Best Maws Poems
I know we love to read of beautiful things
Hear early morning serenades the song bird sings
See buds blooming into roses perfumed
Within majestic sunset's horizons become consumed
There's another place I lived in for a little while
A neighborhood where somethings didn't make me smile
A child banging on the door, mommy let me inside
Things in the home, I guess from his eyes they must hide
I befriended a boy of ten riding his bike
Said he always went to me-maws to get a bite
For there was no food in his house to eat
Dad found other things to buy instead of meat
A few days pass, no sign of my friend
There he was riding down the street again
I asked where he'd been, was he alright?
He explained he was recovering from a bad dog's bite
I asked him what the doctor had said
He replied, I sewed it myself with a needle and thread
I reluctantly said, let me see your nice sewing job
He pulled up his pant leg, I choked back a sob
I asked him if his daddy was ever mean
He shrugged his shoulders, said sometimes it seems
It kinda hurt my feelings when he said to me
Finish him off - right between the eyes
I won't feed a dog that bites
Not worth the ground where he lies
Sitting on his bike, a leg began to sway
Eyes filled with tears, quickly he wiped one away
Remembering the killing shot he'd fired that day
Toughen up son, is what his father said
Advice given in love, maybe....
Then off on his bike he rode to have some fun...
I know in some places many families still really care
But Mayberry exists only on TV in shades of gray
I moved back to the country where buds bloom into roses perfumed
And into majestic sunset's horizons I can be consumed
©Donna Jones
...... Part 3 ......
The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
repaint the point o’ dyin’.
A magpie flies with frightened eyes
(on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.
On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
with icy hails ’a blowin’.
The storm abates and terminates,
the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.
As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
(the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
......End......
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
.
Imagine i
having fingers
to gently press ’pon your skin
Lips to linger
'mongst yourn lips and torso
Imagine i
with insertion and
your head tilted back
with your maws widely open
and your vocals expressing with
great emotion
Flutter ballerina
make the silence softly break
with your gesticulating pose
Whisper with spin ballerina
as your flattering dress even
glisterz in gloam
.
I saw her's at the
distance
I tried the whistle
It flew out like
tweety bird's
caught by sylvester
featherz and
all
hern soon
oke
choked
Hitherto
i whistle not
at fine
hers'
her's
lets lips
mine
not
*i ofttimes spill the nouns (the)hers
:>shemales; i meant, females..(did so ')
(the)shes
therefore I explicate and may the poetic astute
accept mine artistic license :) hers: females... 'period'
shes: the feminine plural ;) oh stop ,)
edvard'z lisp and *sensitive feel> (fem~i~nine)
^:uh wight guy ') her's: possessive
* oke^ hern: belongs to her e.g. her's, in the broader sence; 'twuz her decision I.e; the poet, can say "her breast were in mine maws", yet, wus it her decision that her breast were there(the 'terse' poet would need to explicate, cramming hiz lisp with unnecessary werdz)..but, if the poet (i exspecially)exclaimed; "hern" breast were in mine maws", hiz readerz intuitively would know, that 'she gave' her breast up willingly(her decide). If the poet exclaimed; "hern pussie wuz pink"
^('she' lets poet see it's
pink
etc.)
i pray there be shes reserving sum hern for mine
indulge....words...that's what i well i tried to meant ')
I reckon the empty nest syndrome hits all at one time or another,
When youngsters flee the nest leaving dear old Dad and Mother!
This morning on the patio I witnessed this situation at its best,
When two baby wrens took flight and left their parent's cozy nest!
Mr. and Mrs. Wren set up housekeeping in a birdhouse I had made.
They soon became the proud parents of a couple of eggs she laid!
I watched them flit to and fro as they filled the ever-empty maws,
Of their little darlings from grub carried in their over-flowing craws!
Once the kids had spread their wings to experience the thrill of flight,
Mother Wren would sit on the birdhouse porch to contemplate her plight!
She'd plaintively chirp as if to say, "You ingrates left sans saying goodbye!
You've left me and your Pa in this lonely nest to mope about and cry!"
It wasn't long until Mr. Wren was in a romantic mood with his spouse.
When he tried to nuzzle up to Mrs. Wren, she'd scurry inside the house,
As if to say, "No way, buster! I've had it! Cool it until next spring!
Perhaps when the cherry blossoms bloom again we'll have another fling!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
When the skydiver leapt from his plane
What he saw below to his great disdain
Were 'gators flexing their jaws
Expecting grub for their maws
To pursue this sport he must be insane
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 8 in Caroline Devonshire's "To Die For" Limerick Contest - July 2010
Villanelle: To what great good singular individuals sacrificed their lives
To what great good singular individuals sacrificed their lives
To free their peoples from the oppressors’ superior mores
Only to find after they’re gone no true local legacy survives
To what great good Mexican peasants seized land archives
When President Zapata refused to administer hard-won laws
To what great good singular individuals sacrificed their lives
To what great good Mahatma Gandhi’s fasting skill revives
The age-old Hindu-Muslim mistrust and Brahmin maws
Only to find after they’re gone no true local legacy survives
To what great good faithful Castro’s will still contrives strives
To keep his Marxist revolution going in open American jaws
To what great good singular individuals sacrificed their lives
To what great good nations boxed in by their leaders’ drives
Go through deprivation depression desolation for saviours
Only to find after they’re gone no true local legacy survives
To cap it all each nation favours some god with inane lies
An excuse to sanctify the nation’s man-made partisan laws
To what great good singular individuals sacrificed their lives
Only to find after they’re gone no true local legacy survives
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
[A] DONE DEAL
[A] defeated disgusting man this is.
