Best Innards Poems
skating upon saturn’s rings
endless ice cold arcs
innards of past moons shattered
blades reopen wounds
in my wake scars and chaos
proof ~ that I was never here
Categories:
innards, deep, how i feel,
Form:
Tanka
He prepared the pie
With greatest care
Within the pot
My brains and hair
For hers had been
A lofty perch
Just a peg or two
Would never do
Cremated remains
Formed the shell
Into the plate
My crushed bones fell
I could still see
But could not yell
The pie's aroma
A story to tell
My innards baked
Hour by hour
The smell of blood
And blackened flour
Words poured in
Enhanced the flavour
The humble pie
For her to savour
Fork to mouth
My body consumed
From the plate
My heart exhumed
The baker says
She's eating crow
The taste is bitter
She eats the pie slow
The true recipe
He does not show
Humble pies plentiful
Stacked row on row
The victims many
Some you may know
If he invites you
I beg you not to go!
For Sheri's Plentitude of Pie Contest,
I went with a halloween twist.
Categories:
innards, horror,
Form:
Rhyme
“It’s a terrible love
And I’m walking with spiders…
It’s a terrible love and I’m walking in
Its quiet company…”-Birdy
Three long claws enclosed around a lone beating heart
Stone talons gripping in happy malice, silently angry by its pulse it cannot feel…
The longer I stare into the hollow sockets seeing only ugliness,
The easier it becomes to break into pieces over the mere thought of you
I thought it was a dull beat- a throbbing, fading beat disappearing into the night…
Though your image, once so grainy, is becoming clearer and clearer in the fogs of my consciousness
I thought it was just a dull, callous beat…
But the more it throbs against the stone, the more the stone cracks
The more the demon cries in anguish…the more I fall
So deeply in love have I become,
I can barely breathe in this misty embrace
The suspense of your blows make my innards whimper…make my mind shiver
My tearful eyes cry for your assurance
My body changes through the peeks of your light
It is all a joke!
This is all pathetic, low, meaningless!
Surely these claws over this heart do not exist
Holding onto nothing but dead spiders who once weaved miracles
Dust and spider legs….spider eyes…they had seen so much…felt so much with their prickly appendages
Through a lovely peephole beyond the three stoned fingers…
I see the entire world where they must have crawled
A world holding you…
If only I could hold you too…
Something tells me I would never let go if I had the chance
Something tells me I would crush you
I would turn you into dust and spider legs…
And yes, as all demons enjoy, I would lose you
In the grip of the three stoned fingers
Unless…
You were that heart I thought I had seen…
The heart that continued to beat long after it was ripped out
The clenched heart that throbbed despite its crushing cage
The very heart that bled and bled for no body and all for the sake of love
Beating and beating, cracking those frigid fingers
Into dust…
And all of the fallen limbless creatures would gather round…
And they would tell me… “He lives yet still…”
Weaving in their webs the very bloods and salts you pumped
Within me…and beyond me
Dead spiders weave and weave and weave…
And unlike human hearts, their ideas never tire
Categories:
innards, analogy, creation, devotion, grief,
Form:
Free verse
Truly, the bee hive innards hum
Truly, the body inside gurgles
Truly, the cave echoes the vortex
Truly I know these sounds
from last night
4 cackling creatures spewed
their saturated sayings upon
the floor
upon each other, upon me
the hammering of the gong
the stampede of a thousand
African Elephants all were
asleep in my head before
these 4 opened the flood gates
of the Mind and the sudden
rush of tidal-wave trumpets
I had to leave, flee, rush
walking, against stone and
broken checkerboard spot-
lights I saw you.
Latin King of knowledge
and intellect came down
the Cardio-Hill and embraced
the darkness with refreshing
light. Saving me from ignorant
swine and masses of greased
filled bodies a pool of stale
eggnog that once seemed
white in the moonlight
now floats dead and
stale, a growing vile mass
unlike its former self
Breaking free from this
chain of emptiness I
went with you, oh one
from another land, took
me to a land of distant
memory and dreams
That bubbling feeling of
the Reed-Flute crying
the Baby also crying due
to separation. It was this
sound that rose higher then
the rest. That sound
propelled me to leave. The
nosey throng and join the
party of Lovers as they
dance. But this dancing
does not have to be
physical, but in the mind
that fluid motion of
loving mind-numbing Dance.
created a sensation in
my heart and soul that
the Hernia of Pestilence
was healed and I
could then, after exile
with the Latin King, return
to the normal mortals
and once again brave the
slow Caravan's journey
against the concrete sky.
