Best Mouth Poems
I'm scared to close my eyes tonight
I ask my mom to hold me tight
To tell me it will be alright,
and rock me close till morning light
I hear my auntie start to cry,
and no one wants to tell me why
my uncle's gone without goodbye
I wonder what it's like to die
I miss my home, and my best friend
She said this war was going to end
that other countries would defend
Perhaps she's playing just pretend
My mom said now she's on a plane
I'm glad she's not here in this rain,
or wounded and in awful pain
Iike those of us who must remain
I try to block the noise to sleep,
while thinking our lives must be cheap
I pray to God our souls to keep
To calm the fear that's running deep
I'm splashing in a little stream,
but why do I hear mother scream?
The blasts are real and not a dream!
Oh, God! This is the end it seems.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
October 5, 2024
Beirut, Lebanon
As I Walk Hard Narrow Path, Dust In My Mouth
I walk hard narrow path, dust in my mouth
Just a poor farm-boy, born in the dear South,
With edges slippery and turns so quick
Oft so weary, too often so damn sick.
Trudging on through, into midnight's dark cast
Praying my courage will forever last,
And in my dreams, I meet my angel here
She of sweetest heart and devoid of fear.
Each new sunset , I watch those red-burnt rays
Muttering words, as only poor boy prays,
In wind's soft blows, I hear, "patience rewards"
Step thee lively, avoid the broken shards!
I walk hard narrow path, dust in my mouth
Just a poor farm-boy, born in the dear South.
R.J. Lindley ,
July 11th, 1973
Sonnet, ( Working on the farm before sun-up until after sunset)
Note: I decided this morn, to bring this one right on out of my private journal.
Hope you may enjoy it, as I wrote it at age 19..
Any that worked on the farms in the 60-s, 70's, and 80's, will certainly get this..
Inspired by Machinehead – Darkness Within (Acoustic version) & members of society who refuse to embrace the kiss of silence…
As great intentions
Wither upon invalidated declarations,
Serenity’s crowd holds teary-eyed candles
Making silent wishes
For the venom to be sucked
Out
Loudness’ waxy build-up
Making filthy demands
In delegated hostage stand-off
To be HEARD
Cocked pistols, insignificant
Firing duds against glasshouses
Rubbing “war-torn” palms
Within cemented rubber bands
Forgetting life’s lesson
To shut their raging mouth
If they truly want to be heard
Amnesia’s warning sign to muzzle thyself
For one meaningful second
To ALLOW a merging of disappointed truths
Into their heartbeats
Salvation’s attempt to stifle boiling pressures of Sangre
From coming face to face with reality scythes
They latch onto plastic rosary beads
Fade to Black
Singing Gregorian prayers,
Removing knife from karma’s back
They strum in vain to please the Lord.
We see your true colors
Shining through
We see your true colors
That’s why we can no longer love you
Placing forced expectations
Against vulnerable humanity
To lay weary heads on curtailed shoulder pads
With foolish attempts to swallow moot points
And pride-coated defibrillators
To jump start a heartbeat, extinct
Forgetting that even self-made pedestals
Have a limited warranty
I see your true colors
Shining through…
©Drake J. Eszes
I read Darryl Ashton’s poem Called Pinocchio Rex and this brought back
memories of a childhood incident
When I grew up we had a smallholding – the house was called ‘Longacre’ as we
had over an acre of land. Over the years we had chickens, pigs named Pinky
and Porky and a goat called Susie… she had kids called Billy and Nanny – guess
I was no good at names back then… but I digress
Attached to the house was a small village shop but my parents also made a
small income from selling fresh eggs and in the summer home grown
strawberries – I would help pick washing baskets of them and bag them up to
sell.
Every week a little old man would arrive for his dozen eggs and if the shop was
shut he would ring the doorbell. He wore a pointed felt hat, had steely blue
eyes and the most enormous nose you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to him
my parents nicknamed him 'Pinocchio'.
When I was aged about 7 years old the doorbell rang – mum was busy baking
in the kitchen so I answered it. There in front of me stood this old man wanting
his eggs. Mum shouted from the kitchen
‘Who is it Janet?’
I replied ‘Oh its only Pinocchio’
At once mum appeared from the kitchen, her face was the colour of beetroot.
She apologised for the comment from her ‘cheeky daughter’ The man
purchased his eggs and walked away – never to return!
