Best Shrieked Poems
It was my first Thanksgiving dinner as his wife
so I wanted the meal to be perfect in every way
But...trembling in fear, I cut my finger with a knife
It was the beginning of a day in piteous disarray
I didn't know a turkey would take so long to thaw
and I couldn't defrost the fat bird in the microwave
Agitated, I was afraid I'd have to serve it half raw
so, I parboiled it a while. My predicament was grave
The cranberries were cooking and started to pop
Then I noticed my sore finger was bleeding once more
Blood fell into the sauce pan; more than just a drop
Gotta serve it anyway. No time to go back to the store
My mother-in-law, Mary Ann, had a smirk on her face
She looks like a wild rabbit, both have wrinkled noses
I bedecked the table in my cloth of embroidered lace
finger bleeding again from thorns, darn those roses!
It's a Murphy's Law day for me cuz I've developed a tic
Face is twitching, but the turkey's roasting in the oven
People bustling in my kitchen. It's a comedy of slapstick
Cousin Benny wants a taste of my cornbread stuffin'
STUFFIN'? NO NO! I hadn't given the dish a thought
Could I make it from potatoes? I've got piles of those
I needed a drink; my frazzled nerves were distraught
Then sozzled Uncle Frank started taking off his clothes
We filled our plates as hubby, Jake, carved the bird
I gasped when I saw a bag of something on the platter
Mary Ann shrieked in laughter and shouted, "My word!!"
I had no clue it was in there. I became the Mad Hatter.
To the kitchen I retreated to ready the apple crumble
A laxative added to Mary Ann's to give her the poops
After dinner she dashed and crashed in a nasty tumble
I smiled with satisfaction and simply exclaimed, "OOPS."
My grandma was a steeple jack,
Of heights she had no fear.
The crowds would gather round to watch.
They came from far and near,
To see her swing and pirouette,
Doff her hat and wave.
And gasped and cheered each time she feigned
A slip and then a save.
Roof-toppers winced and bit their lips,
Tight rope walkers screamed.
Treetop loggers looked away
At the daring they were seeing.
Women gasped and children shrieked,
Fearful she would fall,
But at full ascent a massive roar
As she stood upon the ball!
She blew a kiss to the those below
As she turned around with ease,
Then there atop removed her scarf
And cast it to the breeze
But the crowd went wild as before their eyes
They viewed her final feat…
Into a handstand Grandma rose,
Then she waved and kicked her feet!
Whether flag pole, steeple, TV tower…
My grandma climbed them all.
For the freedom felt there in the clouds,
She was at their beck and call.
That grand old gal inspired me
Her legacy I've retraced.
Now I too dance upon a pole
At a club called Mary’s Place.
‘’twas all wild—All wind, All shores:
Seas were brewing savage storms;
Rambling clouds were moving thunder—
Thunder herself, did her chores…
With white, foaming, briny waters—
The fleet of men crossing them—
Howling Capes and crowing Bergs
That ever saw trespassing them,
Witnessed the lot being washed—
The visor of Mercy being cracked…
The howling, screaming, deathly Play
Waited the time Night approached
To aide—to rescue hacked and chopped
With farewell bid to the angered Day:
Time now when the Rivers—joining hands
(That had shrieked and showed their might)
No more chid the juvenile Bank—
Traveled course in faded light,
Whilst the strength of Fury lay
To tell Quiet of squandered Peace…
Walk with me in the dank moonlight
through the chill, rising, storm
so we can grasp the majesty
of Dullahan still born.
Without heads his horse and he ride
across the countryside
His head in hand they roam the land
none live where he abides.
A rush of blood, a gory spree
will take the sight of man,
then off they gallop wild and free
Dullahan, head in hand.
Here’s hoping he don’t call your name
for that would be worse by far
your soul would flee and fly with he
a soul as black as tar.
Carry your gold for I am told
this alone does he fear
and we can watch as he rides by
come give us a kiss now, me dear.
The winsome lass took his strong hand
and down the lane they walked
as in the distance hedgerows fired
and hooves clapped as they talked.
The sound drew near, a gate flew wide
the lassie shrieked and ran
so only her randy lad was
taken by Dullahan.
So, don’t think to woo by moonlight
near the shore in Galway
Dullahan hunts with cruel sight
each wayward soul a stray.
*While no-one knows for certain how the Dullahan originated, it is thought that he is the embodiment of the Celtic fertility god, Crom Dubh, who was worshiped by an ancient king of Ireland, Tighermas. Each year, Tighermas sacrificed humans to Crom Dubh, and the usual method was decapitation. The worship of Crom Dubh ended in the sixth century, when Christianity came to Ireland.
* music in About the Poem
Poet: D. Guzzi
He'd had a bad day, he was snapping and snarling.
His behavior, it was anything but darling.
But I couldn't shut up, be compassionate and care.
Oh, hell no, not me. I had to poke the bear.
His eyes were red coals. He sputtered and shrieked.
Sure I'd just made it worse and now he had freaked.
sigh.....
Off to the store for ice cream for his highness
and to keep my rabid tongue from some of it's wryness.
In the line before me someone was hunting for money.
