Best Rubbery Poems
Another layer of lavender scented lotion
Rubbed in vehement laughter
A quelling of sadness
Covered up in mascara insanity
Livid strokes of feathered paintbrushes
Hoping to see the big picture
She cried like oil paintings without a purpose.
A treasure hunter searching for rubbery remedies
Without heart’s sanctified atrium
To light the way
She bled from carnivorous pores
Bites against feeding palms
Struggling licks upon pacifier wounds
Mouth
Shut
Stone’s lonely lyric
Thrown against fragile lighthouses
Beaming through unacceptable horizons
Investigation of deity’s hidden agenda,
She questions validation’s esophagus
Its vocal chords
Torn
Another squeeze from lavender bottle
Empty
Its exhales shedding infantile whisper
…
A bounced reality check
Declaring that it wasn’t a disease
That afflicted her bones
©Drake J. Eszes
I sat on the edge of your mattress, unsure what to expect; I kicked off my shoes and took in
your bedroom for the first time: the bookshelves, the plastic stickers wreathing the windows,
your little brother’s action figures mid-battle on the carpet, the clothing stretched out into
long piles beneath your feet.
I remember thinking you so strong and confident, wondering how we ended up beneath the
covers together. You reassured me as you crawled out to take down your blue jeans. I looked
away for fear of seeming too eager. (I wanted to look.)
Your hand trailed over my back, tracing my stomach. I had never been touched before;
every inch your fingers followed burned a path into my memory. I was sure there were
scorch marks on the sheets.
We kissed and kissed and I gasped and we kissed and I fumbled, I heard my pulse throbbing
in my ears and we kissed and I couldn’t believe I had gone my whole life without knowing the
feeling of skin on skin.
Then, you were forcing my lips to part with yours, and your tongue surprising the inside of my
mouth, a slippery, rubbery thing. I let it wander.
You curled a loose hair behind my ear. I imagine you framing my face in your hands and
bringing my chin for another kiss, but I find my memory inventing moments between us that
never passed.
But, I am sure of the sleepy look on your face every time we pulled away, the half-pouted
lips, and the pressure of your hands on my back, urging me to never stop.
Headed home from a business trip
Tired, spaced out, grouchy and impatient
Pushing the limit to beat rush hour traffic
Fast closing on an old jalopy van
Suddenly blue smoke and debris flying
The back tire must have bounced twenty feet up
My first thought, 'Stay STRAIGHT you bastard!'
Careening violently left, it flipped many times
(Several objects were ejected from the doors)
My next thought...'This is NOT my problem!'
'DAMN!' Slam on the brakes at the last second
Then it hit me. I was the first on the scene...
I would guess it took a full minute to cross over
Cars whizzing and blowing by in both lanes
Obviously it was not their problem either...
(Someone else has stopped, they'll handle it!
Besides, there's a game coming on tonight)
I waved my arms, shouting and pointing…
A woman was lying near the wreckage,
wailing in robotic, shock induced screams
Left arm beneath her back with her right arm
twisted at a bizarre and unnatural angle
One man was thrown at least twenty feet off
Ironically, he seemed the least injured
He kept trying to get up for some reason
I rushed over and asked him to stay down
"Okay, but the baby!...Where is the baby?"
(A baby, you mean there's a BABY??)
"Yes, our BABY...Please go find our baby!"
(Oh no dear God please, no, NO)
The median was a wide, steep-banked grassy ditch
The van was tilted slightly sideways on its roof
Legs rubbery and trembling, stomach churning,
sweat streaming and stinging blurry eyes,
I staggered over to the wreckage, knelt down
and peered through the passenger side window
Empty… (Oh no dear God please, no, NO)
Stumbling around back and then alongside,
scanning the grass and then around front
I almost tripped over it. There he was
Maybe five feet from the bumper he sat upright
still tucked safely away in his baby seat
kicking and cooing, giggling and drooling,
obviously having a wonderful time
I collapsed to my knees, bowed my head down
and feverishly began to unbuckle him
but quickly thought better, fearing unseen injury
Instead, I took his head gently with both hands,
kissed his forehead and nuzzled against his neck
(Babies have that particular scent, you know)
I recall glancing upward to clear blue skies,
muttering and mumbling incoherent thanks...
C’est la vie, Billy!
