Best Rasped Poems
The full fallow moon was hung low in July
As white stars and fireflies lit the night sky,
A sight to behold was the feline bold'
Drawing sighs from the violin, his arms did enfold
He played on the breeze to the harvest to come
As An orchestra of crickets rasped to each thrum.'
He raised now the tempo and thought
Of a dish and a spoon that had shone
In delighted dedication....As off they did run!
And so he made ‘paws' quaffing wine from a tun,
Then throwing the fiddle up tight to his chin
He forgot about thinking in pursuit of more din!
The cow swished her tail to the music he made
As the dog danced the polka, through a small garden maze
He played till the pearly dawn light did show
Then the crickets fell silent; and the bird calls did grow!
He slept where he fell, to bother no more...
As a ship makes its way to the safest of shores.’
As he turns in his slumber, as she rolls o'er the waves
He would hold no regrets ‘till the ending of days.'
©Joe Maverick 12-10-13
Categories:
rasped, friendship,
Form:
Rhyme
Lost your tongue,
as you fumble to recall the right words to use.
I think of all the words that once flowed so freely,
and where there were no words to fit,
you simply made them up. Daft, silly, and fun.
Vast vocabulary resonating at every opportunity.
The scrabble board could even learn from you!
At times jibes rasped from your tongue
as sharp as a razor
On the flip side and more reflective of you,
Jolliness.
Words danced from your mouth
like Ginger Rogers or Rita Hayworth, swift and effortless.
Your songbird melody
as you sang songs of old
or chimed sweet childhood rhymes.
Now,
a blank page staring back awaiting its full stop.
Categories:
rasped, grandmother,
Form:
Free verse
My grandson asked if back when I was young
I had ever done anything naughty or wrong
I said shut the door put on listening ears
And Ill tell you a tale of rank shivering fear
One night at midnight I sneaked from my bed
To a neigr knocker fastened a thread
Old Mrs. Murphy, ninety and living all alone
That she was a witch was really well known
I pulled the string and the knocker did bang
Then over the garden wall lithely I sprang
When the old woman limped to the door
Finding nobody there she ranted and swore
Again and again I pulled that on the thread
As over and over tears of laughter I shed
Then the moon clouded and all turned dark
A cold hand of fear icily fingered my heart
A voice rasped lowly filling me with dread
‘I’ve got you now and soon you’ll be dead’
I was then dragged to Mrs. Murphy’s door
Feeling more terrified than ever before
The door was opened I was pushed inside
Nowhere I could run nowhere I could hide
There in the kitchen the old woman sat
Black cloak and hair, black teeth and hat
Our neighbour then sat me down on a chair
The witch held me still with malevolent stare
Pointing long sharp nailed finger I felt the spell
As she spoke of hot flames and rotting in hell
I promised to be good and meant it sincerely
I’ve been good ever since, well almost, nearly
(5th in contest,’Childhood memories’ by Crystal Wilkins)
Categories:
rasped, childhood, life, me, woman,
Form:
Couplet
Writing relative rhymed rhymes
Rhyming with revival rhythmically rhythm
Is not revue but reviewing my role
To resurrect as requested to revive back romance.
When rhyming my rhymes I can revolve revolutionary robust
Rocking like rocky rocks rolling to the right rendezvous,
but today I recite repose as if I repent,
but rely it you will relish,
because its a rhyme to recall recapture of romance in relationships.
I wrote it to rake up real reign
When raspberries were rasped,
Rationing reverie,
Raucously reading romantic readings regularly.
Becoming a receiver reckon receiving reciprocally gifts,
but this is the recital to recapture romance to recur.
Read this rhyme to refill,refine,reform and refresh romance.
Regain rarefied of relish rained rich rain
Raining rainy with ravishing red roses reddening a red ring around you.
Relieving yourself by reiterating 'I love you Mrs Right',
and wait for the rejoicing remarkably respond to be relayed
'I love you too Mr Right'.
The respond that revealed the resourcefully resource for resurrecting.
