Best Guttural Poems
I woke trembling on the threshold of dawn
as dappled sunlight through my window shone
Upon my primed canvas there had been drawn
a masculine image with finely chiseled cheekbones
What virile fantasy had I born while in flight
for my hand to have created such a dashing face
In stippled darkness of my dream-filled night,
a handsome fantasy did I dare fondly embrace
His eyes stared in wonder; tantamount to my own
No angle shielded me from their deep penetration
I held my breath, then released a soft guttural moan
as his strong hand guided mine without hesitation
Warm colors defined muscular features I painted
His dark eyes were flecked with dustings of gold
Flushed with desire, in a warm blush I was tainted
when he faintly whispered, "To have and to hold"
My palette was awash in shades of crimson. Soiled
with streaks of scarlet were my hands and gown
My brush strokes lingered on his full lips as I toiled
imagining passion's kiss, in whose depth I would drown
I could not bear the thought of tearing myself away
On and on I painted where his gentle hands led
until finally wearied from hunger, upon my bed I lay
Unsated was a craving within me, a desire to be fed
With eyes closed, I hoped to dream of him once more,
of this man who had completely captivated my heart
Come, handsome stranger. Find me as you did before
I cannot endure life if we must live it in dreams apart
Categories:
guttural, desire, kiss,
Form:
Romanticism
Johnny-Jump-Ups nestle into the forest floor mosses,
Along with dainty Jack-in-the-Pulpits hiding beneath
The larger fronds of swampy ferns soaking up moisture
From the dew-laden flowering branches of laurel
Where I find myself dreaming in the verdant woodland,
Edging the meadow beyond the cluttered beaver stand.
A canopy of vine-entangled branches, a vault-like nave,
Provides a sanctuary of sacred candles dimmed for mass
A pew-less haven for wounded souls, and tiny chipmunks,
Who scurry to find isolated spots for quiet meditation
While grebes and gallinules make up the choir ensemble;
A purple swamphen takes up the guttural baritone line.
The late morning is mine, sitting along the narrow trail
In a cross-legged yoga pose with arms across my knees,
Soaking up the faint sweet smells of sassafras and pine
And slipping into what I sometimes call my “blue funk”
Where nothing on earth matters outside this quiet shelter,
Dozing softly, I dream of a utopian sweet, elusive peace.
FIRST PLACE WINNER (TROPHY)
June 25, 2022
Submitted to: "Poetry Marathon Mile 5" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Written on June 3, 2021
Selected for FEATURED POEM
On the front page of All Poetry,
September 13, 2021
GOLD MEDAL WINNER
"5 Golds or Less - Profanisaurus" Poetry Contest
All Poetry, December 11, 2021
Appeared in "It's Still Poetry"
Poetry Soup Anthology - 2021
CreateSpace, Amazon publication
Categories:
guttural, inspirational, nature, paradise, peace,
Form:
Blank verse
Not this day
No
My mouth shall not say
The words that linger
Trailing broken syllables
From memory bay
Without meaning
I cannot form them
Even as I pray
Turning in guttural acidic taste
By bitter bile way
Fumbling resentment
Phrase to phase
With no sway from sentiment
Shall I dare?
Shall I say?
Nay!
Struggle thought
Drowning heart turned grey
Oh how heavy they drag
And scuff the floor from their weight
I look at them there in utter dismay
Clutching my heels as I walk away
I left them there
Begging!
Just as they left me that day
Those words...
Once meant for you
That I will NEVER again say
Categories:
guttural, feelings, hate, heartbreak, leaving,
Form:
Rhyme
Requiem of a Phoenix
Silhouettes and storm clouds loom,
etched against a blackened sky
by bolts of electric blue
and ashen moon rays.
I mourn at dusk; the death of the light.
Languid flames dance
from tree to tree,
as a passing of the torch
to the sacrificial pyre.
I mourn by fire; the death of the light.
A tormented world in anguish
heaves a guttural howl,
which resonates through the darkness
carving deep channels in tangible silence.
I mourn in song; the death of the light.
