Best Hollers Poems
When visions, discoveries burn my soul
that which pours out of me is something forceful,
maybe CHASTE. Although it's hard for many to embrace
ideas on an unconventional level... I still knead my fingers
on paper where the language of my voice chants
or hollers wildly--these hands grasping my teacup.
Morning wakes and I get lost in drained phrases,
a blueprint of journeys imagined...they are only words,
vacant lines about nature, anguish, even love...
Yet here is life in poetry which rises above
what is expected. And I blaze unknown trails
when moonshine grants me the favor of raking this navel
and speak from a space that marks my integrity.
I believe that weaving a story is my endowment
to echoing dreams needing full exhalation;
to untold traumas masked by social graces...
more so, to all innocent wiles, tastes, fragrances
borne out of my will to convey the unusual,
deserted remembrances , where a universe
of people meets in serendipitious places--
those ardent moments defining man as a divine human.
Only then would my oolong tea blow cold,
and my moving poetry become vulnerably warm.
```*```
10/16/2020
Beth Evans' A Duty of Poetry Contest
A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to own temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity not allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -
J.A.B.
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
"Caleb, go fetch me some dewberries from the fence row," Momma says,
as I polish off my Saturday morning breakfast. "I'll make us a cobbler."
She stands in her humble kitchen, the light of a country morning dawns
on her face. She's beautiful. I'd be happy to walk a hundred miles to
fetch her berries, or anything else. She hands me an old milk carton
with the top cut out of it. I burst out the door, running for the fence row
with the dog close behind. "And watch for snakes," she hollers after me.
As I round the edge of the 40 acre soybean field, I take the time to thank
God my dad doesn't have me hoeing weeds out of it.
toes peek out
from the canvass sneakers –
milk mustache
The dewberry vines meander beneath the line of fencing in between
the posts. I poke the undergrowth with my walking stick, trying to shoo
out any snakes! The berries ripen early this year in the Arkansas heat
wave. The stickers get me good where my big toe pokes out, I wince.
It’s too late now to go back for boots. The berries are real ripe and juicy,
staining my fingers as I drop them into the jug. “Two for me and one for
Momma,” I laugh and a passing Jay mimics with a caw.
Momma's call
carries down the row
stomach growls
Poets: Caleb Smith & Debbie Guzzi
See About the Poem
Once upon a time
Distant memories
Dawning of morning crystals
Glittering reminder of starlight tears
In sunbeam's brilliance
Lighting jewels shine
Songbirds break into chorus
The smallest fragment of a breeze alerts
The senses whistling
Melodies explode
Through the branches leaves lament
Observing nature's space hold in colors
Fruit of tenderness
Mellow your sunshine
Blossoms love supreme touching
Fingers raise deep golden feelings yearning
Addresses one's heart
Lonely dust remains
Breathing breathless light explores
In darkness echoes bounce off deep caverns
Cold howling shivers
Devouring warm blood
Into the bones whistling ice
Winds voice of the lost souls' eyes turn bright green
As the spirit leaves
Dark moldy shadows
Light of moon sources cravings
Beauties kiss eclipses rose bleeds scarlet
Immortal heartbeats
Life stops ticking bang
Seduced black velvet pleasure
Sinking fangs into the succumbing heart
Drum beats slow echo
Fallen unchained truths
Slithering lizards crawling
Underneath the skin a beastly vision
Storm roars through timbers
Translucent blood slime
Flowing toxic energy
Mutating hollers screech into wolf moon
Scalding hot flames breathe
When red embers burn
Into the lustful ashes
Born inside scarred remains breathing wounds
An itch that scratches
Onto the mindset
Greenish cornea expands
Opening curtains in a split second
Haunting prey on light
Affliction of need
Rasping rattle in the throat
Death yowls airless scream without sun visions
A Collaborated Poem with Liam McDaid and Angeline Lim
Hell seemed to encompass the land
As I watched him holding your hand
For a moment I was happy for you
And then my shameful heart gave way
Earth longed to suck me in its waters
Above fellow demons and their hollers
We rue the day we ever existed
Longing for the touch of human flesh
We were trained to eat at your souls
To fill your poor deprived holes
With filth and emaciated sin
Slithering within…bellowing within…
And when I look at him I know he’s yours
I should have seen it coming of course
You never wanted a nothing like me
And someone is to blame I see
The voices in your head made you cower
You once were awed by my power
But now the beauty of love has destroyed us
I am nothing, and he is yours
Take her you bastard of a fool!
I don’t need anyone, for I will rule
I will rule over her vessel
And mark me, she will detest you!
Remarkable as she is you will leave her
While I in the darkness keep her
But for now I’ll lie in wait
For the perfect time to ensnare
Let go of his hands
And allow this heart a chance
Let the man lose his compass
Only to stumble upon a new woman
Oh, lamentable you!
I force your love to be true
Kiss me, my hate—my love, you fool!
He’s never coming back for you!
Because you are not special
You belong to nobody—nothing!