I rouse you because I'm roused;
Be a roman and go to Rome
To see real romance,
and you will romp of being romantic,
and really its realistically real
Categories:
rasped, romanceromance, love, red, romance,
Form:
Limerick
In the funky train,
All the hoo-ha-noisy end in fisticuff;
As the crumpled greenback hand-out cough,
The law has nothing to handcuff,
Maneuvering on the sloppy storey hill
A frantic dance of dead-drunk crazy masquerade;
Man-handling the dare-devil by weary drenched soaked in
talisman man,
Springs from a ream hole in the floor
Hand-shuffling on long iron pole gear,
Wrestling with reckless white knuckles of steering wheel;
A nipple for torch-light knob looking tough headlamps,
A bare-face speedometer, a mare decor;
Rear is bare, except fanning out putrid fart in
defecating vulva;
And a pumping brake failure refused to catch,
Disaster looms down a glitch away,
Marijuana induced braggarts, bang at the battered dent
body;
All acted in the climatic anti-climax role in the tragic
play,
As horn and side mirrors, villains make do,
Ghastly farewell garland to stranded passengers on
departure;
Welcome to hellish shore of grimacing dismember carcasses,
From the extinct scratched my backside please dense
Bolekaja view,
Stigmatized masses muck arranged tight,
File in wooden slavery mule;
And the pompous promise land looks a light years away,
Now on the garish cold rusted cut steel,
Buttocks crammed on planks for seats;
Knees folded to gangrene stroke roost,
Pillaged and pilloried, rasped and gasped for a slice bread
of life,
Staled sweats seeped and poured decayed stench on forms;
***** squeezed queued on narrow alley,
Romancing buttocks swell sips to bursting through;
And the lushing rhythmic beating drum
Re-enters lock and brake,
Dilepa dilepa dilepa duro nube o!
Omokunrin kan ti daran nube o!
Ofowo kanmi loyan me solo!
ofowo kanmi nidi me solo!
Toku toku lona nkan boyi o!
Komo ipe kolokolo lahere wa!
Categories:
rasped, urbanme,
Form:
Free verse
There were several women nearby who were crying and wailing over this condemned
man. The convicted man turned slowly towards them and that was the first time Simon heard
him speak.
Breathlessly, the convict stopped and quietly spoke to these lamenting women. Simon
stopped with him under the weight of the beam. Simon never understood these words at that
time, .. but he never forgot them. This blood soaked, ravaged dirty half dead man turned to
the women and rasped ,…
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me …but weep for yourselves and your
children.“ He caught his breath, wiped the dust and blood from his eyes with the ragged
sleeve of his torn robe and continued…“For indeed the days are coming in which
they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and breasts which never
nursed!”
The crowd had already become silent to hear what the accused was saying, because this
kind of talk was unheard of in a time when bearing children and mother hood was considered
extremely holy and a gift directly from God Himself. It was proof that he must have been
possessed!
He continued , blood dripping from swollen lips, “Then they will begin to say to the
mountains, “Fall on us!!” and to the hills, “Cover us!!” …“For if they do these things While I
am with you,…what will they do when I am gone?” …… The sound of a lash slapped across his
torn bloody back and he shuffled forward but not before looking directly into Simon’s eyes..
The crowd again took up their noisy, morbid mission.
Simon grunted under the weight of the beam and thought they all sounded like a pack of
hungry jackals. He was certainly confused and inexplicably terrified.
After that gruesome unholy nightmare ended and for the rest of his life while walking the
hills, he kept hearing and was haunted by this man’s words over and over and wondered
what on earth they could mean.
“ Do not weep for Me…but weep for yourselves and your children…for indeed the days
are coming in which they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and
breasts which never nursed!!”......
This, to the people of his time was impossible! Children were a holy gift from God himself.
Blessed are the wombs that never bore...and breasts that never nursed?! What could he
have meant?
Categories:
rasped, faith, historywords, god, women,
Form:
Narrative
One was when it was new.
Shiny head calling to me from days of childhood.
Pick me up and make a wish..Surely you know this to be true
for people have told you your whole life it is.
Having doubts I grasped the penny
Heard the voices of the past Make a wish and it will be true..
and i wished for you.
Second was when we were one and strong
I saw the heads again.whispering their taunts.
Pick me up and make a wish, surely you know this to be true
So I grabbed that penny and held it close
And thought my wish and blew a kiss
and once again wished for you
Number three was tough,dirty and worn.
Hidden under and could barely be heard.
Right at my feet as the connection had ended.
It rasped pick me up and make a wish surely
you know this to be true
I glared at that penny through eyes fogged with pain.
I bet on two others and look at the cost.
My spirt is tattered my hearts at a loss.
I dug it out and rubbed it...
My you've had it rough
Your surface is worn with deep gouges through out
Still it called again in a voice barely heard..Make a wish
surely you know this to be true but went on..those others
you bet on where shiny and new, my surface is beaten but it's what
I've been through..My magic still works of this I assure you.
And I grasped that dirty penny in hands filled with hurt
Kissed it rubbed it and once again....
I wished for you.....
