Best Pummel Poems
Your hat hangs limp and still with your loss
faded and stained, every thread, precious
my tears blur with silhouettes of you, dad
your distinctive scent, I touch your well worn brim
the hallway darkens with an approaching storm
pounding raindrops pummel my grieving heart.
Written on 2/20/2019
Ah, Wind, we've known each other so long.
While creatures run quickly from your side,
I've tried to find kindness in your song
but your howls become hard to abide.
You loudly roar blowing doors ajar,
trees bent weary by ceaseless pummel.
I hear your rumble, beginning far
announcing yourself, never humble.
Beneath blue skies, a rustle of leaves,
a gentle breeze stirring grains of sand.
Clever Wind sending Zephyr to tease
but we now know the tricks in your hand.
You can charm dust into whirling dance
spinning her round as dust devils fly.
Then do your best to spoil a romance
with your chuckle as they reach the sky.
Unmentionable tantrums and blows,
your foot stamping when you are annoyed.
Leveling towns, do you regret those
heartbreaks caused as you merrily toyed?
Sometimes forlorn, or is that a guise,
when quickly you stop, tempering voice?
is that sadness I see in your eyes?
With flashes of scorn, you make your choice.
April 23, 2023
for "Word Challenge--W Words" poetry contest
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables=9
Daggled and bloodied, the young man lay upon the ground where he’d been
left.. .left by vile men who, spurred by senseless hate and ravenous for a taste of
violence, had lured him with false fellowship and brought him to this secluded spot
by veil of darkened day. At first, they bound his arms, rendering him defenseless to
what was to ensue. After dragging him a small way from the back seat of their van,
they proceeded to pummel his stomach and his face, breaking his nose almost
instantly. When he stumbled to the ground, he received the heels of their boots as
they kicked at his extremities and then again, he received their cruel blows to his
stomach and face. When certain they had done enough damage so he would not
last a night in the cold, they spat on him and drove away.
As his attackers sat far away in a bar, drunk and boasting how they’d “done the
world a favor,” he’d already passed the stage of vomiting and gasping for his
breath. And though his brain was writhing with awful pain, with knowledge of his
sure obliteration, his chilled and broken body stayed inert. Reposed as if inside the
womb, he felt the ache receding, and before night’s shadows passed into the dawn,
his blood had stanched.
Now as flesh turns into carrion lying undiscovered in the dust, his spirit… never
quashed. . .cries out for justice.
*Image of Julius Caesar by QDT.
The Ides of March
Spun spells pummel our Earth ... as a Sun scanned absence swallow,
vacuumed blues taxes light once deemed eternal ... plus righteousness,
escapism from existence ... edges evacuation,
Birth ere the latter days ... ventured the laurels that were Rome,
the incarnation of iniquity ... masquerade innocence,
like clovers and thistles ... lure eyes above the common grass,
Furtherance besought ... midst tossed bone for multi contentment,
parades that paralyze souls ... usurp minds to sweeping abandon,
celebratory hails the seasoned ... emblem of power,
The gods and goddesses' palms of warring pulse ... 'tis peacetime,
nonetheless ... tributes adorn the temples of Mars in abundance,
'tis time of awash hands of mere grimes ... toxic suffers freely,
Citizens housed upon Palatine ... the triumphant hill,
felicitations honorable legions ... protectors of Rome,
promissory constants ... declared Remus per Romulus,
Roman Senate played a chess game ... Caesar kept them in check,
every move was scrutinized ... made vulnerable and powerless,
autocracy trumps democracy ... seeds gangocracy,
Plans are planted within plans ... schemes are shrouded inside schemes,
the beast entrails read ominously ... Spurina forewarns the marked,
timely debts to be paid in full ... matters to be settled,
At the Courts of Pompey ... the assembly awaits for him,
armorless donning senatorial garb ... metals pierce a man,
till mute ... last recalls *haruspex, "Beware the Ides of March".
*Haruspex; reading of omens from the entrails of sacrificed animals. The subject of Shakespeare's title play came from his thorough accounting of Plutarch's writings.
2022 March 30
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 11
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 April 22
*HMS; 14,16,14 syllables per x 8 stanzas
Pounding at the resonant head
of my chest—he of hunger
latches his fangs just beneath my jaw—
not to sever silence, but to pummel poison.
Tissue parts with wet reluctance,
he with need more than malice
burrows into the larynx of what
was once controlled, fearful sound.