Absently numb, I view it all
with a looming realization
that I was never made for this world
captive to flesh and desolation.
I mourn alone; the death of the light.
I surrender to my captivity.
I surrender to the agony.
I surrender to the storm and fire.
I embrace the void.
From the cinders of night
skyward I strain on bolts of electric blue
pursuing the tranquility of the moonlight.
Unqualified freedom granted by absolute loss
is a new captivity.
So mourn I at daybreak, the death of the night.
4/14/17
For Contest: Mythical Creatures
Hosted by: Julia Ward
Categories:
guttural, animal, birth, death, fire,
Form:
Free verse
(This poem was inspired by my friend's grandma who said, and I quote, "You can hug anyone you want to." I dedicate it to all the sweetie poets who give "hugs.")
You can hug anyone you want to.
It's something everyone can do.
(There are many reactions from one act.
Proceed with caution so you don't get smacked.)
You can hug any way you like.
Keep it loose, or grab 'em tight.
Hug with a manly guttural noise,
or hug like a lady with grace and poise.
Sometimes just one hand will do.
Hug the way that best suits you.
Hug to ward off tears and sorrow.
Hug like you're going to die tomorrow.
Hug sister Suzy. Hug uncle Al.
Hug anyone to make a new pal.
Hug 'em big. Hug 'em small.
Hug 'em one. Hug 'em all.
Hug 'em in a group or two by two,
so the pleasure's not all about you.
Hug with a spin. Even make it an art.
Just make sure you hug with your heart.
It's as simple as a shoulder shrug.
Everybody could use a hug.
You can hug anyone you want to.
Watch your back, cuz I might hug you.
Categories:
guttural, care, encouraging, funny, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Thunder and lightning ruled the black night
As the frightened young mother struggled
Beads of sweat ran down her pretty face
The old midwife calmly sponged off sweat
She hummed a lullaby to soothe her pain
Praying that the husband would be back soon
Five miles to travel in treacherous weather
Seeking the one doctor for hundreds of miles
Twelve hours of labor now seemed like days.
Fell trees and shaved off roof tops, toppled by whipping winds
Rising rivers were swollen, and flooded make shift roads
Endless rain poured like there would be no end
Meanwhile her unborn child lay bridged as it battled for release
Suddenly the door burst open and the doctor rushed in
His clothes sticking to his skin; there was no time to change
With his palm he felt her forehead asking pertinent questions
He and the old midwife tried manually to turn the exhausted child
At each attempt, mother’s painful cry was heard in the distance
She gave one guttural scream and usherd her baby into the world
The child, born limp, barely breathing as the mid wife took her away
He starred into her eyes, and knew that she was beyond his help
He brought the new born to lie in her mother’s warm arms
The silence was noticeable; the raging storm had passed
The sound of light rain, now a comfort, gently tapped upon tin roof
In a soft, weak voice she called her husband and managed a smile
Then she blessed her child with words from a mother’s heart
“May you be a light, swift as lightning when days grow dark.”
“May you have wisdom and foresight beyond your days”
“May your heart nurture and remain open to love”
“Like rain, may you bring life to all “
“Born this stormy night, your name will be “Rain”.
~*~
By : Audrey Carey
Note: Imagination at work:) Written for Constance's "Rain, The Story" Contest.
My imagination took me to some little village in Africa. This scene is played out in
many villages where health care is non-existent. However, there's always, thanks
to God, a wise, caring "midwife" to help mothers during delivery.
Everyday, countless miracles are performed by God through "midwives"!
Categories:
guttural, caregiving, dedication, health, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Through the open window
An unintended entry way
Pale the moonlight streaming
Careless, now the price to pay
It perched upon my bedpost
All reality to confound
A tilted head, a beady eye
As yet he made no sound
My secret now revealed
He knew my every thought
My visitor in a feathered cape
Harbinger of death he brought
At last a guttural caw I heard
And in terror begged" no more",
"Leave me be to my just fate
for yes, I killed the fair Lenore"….