His cheeks a deep scarlet,
His jaw tightened in an eerie grin,
He stands, rooted to the spot
While the snot in his nose
Like a long gooey
Streak of
Chewing-gum
Slowly comes dripping
Onto his dappled T-shirt,
and his eyes, like dazzling agates,
Fixedly follow the interminable course of
The red rubbery ball
As the projectile
In a deafening clash,
Smashes the headmaster’s office window.
Warmth, surrounded me…always
My lips, my eyes, closed…
Mesmerized by the darkness that brought me consolation
I remember there were colors under those lids,
Green, spurts of purple…and sporadic yellows and reds
They danced and flashed
Whenever your voice rumbled and vibrated my abode
I remember the earthquakes of laughter
That pushed me against the soft, supported side…
I merely bounced back to the middle again
My legs, bending, and then kicking off against it
My body twirling in the lavish liquid
Natural twists and turns that were later underappreciated
Twists and turns that were who I was
I didn’t realize they would always shape who I am
Deep voice—music—surrounded me always
My ears opened to the muffled marvel
Curious of the outside world that birthed the mysteries of who I am
I recall frustration, kicking against your soft insides….
Colors of black, gray tints, and calming browns…
That left me gurgling for more of those outside sounds
Because that first day I heard the lightning yells
The hot swells of your insides boiled
My body twirled and twirled as I heard you wail
Crying…sobbing…
My heart beat faster—wanting more to leave this vessel
Wanting to be a separate thing
Wanting all to hear me scream
To feel the cold, rubbery hands of a stranger
Lift me—and to your breast—gift me
It was always the warmth of the liquid
And the comfort of our bond
That always remained
Bonds and beliefs never dry
Blood is blood
Color is color
It is living to be separate that makes us gods
All along the bent and angling coast
seaweed strands in sunken coves
abandon their beached forms
from wave to wave
I always chase after them
their strewn bobbing heads
roll as dead bodies
from wave to wave
What seaweed does not hide
short stories of unknown depths?
submarine worlds where time itself
folds into layered shelves
Under every rubbery leaf
striped then strung to tether in running bands
veins on my father's arm
long long ago
An unseen drift marks the sea's closing line
to leeward straits where I now stand
feet in the sodden growth soil
hand against the shaded bulb
A frothing whirlpool gathers all the seaweed
roped and braided in dulsing patterns
soft crests falling soundless into outstretched arms
then slap against the burying stone
Headed home from a business trip
Tired, spaced out, grouchy and impatient
Pushing the limit to beat rush hour traffic
Fast closing on an old, beat up van
Suddenly blue smoke and debris flying
The back tire must have bounced twenty feet up
My first thought…'Stay STRAIGHT, you bastard!'
Careening violently left, it flipped many times
(Several objects were ejected from the doors)
My next thought, 'This is NOT my problem!'
'DAMN!' Slammed on the brakes at the last second
Then it hit me. I was the first on the scene...
I would guess it took 2-3 minute to cross over
Cars whizzing and blowing by in both lanes
Obviously it was not their problem either
(Someone else has stopped, they'll handle it!
Besides, there's a game coming on tonight)
I waved my arms, shouting and pointing…
A woman was lying near the wreckage
wailing in robotic, shock induced screams
Left arm beneath her back with her right arm
twisted at a bizarre and unnatural angle
One man was thrown at least twenty feet off
(Ironically, he seemed the least injured)
He kept trying to get up for some reason
I rushed over and asked him to stay down
"Okay, but the baby! Where is the baby?"
('A baby, you mean there's a BABY??')
"Yes, our BABY...Please go find our baby!"
(‘Oh no, dear God please, no, NO')
The median was a wide, steep-banked grassy ditch
The van was tilted slightly sideways on its roof
Legs rubbery and trembling, stomach churning,
sweat streaming and stinging blurry eyes,
I staggered over to the wreckage, knelt down
and peered through the passenger side window
Empty… (‘Oh no, dear God, please, no, NO’)
Stumbling around back and then alongside,
scanning the grass and then around front
I almost tripped over it. There he was
Maybe five feet from the bumper he sat upright
still tucked safely away in his baby seat
kicking and cooing, giggling and drooling,
obviously having a wonderful time
I collapsed to my knees, bowed my head down
and feverishly began trying to unbuckle him
but quickly thought better, fearing unseen injury
Instead, I took his head gently with both hands,
kissed his forehead and nuzzled against his neck
(Babies have that particular scent, you know)
I recall glancing upward to clear blue skies,
muttering and mumbling incoherent thanks...
for Thirugnanamoorthy
Remorseful, the noonday sun
Frizzles with the stealthy wind
Under the rubbery mountain green.