Categories:
innards, allegoryurdu, me,
Form:
Ghazal
Give me vodka, give me rum
I love the feeling of being numb
Give me a glass of Hennessy
I don’t care, just give it all to me
Everything is getting blurry
Why am I so filled with fury?
Alcohol all day and night
The only thing that feels all right
Can’t live without a single sip
I need the taste right on my lip
I killed myself with a dreadful thought
I’m the thing I cursed and fought
Mirror told me all the truth
I saw myself, I saw my youth
I’m filled with sorrow, I’m driven mad
I am just like my dreadful dad
Can I stop it? I don’t know
Addiction throws me back and fro
Alcohol is my fire of lust
Burning me as if it must
Killing my innards, destroying my mind
All because life wasn’t kind
Trapping myself, now I want to break free
Could somebody ever rescue me?
I need to escape; escape this obsession
The hardest thing is fighting addiction
Stuck on a battlefield, this is a war
I’m falling apart; revealing the scars
Alcohol, deadly love, dark passion
I’m crying, raging and battling addiction
Categories:
innards, dedication, father daughter, sorrow,
Form:
Couplet
My favorite Poetry Soup poet, the most honorable L Milton Hankins
His avatar is predominately on the home page, he’s the big tamale
Obey grammar rules and suggestions or you’ll get written spankins
No matter who you are, or where you’re from, the U.S.A. or Somali
A great mentor; informs us about syntax, if you know how to spell well
“Addicted to unnecessary words” superfluous on any subject, in all forms
“Sasquatch” to stirring “Apple Butter” renowned for his fav—the villanelle
Painting lovely scenes in the City of Lights “Christmas at Paris” he adorns
Says it’s so nice to be complimented, it always makes his innards squirm
Distracted by a miserable bully, while enjoying his time here at the Soup
I only get three stanzas, otherwise an essay I’d write like for a mid-term
Or I’d tell you more of the poetess dishing out nasty like a nincompoop!
Categories:
innards, appreciation,
Form:
Rhyme
Sometimes
I woke up late and in an outrage.
Alone, did I always have to take a backstage?
Silently she would leave the cottage early
Leaving me on my own, though I loved her dearly.
Often,
after my early morning meal
not to steal my spouse slumber, an ideal
time, I would gather my shawl and walk down
a wooded path illuminated in a rainbow gown.
Sometimes
I remembered those serene days
Wandering in the city, searching new ways,
Knowing her favourite haunts to get a bargain,
Or get a tasty meal in some charming garden.
Often,
when we lived in the city, loneliness
devoured what little I had, it filled me with emptiness.
Now at peace in the forest green I knelt in front of a cross
in a limestone grotto praying, never at loss.
Sometimes
When I saw she'd gone to God knows where,
Jealousy ate my innards, but I had to clear the air.
For I had known her quite a while and always knew
She was a kindly woman, gifted and a lover true.
Often,
I closed my eyes and collected past loving reveries;
he'd hold my hand on serene days and we'd visit parks and galleries.
He had always treated me with kindness and respect.
“God, lead me to touch the brokenness of his heart and let him forget."
Sometimes
Things always came to a head and decided,
Love was too precious that we should be divided.
So I followed her as she winded her way among trees.
Found her before the crucifix praying on her knees.
Often,
I wished he was by my side in prayer.
I heard a snap, I turned to see him standing there.
I brushed away my tears, reaching for him to hold my hand.
I forgot all about my tears, the man I always loved was God's plan.
6/21/2018
A collaboration with Victor Buhagiar, a pleasure to have had him do this with me.
Duets: I Shall Collaborate With You Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: James Edward Lee Sr.
Categories:
innards, depression, faith, imagery, love,
Form:
Lyric
(I still admire Shakespearean classic English as it sounded more poetic so I wrote this in that way)
O' man thou erecteth palaces, castles and courts
while on death a mere grave sufficeth thee
How magnificent and formidable thou maketh thy forts
in thy wish to make both future and history.
Thou who art' accustomed to mighty marble walls
and mansions of mirror, silver and gold
Thy grave shalt be small compared to palatial halls
even if a thousand demons it may hold.
Not a coin or even half a coin of gold
wilt thou take with thee to thy empty earthen grave
All that shalt ye leave behind for others to behold
and now shalt ye fear though ere thou hath been brave.
Thy innards shalt merge with mere earth soil and sand
No matter now if ye dwelled in huts or palaces of gold
Thy grave shalt occupy the tiniest portion of thy land
From the warmth of quilted beds wilt thee lie in the cold.
Thus ere ye consider founding, building thy imposing edifice
a homeless vagrant if ye shelter in thine care
Knowing our lives art' but on a mere precipice
while the joy of giving doth give a joy beyond compare!