With apology to Mr... Poe
Categories:
guttural, bird, death,
Form:
Quatrain
Werewolf
Ravage with me
Lady Dark Panthera claws of red
And thrash against a starving mouth
Eaten by tongues and lips
Devouring inside surrender
Rip upon my skin those tender ache
And push your want to digging nails
Which renders you helpless
Resuscitate your kiss to mine
And strip past your urging
Tribal heat
Throat guttural whisper my name
Starve me stretched to your nakedness
So I may hunger more
Rhythmical impetuous cause
The night hears your cries
Pinned to the moons cool wall
Vampire at you neck Lady Dark
Pulls at your flowing red
To a ravenous climax
Soaking wet upon my knees
I emerge from a tidal bliss
The slow trickle line of sweat traces down my back
Full moon temptress
Categories:
guttural, fantasy, love, mystery
Form:
Free verse
Today there are no rubber ducks, no flawless hues,
To hide behind, as we once did.
This day is dark, and gray and dreary,
Air thick with the scent of decay and mold,
Dull light filters in through the window,
Casting a somber tone across everything.
Even the freesia suds have gone bad,
The water in the tub is murky, opaque and grim,
Waves unseparated as the day that holds them.
When we were good kids, peering out,
From behind our good mother,
We got good glimpses, sucked on butterscotch chips,
The new neighbor, the smell of fresh sunflowers; it was fun.
But the old neighbor, who finally stopped coming around,
He was not good,
Over steeped dandelion tea, a benign-sounding thing,
Bitter and dry, sometimes salty; it was not fun.
As gray as this day, as this water, when I knew him,
He knew me, too.
I sink deeper into the swirling, whirling, and I think of things,
Dirty-water cyclone, the brightness of our childhood,
Harder to recall, I still remember the rubber ducks though.
Splashing them about, their cheerful colors and silly grins,
We knew joy,
But that bright spot is fading, and soon it too will disappear,
Down the drain, with this gray water and my leftover filth.
Mixing it all together,
In the stillness of the moment, I am struck,
The heavy inevitability of happiness; the transience of loss.
As bad as this day, that man, with his dreary gray hues,
I hang my head back and give a loud, guttural laugh at it now,
The memory of those yellow, plastic birds.
Especially since today there are no rubber ducks, no flawless hues,
To hide behind, as we once did.
Categories:
guttural, abuse, anxiety, appreciation, imagery,
Form:
Imagism
It was long gone midnight, and nervously I walked
There was something in the bushes, I was being stalked.
I could smell it's fetid breath, It was lurking in the dark
It scared me half to death as I hurried through the park.
My step quickened, my nerves could barely cope
For above my head the moon was full, the night of the lycanthrope.
Now my heart was racing, I began to flee
I could hear the slavering beast, and it was coming after me.
I was nearly at the gate much to my relief,
Thinking I was safe, that's when I felt its teeth.
It was ripping at my skin, tearing me to shreds
There I lay bleeding, amongst the flower beds.
It fixed me a stare, through furious blood red eyes
It left, I lay savaged, as daylight filled the sky.
I staggered home wounded to the safety of my room,
I couldn't know how things would change, come the next full moon.
Weeks later it was dark, the moon was full and bright
I was going nowhere, I'd stay in tonight.
Then I heard a noise, so guttural, so foul,
Horrified, I couldn't stop myself, I began to howl!
Entry for
Scary or Spooky poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
19/9/18. Placed 1st.
Categories:
guttural, fantasy, horror, howl,
Form:
Rhyme
The sun blowtorches its way into the water,
fragments, and the bottom is an aqua sky
webbed by white-hot lightning.
Here and there, legs hang like halved mannequins
disappearing into a squiggly-bright ceiling,
through which you can make out
the slurred shape of a poolside palm tree.
The deep, guttural grooon-grooon of
the water’s stomach growling is all you hear,
dredging up a similar sound from your subconscious,
last heard while you were immersed, long ago,
in another fluid world.
The water suddenly internal-combusts
in a tangle of arms and legs,
flailing in a fizz of a million tiny bubbles,
some kid having just somersaulted into the blue.