A calmness has come to rest
From having tossed in its sleep.
The forest has taken leave
Of the hunted horn and drum.
No more the tapper late of nap
Scurries to the haven of a nest.
No more the rattle whisper fades
To nothingness in a lonesome rest.
No more, no more, for the heavens
Sleep and all the troops sleep too.
The sinewy python stretched past
Clumsily the ragged rock and branch.
The Owl has called its reveille at last.
And the forest sleeps with the wind
Gently fanning some whisper closer
And closer, every wave, a venomous flick
Of a serpent, a kiss of rest.
(Letter describing the situation in Malaya and denouncing
treachery, written in 1952 to Thirugnanamoorthy who was banished
by a British magistrate to Ceylon in March 1952. The letter never
reached him.)
© T. Wignesan, Seremban, 1952. Pub. in Tracks of a Tramp : a
first collection of poems, 1951-1961. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore :
Rayirath Publications, 1961.
He hung there, a sobering sight,
like the full moon on a misty night.
John Riox, smothered in slime,
ghastly ghost adrift in time.
He wrestles ropes of rubbery kelp,
his sunken eyes pleading for help.
The sight of him will leave you numb.
He moans for mercy that never comes.
Eleven sailors lost their lives,
left their children, left their wives.
The Saxby Gale tore up the shore,
shaking hands with Tidal Bore.
Sardines knew a storm was near.
The fishermen found empty weirs.
That should have given them a clue.
Across the waves a south wind blew.
Grand Manan lost every ship.
Forests fell, rooftops ripped.
What wicked witch could cast a spell
that wiggled through the gates of Hell?
If you're ever down near Dead Man's Cove,
so the story's often told,
a pair of legs might wander by.
So keep your wits when specters fly.
The ghost of John appears to some.
Perhaps you'll be the lucky one.
He's waiting for a friendly wind
to come and blow him home again.
Since the Garden of Eden and Cleopatra,
snakes strike great fear in man
I have it—ophidiophobia---
legless lizards equal repulsion
Slithering, sliding as they move
something about friction and scales
like goose bumps on human flesh
more than I want to know
Little known fact learned
three hundred vertebrae, one reptile
they can scrunch up like an accordion
Slinky has nothing on the snake
Zoology teacher forced me to touch
disgusting...scaly info to psyche
rubbery, stretchy outside insides
that red-eyed yellow python plagued my sleep
Here’s the point—abnormal fear or not
God created the reptile
rattlesnake eats rats, field mice
homes under rocks in deserts, mountains
concealed, fearing human contact
Travel to Georgia or Oklahoma…
Rattlesnake Roundups held
oh yes, let’s kill some rattlers
buy a permit, slaughter as many…
Find their hiding, jerk them up
drop them in a sack writhing with twelve more
rattler chasers claim fun to kill
find the longest, fattest
Kill by decapitation
drop in the freezer alive
look later…freeze dried snake
eat a snake steak…tastes like chicken
Why search them out
leave them alone
No rattlesnake boots, head bands...
Yes, stand up for the reptiles!
Optional © 2 years ago, Carol Davis
Big Wheel
I was draped in stars, and filled with whiskey,
When the operator stopped the ride
My head tipped back, drinking in the shadows,
Red beaded earrings swaying with the carriage
He was a caricature of himself
Nose reaching down to caress his greasy top lip
Rubbery ears inflating with thick fairground music
One clamped tight with a brassy ring.
One more ride?
He kindly asked my cleavage
His fat hands wrapped around the bar across my thighs
I smiled
And within seconds the wind was once more
Filling my skirt like a fat hot air balloon
The spindly strands of my earrings
Resting loosely on my lips-
The legs of dragonflies.