Death's a journey but no provisions can ye take along and fold
How shalt ye respond when it inevitably calls?
Our skeletal bones, a simple ditch shalt amass and hold
as the living walk all over us with gentle footfalls.
Shakespeare too returned to dust as hath saith he
and while many might abandon his archaic style
yet his quill shalt vie for soul-like immortality
for his works might flow on as does the old Nile
Categories:
innards, death, grave, world,
Form:
Classicism
Drac's the new food taster at Halloween
He dare not admit, he wasn't too keen
For solid food is not his natural cuisine
But Satan chose him instead of Wolverine.
First to be tasted was the eyeball terrine;
A little bit jellified with some crunch in between
He quickly counted approximately thirteen
His face flushed a shade of Frankenstein green.
After eating the innards of Jack Ripper's spleen
He grabbed a bone toothpick to pick his teeth clean
He suddenly screamed, making a terrible scene
Someone laced his drink, with some garlic poteen.
Then came the dish of pig heart and sardine
Which apparently is full of fish scale protein
That tickled his tum as it slowly went in
Later gave him the shivers as it crawled out from his skin.
A head on a platter kept rotating full spin
Made him feel dizzy, like he'd been drinking blood gin
With every slow turn it gave Drac a sly grin
Then gave him a wink from an eye in its chin.
He spotted a sausage, its skin a blood vein
Filled with minced bat then sealed to contain
Drac nearly vomited, but managed to retain
As the food kept coming again and again.
Last on the list was a bowl of mashed brain
Sitting on top of a mini ghost train
Drac thought it tacky, tasteless and plain
Until he noticed the gravy blood stain.
The food went down well, no undead did complain
The ghosts even liked, the toad quiche Lorraine
The issue now is, who blocked the main drain?
Who's going to tell Lucifer and try to explain?.
Halloween Monorhyme Contest
Sponser Caren Krutsinger
Written 28.10.21
Categories:
innards, food, halloween,
Form:
Monorhyme
Turtle soup to some is a sumptuous, sweet stew
Full of flavor, a favorite of families, not a few
Formed from the flesh of fresh turtle, so tasty
Hot… in high demand, a delightful delicacy
Made up of the meat, skin and innards of a turtle
For a super turtle soup, steam a snapping turtle
It was President William H Taft’s favorite food
…a brown soup, tastes like a thick gravy, so good
Snapper soup as it is being called by some of us
…is a luxury in some lands, sweet and sumptuous.
Categories:
innards, artsweet, sweet,
Form:
Couplet
On the late night train away from sense
and into the midnight wasteland,
Old Lady Morbidica vomited blood,
I swore it was the blood
of unsuspecting travelers.
She bent her back, then sank to her knees,
and spewed into plastic bags,
it was her lifelong custom,
three plastic bags at a time
at least a couple of times a day.
I trembled with my travelling companion,
a changeling as I might have predicted.
Her only child, nameless and mythical,
traveled with her, high crimes in tow,
high crimes not directly known
but surely the highest crimes just the same.
Legend was he had a fourteen inch legend
but we were more concerned with high crimes.
We feared that Old Lady Morbidica
would cast a spell that we could not escape,
we dared not close our eyes
or with her spell she might reach our arteries
and vomit our blood into plastic bags,
it was her lifelong custom.
We feared that her son, one alone,
would cleave us open from throat to groin
and feed our innards to the pigs
running alongside the train in the night,
offering magical pig-like power
in exchange for the innards
of unsuspecting travelers.
We lay alongside one another
and she came to us in the smallest hours.
Strangely, Old Lady Morbidica smiled,
she looked unexpectedly benign,
she fell into my arms and whimpered,
I said nice things and comforted her.
Her nameless and mythical child
stood over us, he was quite plain,
next to me, still, my travelling companion,
now changed, as I should have known;
we all sang silly sweet songs,
the kind you’ll only hear
on Radio Kindergarten,
or on family-friendly CheeseTV;
we laughed with relief
and sobbed with shame.
4th March 2019
Categories:
innards, allegory,
Form:
Free verse
Hey mommy I am here to play
Daddy and brother are on the way
To the underworld where I sent them
By gutting tummies and dissecting
Innards go to outwards on the floor
Faces you can’t recognize anymore
Low and behold they still breathe
So I drowned them in the kitchen sink
Mommy come here, don’t run mommy
Fine I will chase you if you wish
But now when I get you — Cheshire grin
I’m going to take your life to the grave
Your going to wish you had stayed
Sparks fly on concrete from my blade
Mommy — I call through the halls
Mommy — my newest leather doll
Mommy! I call through the halls
Mommy, my newest leather doll
Eyes once vibrant and full of life
Frozen in time within glass like ice
Taxidermist sand fills your rinds
Don’t struggle scream or fight
Or you will feel a slice from my knife
Mommy your lips quiver and shiver
Bound to the cold ossuary of mischief
Where I been killing kids that went ‘missing’
You raised the perfect little girl all along
Perfect at whistling a thanatopsis song
Memento Mori-bund and invictus
For I am the necromantic enchantment
Tragedy fused elegy viral malediction
Feel the sweet steel mommy, not fiction
First cut was to invoke submission
Writhe and twist against her sentence
Stand still mommy here comes number two
Mama's little chef, stirring a stew of soullessness
the final cut, a symphony of silences, as carmine trickles
a crimson recipe, where every piece is digested
and in the cannibalistic dance, I devour your essence
Glazed icons of madness, Mommy my macabre doll
stitched and serried in the butcher's gallery of my mind
where souls are naugahyde-wrapped, my taxidermied trophies
of terror, a cabinet of horrors, forever chilled in time
In mother's dark hymn, I'm the soprano of sin
warbling sweet nothings of blood and bone
as Daddy and brother join the hellish song
their voices silenced by my tender touch
mashed and drowned, the reapers brush
Categories:
innards, character, child, conflict, dark,
Form:
Free verse
Line of inquiry
‘Minus Identity Who am I’
‘What a piece of work is a man!’
……… ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’
(Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act II, scene 2)
From Shakespeare, through Hamlet,
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily in my ears too.
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man,
Both in the silence of my solitude,
And in the learned circle of friends.
(Fool…! Unable to find who you are,
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)
Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know, a hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel
To the outer world I am someone.
But in the well-guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light, as every other man.
Am I not a masked player in life’s pantomime!
I wonder what’s true to my being
And what makes me, the real me.
I see contradictions abound in me
And my personality, like an ocean is volatile,
Sometimes tranquil, sometimes agitated
Placid without waves very often,
But at times roaring with billows crashing!
I am openminded, but hide many secrets.
I am instinctively emotional, but mature.
I am an extrovert and feel happy in company,
But I like to withdraw into loneliness often.
I am mostly thoughtful, but tend to overthink.
I act confident but am diffident at heart.
Though satisfied with what I get,
I tend to crave more for the love people give me.
I am a poet and an artist, feeding on the encouragement I get
And stimulated by internal inspiration.
I am never a nosy parker, but curious about things
That pique my interest, be it of people or of the world.
I am a good listener, but need someone to listen to me.
I am easy to get along with, but get easily flustered.
I am compassionate, adjustable, loyal and humble.
At best I am a child of God, but lets the Satan,
Take over me sometimes when my temper rises.
How often, I wish to change myself
Change some of my characteristic traits
But minus my identity, I fear who I will be?
Categories:
innards, feelings, identity, image,
Form:
Free verse
The Great White Pumpkin
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Ghostly Pumpkin dull and white
Plans to give a ghastly fright.
Rough and tough his wrinkled skin
Mesmerizing twenty men.
Soon “Big Buddy” comes around.
Cuts a circle in his crown.
Jagged teeth and fearsome smile
Eyes and eyebrows carved in style.
Tasty innards scraped right out.
“Where's my nose?” White Pumpkin shouts!
Come on partner night grows dark.
Time to start the candle's spark.
Glowing eyes on front porch steps
Watch young goblins full of pep.
“Trick-or-Treat” the children chime.
Great White Pumpkin sings in time.
Categories:
innards, childhood, seasons
Form:
Couplet
whereas I, by chance, talking to myself, finding myself
alone, enclosed by four walls and a door, knock
to see, in the invisibility, with x-ray ability, not held,
if you dear reader, sitting by your nightlight, might
switch it on and find a word to speak silently
or out loud; your choice. the ones you borrow
from a native tongue, feeling
their incomprehensible weight,
stopping mid-sentence, to ponder if you are moved
in the slightest bit; I’m biting my lip in anticipation,
though I’ve no inkling that you're mulling over
my thoughts, my doubts, my innards, my all.
now, I, think of you, sitting by a scintilla of light,
moonlight marvels at the roundness of your lips
as you nearly sing your “o’s;” sonnets seem
sensual alongside the bed, though always grieving.
love is a dog, a walk in the woods, a lark.
leave me be. let me remember you as I long to.
don’t say goodbye, but leave my sighs on the table,
where you first met me, and I almost met you,
and you, dear reader, take back up with me,
though now there’s a familiarity between us,
lost in the shadows, amidst the stars
and you can nearly hear me breathing.
Categories:
innards, writing,
Form:
Free verse