Disallowed defense because of his disease.
[A] Done deal to compete with the Dogs!
Distribute dinner to him as a better eat of hog maws.
Do not deliberate this as a lost.
[A] Done Deal depletes the prognosis.
Dis Dell do.
Hair her head to...
[A] Done deal the truth!
_________________|
PENNED ON JULY 04, 2014!
Pig feet, hog maws, chitterlings, yams, greens and cornbread,
These are some of the things that our bodies are being fed.
Fat back, ribs, neck bones, macaroni and cheese;
Our hearts and arteries are crying, please, please, please.
Buttered rice, succulent greasy peas and a thin-layered chocolate cake,
We keep pumping this in our bodies, so what is it going to take.
Hypertension, high cholesterol, or maybe even a heart attack,
To get us from eating these fatty foods and help us to face facts.
We have heard the old saying "You are what you eat."
More than half of the time our diets are incomplete.
We need to eat a well-balanced meal from the four food groups,
And every day at least five vegetables and fruit.
Drink eight glasses of water to help keep your system clean,
And one other food product that will provide some protein.
A little exercise and a good amount of rest,
Each of us is different, for you; you know what 's best.
This is not said to scold you, nor is it to criticize;
It is only put here to give you some healthy advice.
If we don't adjust the way that we are eating;
Sooner, rather than later our Master we will be meeting.
The majestic eagle preens itself as a brilliant new day is born,
Flexing its lithesome wings to prepare for its daily bourne.
The rising sun enhances it exquisite gilded plumage.
Gentle zephyrs will uphold its wings, its flight to assuage.
From atop a craggy tor where nestles its rustic aerie,
It surveys its domain, rugged mountain and rolling prairie.
From its lofty perch, it spots vistas mere man will never see,
Anon to ride the surging winds, its earthly bonds to flee!
Stretching its powerful wings ready to begin the day,
It sets about that eternal quest to seek its daily prey.
Aerobatic savvy it will use and hunting skills it will test,
To fill is needs and the gaping maws of eaglets in the nest!
Other winged creatures flee when its clarion scream is heard.
'Tis perilous to invade the territory of this raptorial bird.
The august eagle displays a most imposing aerial ballet,
As it swiftly and silently descends upon its hapless prey!
It is apt that the eagle is the symbol of these United States.
There are so many venerable traits that in each equates.
Cleared-eyed vision, firm resolve and imposing nobility,
Meeting all challenges and dangers with stalwart versatility!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Defy the dreadnaught darkness
that repels Gods' given light.
Beware the banshee blackness
dour damnation shrieks delight.
Leather wings and padded paws
phantom forms of ferine fright,
searing eyes and hunters' maws
drive intrepid hearts to flight.
From the boiling brimstone bile,
condemned corpses rise as one.
Pockmarked faces nod and smile
for the noxious night has won.
Defy the dreadnaught darkness
let the serpents' sons be bred.
Beware the banshee blackness
as the worms caress the dead.
Perverse pits where evil pours
scorched blood and liquid lead.
Demons crack forbidden doors
so our shivers might be fed.
Defy the dreadnaught darkness
where the rancid reptiles dwell.
Beware the banshee blackness
where one mis-step broaches Hell.
Prehistoric island beast,
Drifting in the ocean,
Heavy amidst a sun-starred sea,
Dreamclouds hover kissing ridges,
Pouring over cliffs,
Shadowed maws in sunlight threaten
Lips of sand on mouths of bays,
Silent surf littorally nibbling,
Eating beasts in slumber,
Mist-hazed horizon dictates time,
Waiting places Poseiden smiles,
Distance closes over time;
Distance closes all of time.
When Ma got her social security check
To the Cripple Creek casinos she'd trek
Coins passed through her greedy paws
To feed the slots' gaping maws
Leaving Pa peeved wanting to wring her neck
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
AEONIA-
AEONI-
AEON-
Vestal purity, all men succumb- the Virgin whose eyes stare silver beams- crystallizing his very soul. He, and all who gaze upon she.
Aeonia writhes behind fallen lids, unable to awake. Betrayal of her psyche-. Silk whispers upon her sweat soaked skin. 1000 nights have come and gone as she still writhes, unable to awaken.
Her **** swallows the evil the world has delighted in - all betrayal, lies and sin.
Dripping from between her great legs are left the dregs of green heat,
jealous heat that slides down and puddles on the floor.
The vacuousness of her **** has left no good...
fear, hatred and rage are ****ed inside of her... pounded into her birthing, ever birthing animosities.
Sludgy sperm of bastards evil- threaten to fertilize her eggs. Gray fetuses passing through her pose the question- "Why?"
She dares not answer, for to open her mouth would invite flies to lay their maggot eggs upon her very tongue...
Still she cannot- dare not open her eyes...not yet.
Screams! tortured hyena throes of Thorazine echo in her mind.
Do Not Open Your Eyes!
Aeonia- and her aeons!
Ever lay bare and never to see, never to move.
Aeonia! Why have the gods punished you? Fair one of the crystalline silver eyes?
Time immemorial, leperous tongue dies piece by piece, inch by inch until nay but a smarted stub exists.
Who hears you anyways? No one to hear your cries whore!
Whore of all women, shall we call you Eve?
Cocks of man and gods and kings all rape your syphallic cave-
one by one.
Whore! You are blamed! Oh Aeonia, for misbegotten deeds by every wife, woman and queen!
Succubi, WITCH! A potion of cat claws and rat maws you brewed, from Adam to the last man standing, you are to be blamed! For his infidelity, his disease, his shame!