Remission
The living soft redwoods rose up into the furthest skies
Rough dark brown and grey pines stood like warriors nearby
The roads are always wrapped in blue and gray mist
as large lumbering trucks and black Suvs swing by
A young deer from the forest forages for cones
old jazz filters over the bay and hills in a sorrowful sigh
We moved from the highway back into the tall mountain road
with its forests and blue birds singing in a curulean sky
Gone are the parking lots, the hospital glass windows
uniformed people pacing the buildings 7 feet high
Gone are rubbery gloves held in doctors' hands
nurses in masks using Purcell over and over again.
The smell of the Eucalyptus, the grasses, the pines
a place living without masks, needles and antibiotic lines
life again with rosemary, hummingbirds and thyme.
We push to imitate nature's
flavors, both sour and sweet;
compare the taste of lemons
to that of a lush, ripe peach,
or the nectar of pure honey
to the tang of a dill pickle.
The fruit-flavored snack-pack
spilled into my hand,
perceived imitations of the real deal:
One shaped blackberry (hardly)
Two round orange slices (scored)
One green apple (Granny Smith?)
A bunch of cherries (close)
Two raspberries (not)
I popped rubbery orbs into my mouth,
closed my eyes and chewed slowly,
seeking the flavor of raspberries
like those growing on vines
just beyond the entrance to Castlewood State Park.
The cherry almost succeeded
in replicating the original;
all others were blatant counterfeits.
I once met a Flavor Chemist.
How many blackberries must he consume
before he can approximate the taste?
He answered my question
with a smile, and a bottle
of imitation vanilla flavoring.
Aye, Spanish Needles, far from native shore
We the Diaspora exult to meet
Though our station, not what we dreamt of yore
Is battered by grimy dust and slimed sleet
Aye, Spanish Needles, still unbowed you stand
A dazzling prince in a far foreign land.
Dreaming gold reposed on ivory stars
Where evening's chill draws near the weary night
Shining still despite dusty mannered cars
Aloof in their suburban hedge from blight
I see you huddled in mass fore my eyes
Aching through El Dorado's balmy sighs
Extreme doubt supposed in old poet's tale
Of woodland springs and love's certain patience
Your hardy forms admit a desert gale
Thrashing grim your tropic resilience,
Beside beaten edges, and brackish yards
Still hold time's beauty against fate's crude cards.
Aye, Spanish Needles, resident aliens
From another shore, what long age brought you
From the ocean's salt milk, and fresh grievance
To stake your claim to Conquistadors' clue
This Florida had breast to fountain new youth?
Will you now tell islands this empty truth?
Juan Ponce De Leon took back nothing too
Except the joy of the great river here
But I have seen gold softened by silk dew
On regal petals protesting time's wear
And I have kept better company than
Ribault, Jackson, or the old Cowford clan.
Aye, Spanish Needles, brother of the earth
With me, dare my heart now its hope to green
Like you from this rustic place telling mirth
In golden gold and whitest white yet seen
Something in your character is changed here
Something common is now a beauty rare.
It is the mettle of our birth for each pain
To mirth, and wear love's beauty like the stars
Singing redemption songs with tears for rain
And count for medals our battles bright scars
Aye, Spanish Needles, bright golden and white
My heart like a ship rejoice you hold the light.
Beside the beaten edge in full abandon
There prolific in your numbers, a car
Of rubbery resilience, in my
Fake Food Anyone
Hohoho....
First it was fake food and vegetables for the house decor......
Until one day the line was crossed and food as we know before.....
Are no longer assumed to be natural to be consumed as freely as before...
The Japanese started off with decorative food replicas.....
Naturally next came the impossible Chinamen in mainland China....
Mass producing fake food products to hoodwink their billions of comrades...
Now we have fake food items you would never think possible...
Fake eggs, fake cabbages, plastic rice, fake meat floss....
Every other day, the list just grow longer on and on...
This is a new find, seasonal moon cakes with prices sky high...
Enticingly packed in highly attractive boxes so sublime....
You'll buy, thinking it is just a seasonal festive thing....
But high prices do not guarantee food items in all its originality....
As this video clip shows up ever so clearly...
Hohoho... it pays to be wise, maybe suspicious even.....
The consumer world is full of unpleasant surprises....
Especially with so many food items Made in China for her masses...
Hohoho.....
Referring to the latest video clip over whatsapp service...
Showing a princely quality looking box of mooncake delicacy...
And a voice over expressing misgivings about its actual quality...
When the greenish paste fillings of a cut mooncake ....
Looks and feels decidedly rubbery and unnatural in quality...