Best Grunting Poems
September meets with warm embrace,
quickening the harvest pace,
though looming autumn can't efface
what's left of summer's arid grace.
The linen hanging on the line
dances with the gust and shine,
while maypops heavy on the vine,
with honeysuckle, twist and twine.
The cool grass tickles naked feet
while weaned lambs in the distance bleat,
and find some shelter from the heat
'neath leafy canopy retreat.
The gentle wind so jaunt'ly plays
and tousles copper hair ablaze
like furious dancing autumn rays
from Mabon's fiery upraise.
Through rustling leaves the sunbeams glint,
I catch the balm of sage and mint,
and every herb and floral scent
blown to me by the wind's dissent.
Breathing deep olfactory prose
until the old red rooster crows
waking me from my repose
and from beneath the tree, I rose.
When as I rose, a red leaf fell,
wisping down its last farewell;
a changing season to foretell;
the coming bounty doth compel.
Cicadas loudly buzz along
and sing their end of summer song,
o'er by the thorny brambles throng;
unto the prairie they belong.
By and by, I turned my mind
back to the farm and daily grind,
collecting eggs where I can find;
inside the henhouse, else behind.
The hens put up a bitter fuss
with feathers flying from the truss,
so I let out an angry cuss.
Still, they obliged; allowed me thus.
Upon it all, I took my leave,
finished with my blast and thieve
much to the angry birds' aggrieve;
giving them a day's reprieve.
Outside the coop, behind the fence,
my greedy boar approached me whence,
grunting for his recompense,
and so two eggs I offered thence.
Then on, as careful as I might
into the farmhouse kitchen white,
delivered up the shelled delight
to feed the morrow's appetite.
Upon the ending of this chore,
I happened back outside once more,
to watch the day fade into lore,
and Luna make her grand encore.
-----------------------------------------------
Often I wonder, is it worth it
Opening my eyes to blurred red numbers each morning,
broken lines of early hour countings,
as gloomed darkness peers through streaked windows
and dusty mini blinds create silent wooden horizons
Groaning, upright now on the edge of the mattress…stretching,
rubbing my face to remove the remnants of last night,
shoving aside the warmth of my faded flannel blanket,
then finding a cold floor giggling at the touch of my naked feet
I recall the dream, my last moments of sleep…weird…real feeling
Aerosmith, a souvenir stand in Wildwood and an iPad
Sketchy but still there (and I wish I were too)
Don’t ask….
I can hear my dogs grunting at the foot of bed
(Probably chasing raccoons in their heads)
What a life, eating, sleeping, no need for love (in that sense),
just a nice pat on the head every once in a while satisfies
Sometimes I guess that is all it takes, all we can hope for…
Still sitting here, yawning…thinking…
Why do I do this each day, every day, the same routine,
the deepest rut, like tire tracks in fresh mud, straight, never ending…
Then, as the tiniest glint of sunlight sifts the tenebrous room
I think of you…my happiness, my everyday purpose and it all becomes clear
Smiling now, I stand and greet this brand new beautiful day…wide awake
Often I wonder, is it worth it...and then I wonder why I wonder
Good morning Soupers
Mastered Puppets
Of the voices thrown and never shown their cries travel well
A starving sewn with a bitter bone of their life a quiet quell
With larval lips that are losing grips where echoes only dwell
Their smile drips as they use their fingertips in a yielding yell
Left alone with a grunting groan their silence slaved to seal
Ruling the hunger zone a thirst on throne with a musty meal
Voices held captive and anguish adaptive with souls of steal
Their reality refractive with dreams inactive they still congeal
Mastered and strung with a tangled tongue they begin to pray
A heart hung and death unsung, wounded words they convey
With tears they wash as the sorrows squash their moral display
The sounds that swash in their postured posh soon fade away.
June.18.2018
Ventriloquist Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
(Innuendo -- Pigs)
All around are sticks and stone
Feel God's loving arms around you
-----At last, I am redeemed-----
A feast of my soul, you shall receive
A cake for dinner, I made out of stones
Ratchet pigs fill their dirty mouths,
Consuming my soul, sipping on champagne
At peace with myself, brushing off the walls
Nevertheless, tonight they speak in tongues
-I strain my ears to listen;
While pettitoes approach my page
I hear the squeals, I hear the chit chat
from he/she that wears no shame.
Am I she, the evil one?
The one you penned -
Under the influence of manipulation
Trying to stifle my voice of beauty
No matter, I am crazy, a dreamer
Never claim to be THE INNOCENT,
The Poet Destroyer!!!
I ignore the walls when they speak
Nevertheless, tonight they have eyes
They watch my every move
A trotters dance, of togetherness
Forgetting the reason we are here
I will win and conquer my privacy
You can't destroy what you can't see
I am the glory of my day
I am God's pet!!!
A Lamb, wearing white
To others a wolf in disguise
Spitting slithers, swear
I am the Devil's Advocate
I marvel how they snort at night
Today I will crash the sore whispering party
You! My friend, no longer exist
You are naught more than cobwebs
You will dream about me, write about me
I will give you ammo, then read it from you.