Categories:
rasped, hope, loss, love, romance,
Form:
Free verse
and lost while wracked in pains of change,
wilted seed in wintered eye,
hands clenching white in advent rage,
knee bones scuppered, bleaching age,
knelt stung as tears run dry,
writ black ink in masthead sky,
and lost now wracked in changing pain.
and wracked in change, in pain,
this protean mood, forgiving none,
stygian moans in loaming brains,
bowing low in time's cruel reins,
for order, seeking melancholic ones,
forget what bones have said to sons,
and wracked aloud in change and pain.
and wracked in pain and changing hue
if not order's sin, then virtue's deign,
above, above, settled up on virgin's crown,
control, like razor’s gleaming frown,
drawn swift upon a throbbing vein,
flared desolate in absolution's gain,
and hue is wracked in pain and change.
and wracked in change’s cleansing pain,
a night buried lost in clouded dawn,
release a grip, unhinged yet grasped,
living bread coughed out and harshly rasped,
as patina streaks down muted pawns,
we love, we weep, we carry on,
and pain is wracked in cleansing change.
Categories:
rasped, addiction, peace,
Form:
Free verse
Uncertainty, 'grand potentate',
swathes my lure
For renewed insight. I dropp
upon
My groove, primed, to settle my
lot. Help!
Modest citizen. Our battles,
girthed
For selfish intent, lunges at your
faceless sense.
We have rasped our own
reasons from
Bullets impassive, gratifying bills
Upon your waters of slackness
tethered slow
He, skirmished hearer to define
this
Wit-flourished folly, clasps
sweaty palms,
Murmurs chrysalis of half-
hearted wishes:
I slack to lack, vision spires for
tatty hope
Tosses my insight upon starved
ambiance. Help!
No thrill, no ornate flight for
thought,
Just one 'grand potentate' nods
frugal,
Spreads fancy upon polished
strips
We saw you lose route upon
hundreds and
Tin and columbite- we glimpsed
sprouts
Of your self-righteous mutiny
kindled
By flat angst.
We falter at your gates of
defiance.
Fifty-two fetid years, freshly dour
for me,
Turns my flesh to scales. Forgive,
'grand potentate'
To fling at me abundant pellets,
lost or left.
Of grisly death I sniff, brash and
fierce
Fifty-two fetid years flame my
scales
We must fling pellets, but now,
your allies
Must bolt their greed against
your waters, hassled
And strew you nether with
backward tides
A resurrected applause in steep
praise. His cabinet
Indulges my lassitude to forbear
further
Moans and tears
Fifty-two flaming years, will me
not, sheer contortion
Only one stirred heart to fight
along many
Categories:
rasped, angst, me,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
SOME DAY THEY BE BACK HOME
(Ode To Jim Morrison)
By Roy A. Merritt
The Lizard King hissed and rasped
And crept up from behind
And the heat shivered 'round about
And made life seem sublime
And they listened to the vocals
Of that raging flashing poet
He was bound to a life so brief
And they certain that he know it
Pursuing women psychedelic pleasures
Getting higher and higher
Wishing all that encounter him
to set his life afire
And the sounds of the jungle
they buzzing with danger near
As the music of their native land
Was pounding in their ear
And these olive drab warriors
Mere children if at all
Toked and reminisced
And their life back there recalled
Driving down her freeways
Midnight alleys roamed
Crying in the darkness
Wishing to be back home
And the pounding beat sometimes scares them
Though friends nearby alone
Sick of the endless carnage
And wishing to be back home
And they wish they could mount that Crystal Ship
And fly to the moon reside
Cruising among the stars
On that slow rolling midnight ride
Come the morning they might be dead
Or take some poor fool's life
Dooming someone to sure eternity
They bring this land but strife
They have no notion they hate it
Hate it just as they
And wish they could flee this instant
And quickly fly away
Will it be that dear brothers
Or most assuredly it be the end
The end of us the end of us
My gentle lonely friend
And they wish they were with some LA woman
Had her curled up in their arms
Drinking in her promised pleasures
Surrendering to her charms
They would tease each other
And kindly verbal joust
As they listened to the music
There in that road house
You know they’d let it roll
Let it roll all night long
And now the distant choppers sound
And they wish they were back home
And now they know at last
They’re just riders, riders on the storm
This troubling life they're living now
Was planned before they were ever born
they know now it's just destiny
They have no say it's gone
And best they just submit dear friend
Some day they be back home
One way they’ll be back home,
One way they’ll be back home
This is the end
Categories:
rasped, conflict, music, war,
Form:
Rhyme
DEAD MAN’S HAND
He sat the longest time
Staring at his cards
It was a good hand – 3 Queens
Better than average considering
There were six men at table
“Whatcha say, Luke?” Jake Rich demanded
“Pete raised yer bet – Whatcha say?”