Nameless, shapeless he who
with shark-possessed teeth does not ravage—
but infiltrates—peeling cartilage from confession,
mining marrow-thoughts clogged in
curse-traversed trachea.
I am a conduit split open—
voice extracted in ligaments,
fibrous and twitching,
stripped from the cords—
myofibrils separatus tendon.
Nameless, shapeless he!
How does he so musically reshape
what I cannot say?
How does he gut syllables
I do not recognize—
yet still, convince me
they are mine?
With his guiding talons,
my breath comes out red,
heavier than blood—
tastes of steel-bitten soul—
boiled vowels
that never knew air
but somehow rise.
His incantation:
Spiritus somni!
Spits into my mouth—
a blessing—not!
a summons—not!
but a shameful dream behind my teeth
like bruises that speak sermons.
Nameless, shapeless he…
He says I was never mute—
only sealed for some latter doomsday…
And now, with my throat laid open like a shrine,
he listens as I blaspheme
my dream.
This is a long extended night,
The stars all hibernate,
The blustery gusts revolve around
The dreams which suffocate.
Now the torrents lash my door,
And now they slam the shade,
'Be couched right here, and do not move',
The whispers promptly bade.
Out there I glanced, the wild tree pranced,
She swayed her tipsy stem,
All drenched and dark, the leafy arc
Seems like her death-gown's hem.
Is that mere downpour, or a sign,
An omen of the time?
The thunders clash with louder splash,
Upon the lakebed slime.
My window pane is stabbed by rain,
One thousand spears en masse,
They prick the eaves, pummel the leaves
To the level of the grass.
The flickering lamp will die at once,
It does not cease to pour,
A marble sculpture drowns beneath
The water on the floor.
That which gives life can take it too,
Lo there it heaves its head,
The shrine's bemused, the priest presumed
A curse on holy bread.
It has to cease within no time,
The devil's thunder roars,
The gale allays his evil play
Withdraws his wondrous force.
28th September, 2021
Oh, peaceful sentinel of green,
With sweeping boughs and leafy screen!
Most trees provide a tranquil shade,
For picnickers in any glade
But you, O Willow, choose to smite,
And pummel passersby all night!
While common willows gently weep,
You cause the very bones to leap!
With one swift swish, you wreck a car,
And launch a Ford into a star.
You care not for a bird or bee,
An equal-opportunity brute tree.
You guard a dark and secret door,
Where furry friends pace on the floor.
A gentle poke upon your bark
Will freeze you silent in the dark,
A magic trick of wood and limb,
To keep your temper rather trim!
So hail the violent, twisted wood!
Misunderstood, yet understood.
The only tree, we must agree,
That strikes right back at botany!
It's just too goo to be true,
in a crazy little crew,
drawing the ramps up,
dynamic slapstick-
always having food as thought,
the pummel on row,
which is 9000ft straight towards physical steal;
entered into a falsehood-
through made gravity stick,
and unleash the past!
Every loop an iron cross,
all dishes lost,
the accident,
the belonging,
On-
Time,
a relief rafter,
trapped her in a bastard-
livin' lavish though,
lacked her plaster!
I' reddemmed, but inside of your calculator...
Ready or not it's just like your liked NOT to come,
ingenious or not, it's indigenous laughter to rum.
A gypsy woman came and said,
‘I know you’ll want to purchase these.’
My granny firmly shook her head,
unmoved by all the gypsy’s pleas.
The gypsy tried a savage stare,
and pointed to my granny’s purse.
‘If you don’t buy my pegs, I swear,
I’ll hit you with a nasty curse.’
‘A curse won’t work if blood is drawn,’
my granny said. ‘Although I’m old,
I’ll pummel you upon the lawn.’
She chased the gypsy up the road…
…I heard the gypsy hollerin’
as Granny stuck her with a pin!
* A true story
Written 10th March, for Francine’s Funnybone contest
Don’t
hate me, despise me
Don’t
cut me off, hide me
Don’t
put me in a corner to punish me
Don’t
mentally torture me
Don’t
yell, shout or scream at me
Don’t
tear share or scare me
Don’t
hurt me, nor squeeze me
Don’t
taunt, tease and thump me
Don’t
shove, crush, or bruise me
Don’t
push, pull or pummel me
Don’t
break me or blind me
Don’t
abuse me, or bleed me
Don’t
rape me, suffocate me
Don’t
murder me, lose me
DON’T
Bitter Truths
How much of bitterness is truth we cannot swallow.