I will show you what a demon is!
Like the light and envy of every moon
I shall ask my reflection and remove
the residue from hogging lips.
I will watch you urbane the truth
The heat and lust I conquer from you
A font with no reflection, dating apples
Heading away from its own advice
A hard task from its quill, enjoying leftovers
Pinpointing fingers among shallow dreams
It's sickening to see pigs pat each others back
Feeding on my demonic words
Convoying innuendos in my bearing
Now it's my turn, to turn the roaster on
With no interest in removing muddy sheets
I shall smile and walk away
In - joy - my heart beats and smiles
Knowing, I made you look --- AGAIN!!!
By: PD
When he's chalking trouble deep,
He'll be talking in his sleep,
If you peep, then you will find
The fear that creeps in his mind;
Grunting and groaning in pain,
You'll hear him moaning again,
Those mutterings won't be clear,
His stutterings seem severe;
He pours out his dreadful dreams,
A sudden shout, as he screams,
That cry of shock wakes him up,
His sleepy talk shakes him up.
(7 syllables per line)
01/18/17
The simplicity of life
Transparent as black glass
Bordering my ever contemplating mind
And the annoyingly optimistic
High pitched
And easily recognizable
Music of the Beatles
Struggles to overcome
my black soul
And forces the image of Paul and John
As they point in my direction
And shout for all to hear
And all to know
That I'm the real nowhere man
Making all my nowhere plans
For nobody
Just me
Alone in this place
No signs
To tell me where i am
No direction
To show me where to go
All of the houses
Match
No cars
No people
Just a dog
Barking in the distance
constantly
Every second
Of every day
Every night
Of every year
And nothing I can do
To silence the painful
Racking
And never ending noise
As it slowly drives me
Out of my mind
Every second
Of every day
Every night
Of every year
No sleep exists
No thought is clear
And when the lights go out
The grunting starts
Coming from under the bridge
But when I go
To inspect
There's nobody there
Just the growling
Of a disgruntled homeless man
Who's house I picture
Is now floating down
This never ending river
Of noise
As the snoring
The water
And the barking
harmonize
To form an overwhelming lullaby
Dulling my mind
As it goes on
forever
Woof
Snore
Whoosh
Woof
Snore
Whoosh
Pounding my ears
Constantly
Every second
Of every day
Every night
Of every year
The Haunted House
Abandon all hope on haunted hill enter the house with a bitter chill
Walking bold with a thrashing thrill breaking through the rusted grille
The door slams shut as we look behind now facing fear and confined
We roam the bowels in darkness blind shaking silly to what we find
+
Spiders finish their webbing spin and entangle with our shrieking skin
The house grumbles a grunting grin so it may welcome its kindred kin
Spirits approach to dance and dine as we stand with a shrinking spine
The floor is set for a spooking shrine the broods macabre now entwine
+
Necromancer of the nefarious night waking the dead in a frantic freight
Evening emulous enchantress in flight descending from a haunting height
Caldrons cabalistically calm in their still before the fire breaks their will
The ravens caw a shivering shrill and the wolves salivate a bloody spill
+
Open caskets appear in a vaporous view attended by a skeleton crew
Witches walking with a shriveled skew as warlocks wine in their woo
Tombstones lift above the ground the dead arise to break the mound
Admits shattering screams that surround only wake the hilltop hound.
Aug.12.2018
The Haunted House (Scare Me or Make Me Laugh)
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Placed 4'th
The Queen of Poop
Some call her the Queen of Poop
but this I can report
I have got the inside scoop
from someone on her court
News from in the castle states
a porcelain throne her seat
A pen, her tool when she creates
as others soon retreat
For often when she’s thinking and
the door is left ajar
The strangest kind of stinking can
be smelt so very far
Though no one there will mention,
for you know she is the Queen
No need to bring attention
if they keep the throne room clean
The grunting and the groaning
sometimes echoes down the hall
And often times it’s moaning
as a big one starts to fall
While some of them will smile
and at times might even blush
Each handmaid knows her style
every time they hear the flush
For then she gets to show’em
why so urgent was the need
By handing them a poem
that they cannot wait to read
And I am right there with them
for it falls into my plan
To read a poopy poem
from our favorite poet Jan
The coats are falling all over each other
We have tried to separate them
But they like being close and chummy
Pickpocketing each other's pockets
Rubbing their collars upside
Each other's necks
Sniffing and snorting
Grunting sometimes
This is when it is not easy
to be a coat check girl
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
I slash with my sword and I push with my shoulder. Every muscle and every tendon is screaming in agony. I can feel every pressure when my blade makes contact. I’m grunting with passion as I push every extremity to the very breaking point. I let my mind wonder to the past, where my family was butchered and mutilated when I was 10 years old. I lost everything I loved and anything that mattered to me, but my passion. Revenge echoes in my mind over and over, like the rumbling of thunder in the summer storms when they pass. Revenge against those who could do the things I’ve seen, beasts that slaughtered my whole family. I have spent years here, learning the warrior’s way, feeling the grunge and toils from everyday training.
