind and dumb and you are wise.
I had my doubt, but I can say
Let go, let God, we’ll be okay.
The monsoonal matriarch cradles her pregnant belly
Delirious with life giving blood from the womb of all nature’s gifts
As she lays distended, expectant and grey
Upon the craggy summits
Her breath billows above the bloated forests
Nurturing ominous notes as she sweeps through the trees
Like the phantom of the opera
Tuning her timbre, yet masking her desire
And now
Her contralto; it begins…
Her song breathes across the valley in rhythmical sheets
A symphonic auditorium of liquid splendour
Inciting a libretto of Lyre birds to concert in the mist
A monsoonal medley
Enticing insects to assemble in an ensemble
Their raucous chorus imploring the humid madness
Through a cacophonous chorale
Teasing the tempo from the maestro
As the crescendo climaxes to thunderous applause
Her encore; a sweeping army of waterfalls
Advance upon the sodden valley
Roaring to deafness over
Exploding banks and streams that gouge and tear
And then
It all stops
To a breath of drops…
Leonora Galinta’s contest: Rainy Days
12 September 2014
From fathoms deepest keep, where man,
Shall not dare go, a white toothy giant
Dwells, with hatred's malice, this is a living man
Eater, whom lies at the bottom of the ocean.
In this striking zone, of deadly encounters,
Here where dead men tell no tails, crimson
Currents of the lifeless, float to the top of the food
Chain, and their last breaths of air explode, as
Bubbles above at the surface,
Leaving nothing behind but a bloody residue,
And the wreckage mangled life raft, and one word
Still lingers on the foreboding breeze, as a screams
Echoing drowns into whispers in silences last refrain,
SHARK!
Nay this aquatic Phantom, called Submarine,
Is the gray ghost that stalks within every human
Beings nightmares, just below the waves of our
Subconscious fears, a demon lurks in the darkness,
Of the murky shallows, waiting to take a bite
Out of us.
A thirty-seven foot killing machine, with razor
Blades of jagged ivory's, moving at velocities mega
Speed, heading straight for humanity's beach,
His favorite hunting grounds.
A leviathan of a shark, highly intelligent,
Circling his preferred prey called man,
The hunter is ready to appease his
Insatiable appetite that is never satisfied,
In a carnivores blood bath of mayhem,
Just off shore of paradise.
In hell's kingdom many souls scream from
Below one word that echoes through the
Chum filled surf above, SHARK.
For these are the latest victims, of
The Submarines wrath, and now they do
So warn the living, beware of this sharp
Toothed Giant!
Look into the black eyes of death, take
Notice if he bares the scare of men,
And notches gouge mark on his dorsal fin,
For than thee shall know for sure, if
It is truly the gray ghost,
Known as Submarine.
If thou’ art sure, than say your final prayers unto God,
And inhale one last deep breath of air,
Than swim away, as fast as you can,
For humanity is now on the menu!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The monsoonal matriarch cradles her pregnant belly
Delirious with life giving blood from the womb of all nature’s gifts
As she lays distended, expectant and grey
Upon the craggy summits
Her breath billows above the bloated forests
Nurturing ominous notes as she sweeps through the trees
Like the phantom of the opera
Tuning her timbre, yet masking her desire
And now
Her contralto; it begins…
Her song breathes across the valley in rhythmical sheets
A symphonic auditorium of liquid splendour
Inciting a libretto of Lyre birds to concert in the mist
A monsoonal medley
Enticing insects to assemble in an ensemble
Their raucous chorus imploring the humid madness
Through a cacophonous chorale
Teasing the tempo from the maestro
As the crescendo climaxes to thunderous applause
Her encore; a sweeping army of waterfalls
Advance upon the sodden valley
Roaring to deafness over
Exploding banks and streams that gouge and tear
And then
It all stops
To a breath of drops…
Leonora Galinta’s contest: Rainy Days
12 September 2014
ALMOST AN APOLOGY
Sometimes he enchants me with his word
The sea of phrases laps around my feet
His vision hones on truth just as a bird
Seeks its mate to fit a fancy, greet
With the sun each rising lovely day
Preens his feathers shining in the wood
As a flowered clearing on the first of May
Seeks redemption for all Adam’s brood -
The twain, the pair, the loser man with Eve
Stumbling on knowledge – a foxglove’s draught
A sweet sip to stage a sin, as if to grieve
Hard labour, the smithy’s spear and shaft
To gauge surrender, ‘twixt good and evil torn -
To gouge the heart, this child of woman born
by Rosemarie Rowley
from IN MEMORY OF HER 2008
Smoking is banned in public places
God designed us to breathe fresh air
Evolution says the strongest will win
The circle of life with forests, we share.