The acridity of words held idle for too long, fermenting
in the cauldron of conceit, the spoils of victory flaunted
in feigned servility. What scales measure life against
life, gain against greater gain, success against success?
Can we not savor the sweetness of another’s gifts
without coveting them, bathing them in our envy,
sullying them with our rancor? Could we not applaud
the valor and perseverance of the triumphant, revel
in a rivalry well played, tip our equally soiled cap,
nod in an appreciation of a job well done?
Must the fist of failure pummel all who do not win,
remove the joy of competition’s camaraderie,
negate the lessons learned, the hours shared,
diminish the successes in setting and
eclipsing goals and gains. Does not the acrid stench
of final gun fade, slowly drifting on a passing breeze?
Why must the truth hold bitter still, unable to accept
the success in every failure and the failure in
disparaging success.
John G. Lawless
1/17/2014
Thrashing like Medusa's locks,
water-whipped kelp, lash and flay.
And angry waves pummel rocks,
while morphing into a spray.
The sky's a cauldron of clouds,
churning like a dark witch's brew.
And wrapped in ebony shrouds;
not a single star shines through.
As lightning ignites the dark,
thunderclaps make the ground quake.
And gusty winds leave their mark,
debris swirling in their wake.
The moon, a shade of curie;
can't pierce the storm with its beam.
And trees, fearing its fury,
bow when the wind gets extreme.
The storm wails throughout the night;
filling rivers with its tears.
Yet, exhausted by Dawn's light;
it suddenly disappears.
Do you know what it smells like to die? It smells like me
If only pillows talked-what stories they could tell
My pillow witnessed many a thing- in this life that I call hell
My pillow is a fluffy thing
without it-I can hardly sleep
I snuggle up-my sweet dreams near
Mind of it's own it has- I fear
My pillows such a harmless thing
Moves of it's own accord- it seems
And then-my pillow talks to me
It holds me down- I'm struggling
My hot wet breath fills up my nose
It smells like me when I explode
Fireworks go off in my eyes
then fade to black as- eye sight dies
With burning lungs- I pummel death
legs kicking hard- cloth steals my breath
And with it takes my worst and best
So ends my Ballet dance with death
Oh I know how it smells to die
It smells like me- I say goodbye
Then as my pillow gathers strength
I hear it's laughing voice I think
My movements stop-deaths not so bad
Till pillow laughing-sounds like DAD
LAST THOUGHT LAST THOUGHT LIFE UNFAIR
DADS DONE RESTS IN EASY CHAIR
Happy Birthday Delightful Daughter of the Dawn
~Designed from the embers of my mind~
Pull down the shades of your blue eyes
Drifting towards evenings soft lullabies
Supportive bunny pillow 'neath your head
A fable story that I read
Snippets of cuddling as I tucked you to bed
Moments shared stitched in my heart
Of your precious life that I did chart
You were so much older then your younger then that now
Funny shadow figures on the wall
How we made them look so tall
A puppet show outside, bay window as your stage
Until you fell and puppets accidently plunged
That expression of sheer outrage your face did engage
When your tiny head suddenly accusingly lunged
I laughed 'til I cried as I intuited your desire to expunge
You were so much older then your younger then that now
Bubble baths, Pig tails and worn melted slippers
as you sought warmth from forced hot air
On chilly mornings standing atop the simple heaters grill
As I viewed your nightgown floating up, such a thrill
Precious moments etched in time beyond compare
Simple cans for telephones with knotted plastic wires
As you and your sister shared your different desires
Embers of love that fuel my minds fires, sweetness inspires
You were so much older then your younger then that now
Pummel horse, beam, bars and floor
so many things you wanted to explore
You danced and sailed through the air
So many proud moments we got to share
Index cards for spelling bees
You were always eager to please
Snippets in time we can not freeze
Yet when they circulate from time to time
My minds eye is genuinely appeased
You were so much older then your younger then that now
~ I LOVE YOU~
With sharpened axe you splice and splice again
Repeatedly you strike
Should I forget your name
You take a rest and burn and ache and swell
Until old familiar returns to bring me Hell
You rage in Devils angry fire
Keep me awake
I can not sleep through depth of mire
You drill with pressure,
push, pummel and pull
You drag, drain and dull -
to peace - short while
Praise be! Amen!...
but not for long...
with wrong move
or slight of weather
start over again...