But Luke just sat
Staring at his cards
Bart Potter had called-him-out
He sensed every eye in the saloon
was fixed on him
He must accept Bart Potter’s ‘call?’
Luke wondered if this was his lucky day?
Bart Potter was fast VERY FAST!
Luke had every worldly thing he owned in the middle of
the table
money horse house
even his grandfather’s gold watch
(been in the family for 100 years)
If the Queens held up he felt he might have the confidence
to outdraw Bart Potter
(if the Queens held up)
Luke Tyson was a careful man unusually conservative
He’d scrimped and saved since he was just a kid to have his
horse his 50 acres
Everyone said Luke was too damned security-minded
AND he was –
What would he do if he lost?
WHAT ON EARTH WOULD HE DO?
“Luke!” someone called
“Bart Potter’s a waitin’”
“Us too!” Jake Rich rasped
Luke counted his chips –
Just enough to call Pete’s raise
Luke threw his last chips into the middle of the table
There was cold sweat on Luke’s forehead
It was just between him and Pete
with Bart Potter waiting outside
“Three Kings!” Pete smiled confident
Luke Tyson’s gut dropped down around his butt
“You comin’ Luke?”
someone called
Categories:
rasped, lifehorse,
Form:
Narrative
They heard a murmur in your chest,
a whisper:
tiny fish lips bulging the surface.
A bubble, a b u r s t,
a blurp of sound
innocent as baby-lung collapses (expansions)
-- a gurgle in the night: taciturn.
You had to swallow a tube
and I know you hated that.
You hated the taste of dependency:
machinery air -- filtered, rancid,
thick like plant water.
You said your throat rasped, your lungs opened
with a sound like a suction cup,
and the machinery h i s s e d, licking its lips for alcohol and cancer.
They took pictures with sound waves,
rebounding them off your reverberating heart
and filling in the dark spaces with oscillating light.
And the whole time your chest continued its phthisic monologue,
whispering in stil.ted rib-cage morse code
-universal SOS, lighthouse wail-
leaving braille on the underside of your sternum
that not even I could
touch.
They said your heart had thickened beyond weakening,
churning your blood like milk into butter,
and I went into the bathroom and screamed myself h o a r s e
water running, hands over ears.
Later you would ask me why I splintered the mirror,
why I placed my palm and pushed
until spider webs spun themselves under my fingers
and bits snapped and sunk like thinthin ice beneath tiny children.
Why I stood in the road on a snowy evening,
arms outstretched,
waiting for the white of winter to consume me.
Why I cried as the shower beat down on me,
fingers searching for life beneath layers of skin:
tiny oval seeds g r o w i n g,
little black masses with tendrils sprouting,
roots delving.
A lump in one breast,
transfigured ellipsoid:
multiplying, metastasizing.
--milky white matter with blue veins extending.
Why?
Because you found a way to die: beautifully, tragically, easily, undoubtedly
and we both know it was me
who wanted to breathe through tubes,
no more heart
murmuring.
Categories:
rasped, death, depression, health, life,
Form:
Free verse
I accidentally let one loose
Sipping the communion juice
The priest looked down
With a disapproving frown
Some parishioners gasped
Mothers, their babies clasped
The sexton's voice rasped:
Via the air displaced
We are all disgraced
The Lord's name debased ...
That would've been the end
But then I did it again ...
A little louder this time
~ To highlight the rhyme
Categories:
rasped, giggle, god, religion, sin,
Form:
Rhyme
Growl
Grasp at life
Flushed out in full flight
Wind's wild moaning warmth
Frisks it, whisked
Up
From fist clench
Fingers curled tense- tight
Unfurl hurts
Gasps
Of air rasped
Hoarse sounds break from husk
Gutted heart
Thumps
Posted 2017.
Categories:
rasped, freedom, moving on, strength,
Form:
Free verse
Walking into a small shop a little bell rang loudly as the door was opened wide,
In the back shop there was shuffling a cough some wheezing coming from inside,
A young man came over to the counter leaning heavily on a stout walking stick,
His eyes were so bright and sunk deep into his scull his voice slow and thick,
He tried to smile his breath rasped and rattled he stopped and turned his head,
On his bright clean waistcoat he wore the Mons medal it's lucky he is not dead,
Understanding what was wrong he'd been a victim of mustard gas in the Great War,
Pretending not to notice I asked for some snuff he turned and coughed some more,
A child ran in and bought a pennyworth of sweets she popped them into his bag,
The mans wife took the penny and put in the till, she looked so tired and sad,
Another fit of coughing seized him suddenly he waved his hand and walked away,
Back to his rear room his wife looked with tears she didn't know what to say.
Categories:
rasped, war, wife,
Form:
Prose Poetry