But we know better than omnipresent design
We can tax all those stepping out of line
The tax will put right all that is bad
And make governments rich, but not care, it is sad.
Man cannot live without the fresh air
The planet will die without some real care
We rape and we gouge the rainforest for gain
The lungs of the world, the forests in rain
Each hectare gone, a species extinct
The rich will get richer our fresh air can stink
Man cannot live without the fresh air
The planet and we will die without care.
The forests breathe in our carbon dioxide
A waste product from breathing from life the world wide
Our forests through photosynthesis
Convert it to oxygen, so we can live.
A child born in a world without any air
Will die straight away, there’s no one to care.
Stop the rape and the pillage of a the world we once knew
Let the climate re-grow itself can renew
Not taxes for man to make governments rich
Put back the forest our climate enrich.
There is no birth, no death, no rich, and no poor
As the lungs of our world die, we are no more.
© Mandy Tams 23/11/2014
I have developed a temporary dislike of the things that I’ve convinced myself have been keeping you away from me. Mere substitutes that admitted to the murder of your mind.
This phone, and this 11 o’clock moon have slayed my reason’s for not just blaming your wandering eye.
Most of these nights I’ve tried Ctrl.Alt.Del.(ing) any ridiculous thoughts, by selecting all of the frequently frustrating things that know just how to push my buttons. I don’t know why I’m speaking in computer terms, but lately I haven’t been able to function quite right unless I’m near one. It’s the only way to get near you.
Most of these nights, this phone has been the entire left side of my brain, but now my mattress has memorized the rhythm to a ringtone it should’ve never been introduced to, and now the stupid cushion keeps me awake until it has made sure that I’ve felt it vibrating up my spine. My intuitive, creative right brain seems to remember being together with it’s brother each and every time I remember laying together beside you.
I wait for a wanting of your wanting. Muscle memories of warm bodies wrapped up in positions that make your mind say ‘what the ****?’ I am missing you. The you who remembers that the other members of her body are always here to help; no need to amputate a listening ear, or an gouge out an attentive eye. I still see you.
Sometimes, I forget that the phone’s main function is to send a signal of information to someone you can’t see. Whether it be via text, twitter app or vocally, you want to reach someone you can’t see. I still see you.
Sometimes, I swear I can see each of the moon’s phases during the day; completely filled with life during the time when it’s nearly invisible. It’s sad though, because New Moon, you show yourself to everyone else except me on the nights I always expect to see your face. Is this a trick man? or have my eyes been gouged out already, and I simply missed the painful message via text, twitter app or vocally? But still, whether with two eyes, four eyes or no eyes, I still see you.
You must take a fat dead man’s corpse
Ideally smooth skin on the back,
Not too rotten, hopefully white,
Then you must take a small device,
Like a small metal ice cream scoop,
The edges must be razor sharp,
Then begin to scoop perfect holes,
Out of the pale, cold, soft back flesh,
There will be a small sucking noise,
As you turn the spoon and gouge,
Make perfect hollowed, concave, bowl
Holes, uniform across the back,
many clusters of deep depressions,
When the back is full of punctures,
Take ripe spider eggs and place them
Inside the holes ready to hatch,
Next take a decapitated,
fresh, three year old infants head,
Behind the cheeks of a child’s face,
There are cavity like chambers
In the soft bone, that house teeth,
Waiting in these bony hollows
Ready to replace baby teeth,
So you must remove the cheek flesh,
And reveal these horrific pits,
Take out the teeth from the sockets,
This makes a series of smooth holes,
You must procure botfly maggots,
Ordinary maggots won’t do.
Carefully insert the maggots,
In the holes of the pitted skull.
Now run your hands along the back,
And your tongue across the skull bone,
As your tongue passes the hollows
A small vacuum will be created
And a suction noise will be heard,
The dry wriggling maggots will,
Gently and briefly touch your tongue.
As your hands cross over the back,
Passing over the spongy holes,
Your fingers will encounter the,
Small, soft, warm spider eggs inside.
As the skull and torso decay,
The whole scene will attack reason,
This hideous alarming sight,
The stench of decomposing flesh,
The sound of the hatching spiders
And newly formed swarming black flies,
Spilling out of their putrid holes,
Will stun your mind into a state,
Of confused and nauseous shock.