And you shall find
That you were always… MINE.
Shelly said that Darlene said that
Tina said that you are an ignorant fool.
So?
Jinny said that Zinna was rolling her eyes at you.
Farina said you have cooties.
So?
Do you want to hear what Allie said about you?
No, thanks.
Minnie said….
“I don’t want to hear it,” I tell her, skipping away.
“You are a poppie butt!” she yells after me.
Thank you, I yell back.
“You are CRAZY!” she hollers, angry now.
“THANK YOU!” I yell louder.
“They were talking trash about you,” my friend tells me.
Wait a second. This is my friend?
“Are you going to talk to them about it?”
No.
Are you going to fight them?
I throw back my head and laugh.
Once I mastered the skip away, the stay away and the thank you
Bullies had no power over me.
They started bothering others.
I try to teach my friends
Bullies will leave you alone
If they don’t think you are getting mad or sad.
Being so danged light skinned .
I had a terrible time mastering
Those telling pink cheeks.
I had to practice with
Trusted friends,
By letting them calling
Me names and practicing
My strategies.
The Keep Away.
The Skip Away.
The Thank You.
Believe me,
I now have it right.
No one bothers
Me now.
It’s simply
No
Damned
Fun.
Briar and the Dragonfly
Seated in a saddle on a dragonfly in flight
Shimmering upon the evening skies
Iridescent flickerings beneath this moonlit night
Magical this scene before my eyes
Smiling like a crescent with a firefly in tow
Laughing as the trees have come to play
Eyes they glow illumined as the springtime breezes flow
Shining like a diamond on display
“Hey there on the ground”, she hollers as she passes by
“How’d you like to join me on my trek?”
Reaching out a hand I see her beauty makes me try
Hopping on I utter, “what the heck?”
Through a blooming garden I hold tightly as we soar
Daffodils and rose buds sing their song
Irises are waving, tell me who could ask for more
Happy that I chose to tag along
She said, “My name is Briar and my dragonfly’s is Bliss”
“Inspire me, he does most every day”
I answered, “Please to meet you and my friends all call me Chris”
“I really do enjoy this, I must say”
Through a maze of hedges, like a sea of feathered green
Underneath an arbor made of wood
Woven tight with Jasmine, aromatic and pristine
Many are the years this place it stood
We flew above the water seeing ripples in a curve
My grin reflects the surface smooth as glass
Around the bend a cat tail that we miss now as we swerve
Enchanted as these moments come to pass
Then I heard a ringing so annoying and so loud
Startled, my alarm clock it did scream
Opening my weary eyes, a hazy kind of shroud
Knowing now that this was all a dream
Now I lay here frowning with her picture in my mind
Hopping that the day will hurry by
So it will be nighttime and another chance to find
Briar and her friend the dragonfly
Good night Soupers
Here is a short list of life's many stories. If we take the time and slow down and notice, there are stories going on around us all the time. Stories of life, death, happiness, anger, love and laughter. Real stories that have real meaning to teach us all.
Mommy pulls her newborn baby to her breast
The woman puts ice on her eye and cries
The little girl peeks over the pew as her mother prays
The man wipes the sweat from his face as he lays down his axe
The man slams the door behind him as his wife screams
The dog howls as they carry the old man away
Mother brushes the hair out of her sleeping child's eyes
Dad's eyes fill with tears as he gives her away
The old man slowly and carefully feeds his wife
The young soldier waves goodbye to his family
Grandma pats her husband's hand one last time
The old dog lays his head on her lap
The bride smiles and falls into her husband's arms
The man throws the hammer and grabs his thumb
Everyone cheers as grandma brings the turkey out of the kitchen
The little boy dances as he pulls the fish out of the water
The teacher looks at his watch as his student reads her report
Papa jerks awake when the preacher hollers
The young boy taps his head with his pencil as he takes the test
The toddler laughs as she runs away from her daddy
Mama rocks her crying child
The old woman in her veil and white gloves neatly folds her handkerchief
She watches hopefully as the chemicals slowly drip into her vein
The groom swoons as his bride is escorted down the isle
Father can barely remove his shoes after work
Mama lies awake listening to her sleeping family
The writer yawns and lays down his pen
7/24/19
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Who be th' stenchin' verminous Horsman
what hollers t' th' seafarin' oarsmen
when th' mind's a-fog
where we fest th' grog
why be d'mandin' pennin's of bay men
***All errors are intentional and used merely to facilitate pirate speak.
Thrift shop miracles of multi-
layered mysteries,insomniac-
drifters stumbling up the highway to
a water-logged Nirvana.
Stuttering hymns to flannel saints
who have not yet; joined the cult of
organized-nicean-rebellion.
Midwest slackers distressed in jeans
and in mind blood slowly becoming thick
black-tar, seeking release from big-haired-
bards &synth-pop-psychiatrist.
seeking freedom from German-hammers
& London-fog,
searching with work boots unsalted;
For a new kind of weather.