The moral of this true tale is that parents ALWAYS tell the truth and that
children have ears the size of an elephant and a mouth just as big … so if you
don’t want them to repeat something YOU have said keep it zipped!
Jan Allison
11th August 2014
Sweet Charmaine Chircop has just made my day
Sure would love to meet her in person, I'll say
Would hug her so tight
Might turn out her lights
Then forced to give her mouth to mouth resuscitation, olé!
© Jack Ellison 2015
A vindictive old crone called Skyla
Her comments could not be more vile’a
She will give folk such flack
Stabbing them in the back
Well 'madam' I don’t like your style’a*
If you cannot say anything nice
I’ll offer a snippet of advice
Please keep your big mouth shut
Stop your cruel words and smut
Because soup’s not a fool’s paradise!
* a little poetic licence with end rhyme
Fictional name but sadly over the last few weeks I’ve seen some really vindictive comments made by both male and female poets ... there really is NO need for it .
6/5/19
I bought a parrot but he has a foul mouth.
I let him loose so that he could fly South.
But he came home again.
This proves that I can't win.
He says the F word two hundred times a day.
He offends everybody and drives them away.
Nobody will take this bird even though I offer to pay them.
I'm going out of my mind, it looks like I'm stuck with him.
I have the only parrot on Earth that's a sinner.
If he doesn't shut up, he's going to be my dinner.
(This is a fictional poem)
Just the other day
So out of the blue
My granddaughter says
I have a secret to tell you
With a pensive look
She blurted out
I have evil inside of me
Said with a factual pout
Why do you think that
I question gently
It's transferred from my doll
She said intently
Your brain can make you think
Many things that are not true
Show me your doll
I will examine her for you
I said, you are not evil
Your imagination is very strong
I should not have told you grandma
I'm right and you are wrong
With a little huff
She scampered away
Left me with a smile
And some dismay
November 19, 2019
For Contest ~ 2 to 12
Sponsor ~ Beth Evans
Grandpa told some more tall stories today.
He thinks his memories are true
but we all know he was always a self-made liar,
kidding all and sundry seven ways to Monday,
faking the figures for the giddy and gullible,
plagiarizing other peoples
experiences and making up whoppers.
Some think his rambling tales just adorable,
others hope he would not speak at all
for gobbledygook is his halting style.
When we check on his fibs
and question him
he just stares at us
blank-eyed like a fresh caught fish.
We have had to put him in a big white house
for his own safety
trouble is
no one else is safe now.
penny licorice
kids speaking
in black tongues
Sometimes my mouth
whispers to my ear
without movement; I feel the
vibrations travel through
my head.
I'd spy on it, clamp it,
but it says vile, shocking
things I never
would.
The sound
resonates within me.
My ears try
to cut the cord
but only amplify the screech:
inside me a giant ring
is ringing and I can't
let others hear it.
Let the words of my mouth have backbone
Buoyed by the sinew of thoughtless thoughts
May they be freely formed and fashioned
On the smooth surface of an unyielding anvil
Hammered in the heat of passion’s angst
Molded in the flame of sightless vision
Nurtured by the touch of unfelt hands
Polished in the innocence of love’s longings
For how else will they be my words
If stolen, reshaped, reworked, weakly rekindled
Would I not be but a chirping echo
Scratching at a stained-glass soul
Would that my words and meditations
Be the reflection of my heart’s belief
Set free within the moments calm
To stir a gently passing breeze
The mouth of deception Devil's verses recites simulating the voice of angels!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 September 2018
In the Mouth of Desire
touching me
your lips, your tongue
chalice
filled with sweet fruit
we’re no longer friends
when we sup
lovers
once again
we can’t
get enough
sucking grapes
nibbling red apples
tender, the nape of neck
at
eureka’s urging
Big-Mouth Bass
An April morning, as the climbing sun
tipped up in sight, and lit the coming day
and colored red, after a storm was done,
I cast my plug, a stinger--red and gray--
to where it looked the likely place to me,
where hides the hog--from minnows swimming by;
then feeds upon those minnows, carelessly,
as pops the sun into the morning sky.
Upon the water, mirrored flat and still,
I raise the wake, so slight--then let it lay;
and cranking in, so slowly then until
I hear the chomp--that warns he's set to play!
And all the minnows cheer me in my quest
of battle with my most unwilling guest!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet