Best Peter Out Poems
Written by Gail DeBole
Phillip Buster could fluster a room -
Full of men whose anger ballooned
When came his turn to speak,
Congress snored for a week,
All dreaming he'd peter out soon.
Note: Illustrated in Coloring within the Limericks available on Amazon.com and other retail websites.
Gail's note: Filibuster - Type of parliamentary procedure.
Right of the individual to extend debate allowing the lone
member to delay or prevent a vote on a proposal. -Wikipedia
THE GOLDEN SUN (Satis Shroff)
Through the cloudy veil
Appears the golden sun,
Changing the silvery North Sea
To a golden and crimson horizon.
The waves adorned with rich colours
Of yellow, orange blue and brown hues.
A fascinating play of colors,
Unfolding before your eyes.
Even the man-made Buhnen glow.
As you trudge on the beach sand,
To avoid wetting your shows,
By the ever coming frothy waves,
As they peter out near you.
You're thankful for everything
That you've been given or attained
In lifespan.
Like a moment of revelation,
An epiphany,
Or when you've had a near-death experience.
Thankful for who and what you are,
Towards your parents, teachers and mentors,
Who've moved you towards your goal.
In this spectacular theatre called life.
Ah, when Heaven and Earth unite,
The air, land and water.
Chandrama the moon appears
Like a sickle in the vast blue sky,
Bidding farewell to Surya,
The Sun God,
Who has metamorphosed into Agni,
The fiery Goddess that swallows all,
With her purifying flames.
This is the revelation of an epiphany,
A spectacle bathed in scarlet,
Orange, yellow, greenish-blue light.
Ah, how must it have been,
When the world was created?
* * *
© Satis Shroff. All rights reserved
The flames in the pit
peter out compared with
true distaff disdain
Going to get a “haircut” today
Actually getting all of them cut
Cutting just one would hardly be noticed
Now I'm being a silly nut
There's many other sayings similar to this
English is overloaded I find
Wanna hear some others I've discovered
Well stay tuned it'll blow your mind
“Keep your nose to the grindstone”
Now THAT'S gotta smart I'd say
See what I mean, don't follow this advice
You'll feel pain from here to Sunday
How about this one, “eye candy”
It certainly has me bamboozled
“Less is more” is another that's confusing
Looking for others for your perusal
Here's another, “left in the lurch”
Pretty sure they meant left in the “church”
“Dead as a doornail” as dead as you can be
Gonna do a little more research
To “peter out” means to dwindle away
Has a certain sexual connotation
Put it back in, it's a public place
You'll be arrested for excessive potation
“I rest my case”, now here's another one
Wasn't even carrying a case
Okay gonna “put this thing to bed”
Yikes! Can't wipe this grin from my face!
© Jack Ellison 2013
POTATION
• the action of drinking something, esp. Alcohol:
I intend to abstain from potation.
• (often potations) a drinking bout:
the dreadful potations of his youth.
The poems have been flowing like a river
Must take advantage while it happens
I think they say, “while the iron is hot!”
Other very familiar idioms like...
“A bigger bang for your buck” sure has sexual overtones
“Take the bit between your teeth”
Again, do they all have sexual overtones or is it me???
“Tail wagging the dog” uh-huh
How about, “Wet behind the ears!”
Sounds like someone has been keeping their tongue busy
I like, “Peter out”
Now if that doesn't conjure up an image
“Wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole”
YIKES!!! I wish!
“A hard man is good to find!”
LOL! Nothing to add here!
“Make a clean breast of things!”
No explanation necessary here either!
“Middle for diddle”
Now this one should be at the top of the list
“Caught by the short curlies”
OUCH!!!
One last one...
“Keep it under your hat”
WOW! Now I'd sure like to see that!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
(sung – in a round pussy willow warble - to the tune of --
Oh Where Oh Where has my little dog gone)
With a flam boy hunt deft jais nais sais quois
firm lickey split tongue
and two bell yule yar pissant
little nappy ruck berry filled up paul ling sacks
viz peppy la pew doth not peter out,
and weathers clawed rained swipes
from hello kitty when faux pas gets swung
assisting climbing Jacob's ladder
(without pussy footing,
orb bing a putz like the president)
advancing quick to attain orgasmic rung
while heading into a slippery sloping sluice
(with prickly endeavor emitting cleat trill
smooth sailing along a ****
re coarse upon phallic shaped pung
crossing la brea tar pits (peppered
with lai bee ha tricky bridge over the River Kwai)
comprising ideal place de la resistance
to woo tang clan foreign nee Kate,
where two puckered rill lee fleshy ruffling rills
tinged pinkish lips overhung
a challenging escarpment,
where many a brave Tom, Harry or Dick get hung
up, particularly while searching for fabled “G” spot,
cuz portcullis hamstrung
even the most fiercely determined
Engleburt Hump per dink
necessitating the moist risky ski maneuver
as most studs know tubby gelandesprung
though booby prize wool worth any slimy setbacks,
where sticky gook gets flung
from angry cat,
who does not in the least find amusing,
and if further pricked with rage
not averse to hurl dung
gar (with) ease at snaky,
retractable hardened beastie boy twill clung
for dear life and limb (er, or twig and berries),
while applying crampons (bivouaced
within his maxipad), viz bung
gull low, essentially a ball peen size cove
hammered out by Dashiell Hammitt, where coiled,
kinked follicles strewn tightly inlet among
pheromone laced verboten fruit.
Oh...and hello
to you, some hours past, I
returned from counseling,
(hence this boy yent -
albeit beastie boy
figuratively basking
in fading afterglow)
great kickstarter session,
countless moments ago,
sans treatment plan,
she facilitated emotional airflow
i.e. Stephanie Dodds,
(sat straight as an arrow)
whereat this client purged, avow
hid lee, his psycho
logical reflux backflow
(Matthew Scott Harris) did crow
as said professionally trained
medicine woman actively listened,
(no doubt other male patients
similar to yours truly entertained
(alignment with see
thing hormonal concurrence,
where ego super vies iz
Id dee hot - hook line, and sinker
attributed to Sigmund Freud,
who sired, midwifed, and fathered
psychoanalytic theories)
sexual kindled fantasies,
viz being bedfellow
this soul, hood doth not bellow,
but keeps mum
(during my allotted time),
yet willingly shares
with utter strangers
intimate gal olive
hunt ting fantasy,
that doth beshadow
obviously no intent to breach
such prurient thoughts, bestow
foolscap upon mine noggin,
and most definitely blow
future appointments
with aesthetically pleasing
(tomb maa cryptic) bowwow
wing hot diggity
dog inner primate, perhaps,
and not surprisingly get brow
beaten, where dire
erect tor of facility
wilt hell me
"go take a hike to
penile solitary bungalow,"
where all manner of
libidinous desires wanna burrow
(where warren peace
can thrive hare and now),
on par with rabbit - burr reader,
which confinement would
not principally peter out
till dawning transgression vetted,
and avered final cockrow
trumpeted, norte - til last cornrow
reaped, hence unable
to thwart counterblow
permanently, doth nada
different she hate
lustful zeal from eye
dims sum – genital fateful dayglow,
thence high lee
grant ting deathblow
to testosterone laden satiety,
randy proclivity, and
concupiscent adoration from
combine nation of #endow
ments to ghost of - Grant
yule leases eyebrow
raising candy cane upon fallow
da weeder foreshadow
wing sowing field of poetically
wet dreams plying fecund,
feminine, and fertile ground
godaddy on his gangplow.
He took flight into the runway setting sun
Knowing he had avoided his last medical
And as the tumor burst
Rendering him comatose
So he couldn't eject
He knew
He would never return
This was an end of duty
But a noble way to die
For a Pilot who was listless without the sky as companion
Better a death in the sky
Than to peter out
In a hospital bed
Surrounded by pity
It's a good day to die
I only wish I had a worthy adversary to battle
Not this falling body of a shell
If I don't kill
Will tear itself apart
Yellow bellowing pain
I seek glory not shame
I hope you understand
This is my doing
My choice
Remember me not as missing
But as with like minded friends
Reminiscing about old times
A Pilots End
Amen
Rise up, Scion of La Mancha.
Destiny orbited all that you were
and encompassed all that you possessed.
Windmills stood ten-fold to the fore
when you readied your lance
and saddled your barn nag.
Its whipped hide and ungulated
hoofs cantering towards betrayal
and unfinished vows.
Your voice was virtuous in timbre
against the manifest threat of cruel
malfeasance that roamed the lands
of bogus hills and rampant mountains
charging towards the crest of your
enlightened honour.
Now, these burning candles about
your casket hold the truth
of your quests until, like you,
they peter out and die.
And then, recitations of your Quixotic
trials shall be cleaved from history.
Such is the eye of irony that wrests
away your conquests.
So, rise up Scion of La Mancha and challenge
the lies. Ride abroad with purpose once more.
Or lay where you rest and let time become
a biased judge to your well laid intentions.
Friendship such a precious thing
Someone to stand by on your wing
A giver of all and good times to bring
Oh it is such a wonderful thing
But oh love eludes me still
A hole in my heart nothing can fill
A friendship gained that sadly will
Peter out to an absolute nill
The tears will soon begin to fall
My life will hit another brick wall
My heart will for another call
Please oh please break my fall
But alone in this world I must stand
In this harsh and desolate land
A dusty city that's completely bland
And in it I chair the loneliness band
Anticlimactic mood after February 18th, 2021 snow storm subsided
I hate spoiler alert
regarding weather forecasters prediction,
especially when meteorologist
wannabe spouse doth blurt
out impending blizzard
which never materializes.
Yours truly humbled and enamored
when Mother Nature
singly and/or nsync with old man winter
looses propensity to wreak havoc
and/or blankets landscape
I fondly think back
remembering '96 storm of the century.
At that time January 1996
me and the missus timesharing
Shawnee on the Delaware
ardently striving, yet
unsuccessful conceiving Blizzard Baby.
Now far beyond procreative age,
(though I wistfully envisage
begetting another progeny -
simultaneously stretching credulity
to breaking point)
all things considered
exhaustion would peter out
after capitulation of divining rod
necessitating lifetime to recoup energy.
Bound within figurative four walls
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania domicile
courtesy appreciable snowfall,
I direct energy crafting poem.
Yours truly will actually
refrain comestibles despite feeling hungry -
lest metabolism to digest food
decreases potential alertness,
and full belly finds me
ready able and willing
to doze immediately into deep slumber.
Hungry stomach in tandem
with eventful weather
sends surge of giddiness
coursing thru body electric
crackling, popping, and snapping
(while O Captain My Captain)
came to witty man (me) suddenly
enervating with poignant pregnant expectancy
papa pondering his empty nest syndrome
analogously attempting to offset void
coaxing poem into existence
unsure how literary endeavor
(mine) will thrive
amidst well suited
panoply of prolific writers,
whose unseen fingers
hop lightly and gracefully
across qwerty computer keyboard
akin to heavy armed soldiers
with fearlessness and deliberation
heading off to war to acquire poetic license.
Meanwhile chafed knuckles
of one garden variety primate
previously scraping along tundra
(methinks I espy frozen Mastodon)
(before twenty first century caveman
learned to stand erect)
endeavors to strike letter combinations
eliciting, facilitating, and generating
enticing curb appeal.
When I look at you, captive of my heart,
I ask myself, what do I feel? What do I see?
What loveliness is this before me?
I try to express it, to trap it in words, but time and again
I end up speechless…
A gaping fish, devoid of adjectives to describe your unerring beauty
Inadequate, what a pathetic poet I am
Unable to find words for your flawed perfection
You must be mocking me with those wise brown eyes of yours
But I – the wordless poet - challenge you…
Gaze for but moments upon the face of your love,
Drink in every radiant inch of their face, so familiar, so elusive,
And then you pick up your pen…
Flex your talented fingers through which the muse flows…
And you try to describe them, sum them up if you will,
Capture them with a handful of metaphors
A smattering of exquisite adjectives
And then step back and see if your poem can even come close to reality
Has it?
No I did not think so…
Rare is the poet who is distant enough – impassive enough
Objectively spaced apart,
To capture the true beauty of their loved one on paper,
To trap the essence of the divine and nail it to that thin bone-white sheet
I have failed to do so,
I lapse into uselessness every time I catch my loved one’s eye,
And there unearth the elusive meaning of life…
Then, foiled again, the words peter out,
They do not even make it to the tips of my hapless fingers
But stutter and stammer and melt away into oblivion…
Yet I for one don’t care, for I don’t need those words,
Instead I have my love’s beauty in my very hands
Warm and smooth and breathing – an ecstasy of living flesh
And the words, they are not called for yet...
An email written to eldest daughter
December 28th, 2019,
which unwittingly, magically, accidentally...
resurfaced while scrolling
thru outdated emails
and OpenOffice documents of mine
thee evening of February 20th, 2022.
The remaining lines
comprising reasonable poetic rhyme
sent to said offspring
more than two plus years ago
and dada feels grief no more, cuz time
heals all wounds.
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp faux claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler Craigslist curb alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
courtesy lack of income
rendered paternal bond disastrously dire
doth now conclude another poetic wire.
Going to get a “haircut” today
Actually getting all of them cut
Cutting just one would hardly be noticed
Now I'm being quite a silly nut
There's many other sayings similar to this
English is overloaded I find
Wanna hear others that I've discovered
Well stay tuned it'll “blow your mind”
“Keep your nose to the grindstone”
Now THAT'S gotta smart I'd say
See what I mean, don't follow this advice
You'll feel pain from here to Sunday
How about this one, “eye candy”
It certainly has me bamboozled
“Less is more” is another that's confusing
Looking for others for your perusal
Here's another, “left in the lurch”
Pretty sure they meant left in the “church”
“Dead as a doornail” as dead as you can be
Gonna do a little more research
To “peter out” means to dwindle away
Has a certain sexual connotation
Put it back in, it's a public place
You'll be arrested for excessive potation
“I rest my case”, now here's another one
Wasn't even carrying a case
Okay gonna “put this thing to bed”
Yikes! Can't wipe this grin from my face!
POTATION
• the action of drinking something
esp. Alcohol: I intend to abstain from potation.
• (often potations) a drinking bout:
the dreadful potations of his youth
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
doth now conclude another poetic wire.