Earth-sister-pixie over caffenated
Balarina dancing rythm-less to a new
discorded blues dreaming of jazz and
feminist revolution; building a new alternative-
nation a new president Kennedy,
Shouting rain soaked rebellion in Starbucks
Between vicodin and shots of expresso.
Souls coming together in mosh-pits of
Discontent everclear-mud and hormone-
laced sweat coming down together;
Drinking rivers to drench the fires of MDMA.
Indian outlaws lost in the dextroverse,
Seeking the pain of country music, but
the Appalachian's were lost bathed in
black-lights&neon the coal miners daughter,
left the hollers for the Seattle fog&adderall .
O' lomo tinted cherubs that filled the 90's
morgues screaming love songs to familiar spirits
Of delta-blues my girls & boys here's where
You sleep tonight put to rest by your own
Divine-hands seeking Nirvana, and all
You ever wanted was there in your arms but
The man in the box would tell you otherwise,
And still nothing else mattered.
All has come to an end, except for who to proclaim
The winner of The National College Football Championship Game
Excitement is brewing for the play-off game
Some will be at the game watching getting rained on, cold, and excited
The armchair quarterbacks stay at home and watch on their big screen TV being- telecasted
Scheduling and planning their parties to cheer on their favorite team and fellowships
Shopping for chips and dips
Hot wings and BBQ smokies
Soda pop, tea, beer, and whiskeys
They dress themselves and their children in lucky sports team attire
Kick off time has come, everyone is bouncing off the walls inspired
Armchair quarterback is playing in his own little field
He kicks and runs
Catches, tackles, and stuns
“That’s not the way they teach you to tackle!”
With all his excitement he almost slides off the armchair
“Oh, come on! Hey ref that’s not fair!”
“That’s pass interference he was all over him while the ball was in the air!”
He hollers and cheers
“Touchdown!” That’s the way!
Rants and raves
“Quit doing that, you idiot, you're going to get a fifteen yard penalty!”
His blood pressure is going up we all agree
“What the Hell was that you nitwit!”
“He dropped it.! You could have had it!”
Disappointment sets in, his team has lost
He blames the refs for all the bad calls, and its cost
Cleaning the carpet because of all the excitement, it’s going to cost
The season is over and I don't have to hear his rants until next year and
Our children will be the next generation of armchair quarterbacks
1/13/2015 by: Eve Roper
Accounts on watching and listening to my husband and brother
You’ve heard of eeny meanie
How he died a fitting death
He had more fame, it seems to me
Than Shakespeare or Macbeth
Held accountable he was
After capture and a bounty
For the sins Stephen Duncan
Boss of Issaquena County
Too bad for mister miney mo
He’ll have to pay the price
Out to the Mississippi Bridge
We’d love to hang him twice
Held to dangle by the toe
So that everyone would know
Said the slaven to the hangman
If he hollers let him go
Copyright © Mike Martin 2015
Yea, When it comes to bars and drinkin', and how! I've done my share,
It always has me thinkin', of past times, yea, when and where,
I've done my share of fightin' too, and no one ever wins,
The worst I got was a bitin' o-o-o-oh! from a big mouth dude named Grins,
Yea, we'd all been drinkin' whiskey, when we should have been drinkin' beer,
Grins girlfriend came and kissed me,Yea, the one he loved so dear,
Then Grins slammed me to the floor, I heard someone bet 10 dollars,
Most went runnin' for the door, through all the screams and hollers,
Then Grins got my fingers in his mouth, and I couldn't get them out,
I just figured he'd bite them off, so I choked him til' he coughed,
Yea, I've done my share of fightin' dude, Ya know, no one ever wins,
and I'd rather be struck by lightnin' too, than bit by big mouth Grins,
Now, when it comes to bars and drinkin', and wherever I go, anywhere,
It always has me thinkin', of what I'll be drinkin' there,
and when it comes to drinkin' whiskey, I'd rather just drink some beer,
and if the occasion gets too whiskey, hey! it's, I'm up out a here!
Yea, I've done my share of fighting too, and no one ever wins,
I'd rather be struck by lightning dude, than bit by big mouth Grins,
When it comes to drinkin' whiskey, I'd rather just drink some beer,
if the occasion gets too risky, Hey! it's, I'm up out a here!
Yea, when it comes to drinkin' whiskey, I'd rather drink some beer,
if the occasion gets too risky, Hey! it's, I'm up out a here!
If the occasion gets too risky, Hey!.....it's I'm up out of here,
Yea! It's I'm up out of here.
The master forces his clowns to laugh
when polka dots become the wearers.
An audience roars…a pained choreograph;
behind the scene, the wounded howl tears.
What man is he who tugs the moppet strands?
Twisting acts at whim for raunchy tricks
and controlling moves through strict demands,
only to bruise the shame he inflicts.
The crowd hollers as he waves the rope
Oh master gloats; new slapstick begins.
Hushed are the young mimics just to cope,
till one bawls ,” please Dad, we are your kin.”
John Lawless' Puppets Contest
by nette onclaud
12/25/2014