Soon, another’s face splashes down before you,
slightly albino in the shining water,
bug-eyed with silvered goggles
like a child alien from a waterless planet
discovering buoyancy.
Then you realize it’s your own kid,
wobbling from side to side,
toothy, hair waving like smoke
as he dog-paddles away.
You come up for air, breaching the surface like a
graceless dolphin,
and clarity hits your ears,
a momentarily soundless din.
You can already feel your skin heating up
in the blast furnace above water,
confusing because there are beads
running down your face and neck, cold.
You suck a lungful of air and push yourself under again,
but not before catching a glimpse of your wife
drowse-browsing a magazine on her sun lounger,
and the two umbrellas,
the big one shading the miniature one
stuck in the snowy slush of your pina colada.
Categories:
guttural, family, happiness, light, summer,
Form:
Free verse
I am Nimbus, gathering my black ruffled gown
preparing to race against the whistling wind.
My tears threaten to come tumbling down
and dark tendrils untamed; have come unpinned.
My bereavement wails as thunder hammers the skies.
Twin scepters of lightning flash in my mournful eyes.
I twirl in rhythmic dance upon swiftly swirling winds
Behold the grand majesty of a siren's release!
With a sad heart I say penance for a lifetime of sins.
In deep guttural voice I shall bid the storm to cease,
for I've reached the abysmal depth of my delusive soul.
I am enrapt by the tempest emotions in my control.
May 24, 2021
Personification Poem Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Categories:
guttural, emotions,
Form:
Personification
Dust, sweep and mop
Run to three or four shops
Polish silver 'til it shines
Did we forget to buy wine
Countdown to Sabbath's begun
So many chores to be done
Ready or not, it's time to bench licht*
Friday goes by dizzy quick...
Now the Sabbath does appear
On dove's wings of purest cheer
Our tired feelings dissipate
Blessings soothe, reinvigorate
Refresh and restore
Over holy books we pore
Eat delicacies and treats
Meals pleasant and sweet
Time now to repair to sleep
To relax and dream dreams deep
Of Sabbaths wrapped in mists of yore ~
Messianic Era to point toward
__________________________________
*to bench licht is Yiddish. It means to light
candles (for the Sabbath or a Festival) with
a blessing. 'Licht' is pronounced as a
guttural, more like 'kh' as in the Russian
'khorosho,' 'good.' It is not pronounced like
the 'ch' in 'chin' or in 'Chicago.'
Categories:
guttural, jewish, meaningful, uplifting,
Form:
Couplet
purple tulips, the color of her toddler dress.
the leafy stems, her eyes.
the baby-blond hair, mom combs into a crest,
the sea will satisfy.
blond slowly turns brunette, tumbles
from Rapunzel’s tower, then gets shorn.
green waters, a dry oasis —
cerulean blue boundary.
open sesame with artificial drops.
wrinkle-protected eyes.
ears can’t hear what others say.
deaf and blindness make her appear wise.
guttural sounds - huh, eh, hmm.
smiles and nods as the tongues of the young,
like trumpets in her ear, elucidate their troubles.
she’s ironed out hers. they still exist.
still, she knows the outcome.
sediment of the sea shelled out to the deep.
sand sifts through her fingers.
sandcastles wash out, but i see
children carrying shovels and pails.
some have leafy-stem eyes and baby-blond hair.
3/6/2021
Categories:
guttural, age, hope, wisdom,
Form:
Free verse
At horizon’s crest a faint light arcs
its thin line widens from across the sea
she flutters maiden wings from her nest
on a rocky crag near a twisted tree.
Warm light dances with shadows at dawn
amidst white quartz lines and sandstone cliffs
a young gull flies with confident wings
his sinews are strong as he glides through the rifts.
Sea salt air mingles with pungent scents
as pounding tides pulsate along the shore
his guttural cries echo all around
she hears his sibilant sounds and wants more.
Drawing her wings, she ups and takes flight
lifting her head, croons a soft, soothing song
swiftly he swoops to her side to dance
flying in tandem, they greet the new dawn.
Written 8/28/2020
Categories:
guttural, bird, love, nature,
Form:
Rhyme