My sword is now a part of my body, so swift and true. I can draw it sharply and silent to bring it up my enemy. I spin my body and crouch down low, dodging my enemy and thrusting my sword into his chest. My body has become one single weapon for me to use. My mind is sharp and ready for the challenges of all those who oppose me. I will fight for honor and what is right and damnation to those who are evil and selfish. In the distance a voice echoes in my ears, “Piiid!” “Pid!” This sound grows louder as I strain my muscles and sharpen my skills. “PIIIDDD!!!” “HAULT!” and then I realize that master Baracus has been calling me. Turning around, I see Baracus standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He is a tall elder man with a chiseled chin and scars across both cheeks. His skin tone is deep red from the Sun’s scorching heat of the day. His balding head has traces of white hair around each side and the tunic of a trainer is all black with gold trim. His deep blue eyes gaze upon me in frustration, “You must focus on all things around you Pid, you will leave yourself open to attack without it”.
Baracus turns to walk towards the shelter as he mumbles various curses at me. “You young bucks have no attention and focus” as he slowly walks to sit down. “I was focused on my training you old goat” I persist. As we both sit down, he makes his brittle response, “Damn young blood makes poor fertilizer for our fields” as we both bellow with laughter. He is my mentor and trainer, but most of all he took me in and called me his son. He has trained me in the way of the warrior and what it means to be honorable and noble.
Also known as a furze-pig, urchin or hedgepig
Your collective name is an array or prickle – how apt!
To me you are one of the cutest animals in the land
Born blind but soon you open beady black eyes
Your little snout pokes out and helps you forage
You love to eat worms, caterpillars and snails
Sometimes a tasty frog, baby bird or eggs
Your body is covered in defensive prickly spines
These are prone to fleas, oh that would make me itch!
Curling into a ball at the first sign of danger
Badgers, foxes and owls are your main predators
How I love the autumn, I find you nestled in the hedgerows
You sleep until you come out to play at night
Sometimes I wish I was like you and could hibernate
Sleep though the cold dull dreary dark winter days
You communicate by squealing, grunting and snuffling …
(I wonder… are all hedgehogs male!)
Sadly you are not very adept at crossing the road
I often see you as road kill and that makes me sad
09~29~14
Contest: Animal Poem
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
~awarded 3rd Place ~
Oh dear I completely misunderstood,
When they offered me a sweat, thought they meant a pud.
Meet us at the gym they said, thought, strange place to eat,
For a free meal I could endure the smell of sweaty feet.
Here’s your towel said the lady, took it with surprise,
opened the door to find a host of sweating thighs.
Bodies grunting everywhere, buzzing like flies
Where’s my sweet I asked, can’t print their replies.
Now I gathered was not pudding my friends offered me,
But a sweaty time in the gym to lose the fat I see.
Promised some chocolate if I manage to get thinner,
Not quite what I envisaged after my roast dinner.
So here I am sweat pouring from a thinner me
Happy ‘cos they are letting me have a biscuit with my coffee.
Sitting on the soft cushion seat
Start of turtle movement
The advert on the bus
Is the only catchy appeal
The drumming of the engine
The grunting of the taxi
Dusk getting crisp
Dull glow of the sun
The glance at the sky
With a wish to fly
The buttocks begin to get sore
I see my finger nails
Then back to the next lane
I feel my eyes burn
A long ribbon of taillights flashing
The next lane is fast moving
Taxi driver snoring
The turtle movement
Develops anxiety
Feeling thirsty
Phone rings
Good news
Another party
Feeling oozy
Glazing outside the window
Another turtle movement
Nerves rest - feet asleep
With an effort
Feet wake up
Anxiety rising - start to walk
The cow lows to her baby as night falls
A cricket gaily chirps there is nothing wrong
A little frog croaks as I walk by the stream
A whip-poor-will calls from a near by grove of trees
A screech of the eagle as he balances on the wind
The yip yip of the kit foxes as they play by their den
The cooing of the dove as it calls to it’s mate
The beller of the bull as he declares his space
The grunting of a mare as she gives her colt a bath
The thumping of a rabbit as he crosses my path
The rattle of a snake warning he is close by
The hoot hoot-hoot of a skunk says he’s nigh
The call of the red winged black bird as he settles on the reeds
While the blue jay called me a thief, as from my garden he gets his seeds
Mr. Owl brought a smile as he said hello
For you see we have spoken before
The chatter of the squirrel as he scampers through the trees
As the wind gently rattles it’s leaves.
The bark bark of the prairie dog as he bobs up and down
The splash of the raindrops is a soothing sound
The rustle of the brush as the quail pass
The kill deer tries to tempt me away from his nest.
The call of the coyote begging for the moon
And from a near by lake the call of a loon
With a tear in my eye I thank the Lord once again
That He has given me one more night to enjoy the Lullaby of the Plains.