My ice cream was melting, my disposition, not sunny.
Instead of patience and a rational aire,
oh no, not me, I had to poke that bear.
"Hey Lady !, we're waiting, you could let us go through"
She threw down her coins and started counting anew.
sigh...
With running ice cream, home I now went,
where old grumpy-pants temper tantrum seemed spent.
I scooped out his ice-cream, delivered it to his side.
He glanced at it , then me, and made a comment quite snide.
I could have said "sorry, it melted somewhat"
but oh no, not me, I had a different thought.
I couldn't be contrite, compassionate and fair.
That just isn't me. I had to poke that bear.
After some comments about ice cream and his weight
I bit my tongue but I bit it too late.
sigh...
So heed my advice and just be aware
when things are going bad, just don't poke the bear
The Byway
I may have been a place or two
Where your foot has fallen or wishes to.
I have known a decibel of fright
And shrieked aloud the cold dark night
In braveness have you reached in aid?
In kindness have you sought to save
Sweet precious feelings of a friend
And sacrificed your own true end?
Stoop not at indignity nor
Puff and gel in praise.
For both fade fickle in the light
And melt away in haze.
We’ll not be judged on cleverness
Instead we will succeed
On our state of readiness
To lend a hand in need.
Last league of March, after spring had reached its peak,
I opened my doors to abeer.
And sunshine.
She grinned,
Wished,
Ran,
And shrieked in delight when I caught her.
The saffron on the curves of her hips is mine.
The azure on the rise of her breasts.
The dark, raunchy purple on her lips.
The vermilion on her forehead is not,
And when dusk fell, it drew her away from me.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 29 / 10 / 2016
This poem was written in celebration of 'Holi', the festival of colour. The idea was to draw a parallel with the tale of Radha-Krishna, which itself is a story of an affair.
Just another apple tree in Ukraine,
My roots sink deep in frozen soil.
And then with spring, I bourgeon flower fractals.
I fatten my ripened apples that plummet to the Earth.
Just another apple tree in Ukraine,
I live for life.
It is all that I know,
For the bounty and beauty, I can offer.
With the joy and love,
The giving of fruit,
And my flowers meant for nectar,
It is all I know.
Just another apple tree in Ukraine,
Stationary and resolute,
I spread my branches in a bouquet of giving.
I live for the passion of playing children,
For the smiles of old men peddling bikes,
For the lovers kissing under a late-night streetlamp.
Then one witching hour the tanks came.
They ulcerated nocturne with explosive glare,
Ripping open tumbling walls,
Ripping open stomach entrails.
By morning there were more tanks than trees.
By morning there were more dead than graves.
But I’m just another apple tree in Ukraine.
My roots sink deep in blood-soaked soil.
What do I know of these things?
I don’t know why this ferocity,
I don’t know why this inhumanity.
The shells pounded everywhere as days
Turned into weeks and months.
Families slaughtered as they fled,
The babies shrieked in blind dread.
Who would design this living hell?
Why all the executions in the head?
Like timber falling, the dead are calling.
Let me take the bullets instead.
Please, life is for joy and wonder!
But nobody notices me now, nobody sees.
Have you ever seen apple tree tears?
Oh! Have you heard a stone's grief?
An inward pity shrieked in vain.
It resonate beyond belief,
like a rose's scream under winter’s strain
or crumbling of spirit by parting’s pain.
Echoes of longing for inner peace
the hum of want and wonder why.
A ringing in ear that will never cease
from a shrill of passion's passing sigh;
silent as stones when they cry.
Lying still on the class room floor,
brown paper for a bottom sheet.
All the children were gathered round
and my outline was complete.
A cookie cutter girl was I
in bright black paten leather shoes;
with a gathered skirt, puffy blouse
of blue polka dotty hues.
Drawn silhouette, a paper doll,
not ashen as deaths cold harrow,
and I regret, my parents get
left Hiroshima's shadows.
Eight years gone the Rising Sun
was challenged in an earthy sky;
for bombs Little Boy and Fat Man fell
and two-hundred thousand people died
The Man of Steel, old Stalin
passed away in Russia this year;
the hot cold war was in full bloom
and our children hid in fear.
Beneath our desk tops we scrambled
as the shrill sirens shrieked away
the Committee of Five ruled Russia
and Khrushchev was on his way.
Dwight Ike was in the White House
as a veteran, he'd fought hard
the GI bill was now in affect
and bomb shelters filled our yards.
And little girls with ringlet curls
still made dollies on paper sheets;
while the doll shadows left by WWII
bombs blackened in Japan's streets.
*On August 6, 1945, the United States used a massive, atomic weapon against Hiroshima, Japan. This atomic bomb, the equivalent of 20,000 tons of TNT, flattened the city, killing tens of thousands of civilians. While Japan was still trying to comprehend this devastation three days later, the United States struck again, this time, on Nagasaki. Nagasaki was bombed on August 9, 1945 only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima. And we worry that other countries may develope atomic bombs???
An idiot driver cut in front of me on the freeway
Just because they did not get the big picture
I have to slam on my brakes?
Could I let it slide?
Apparently not.
I threw my hands up like “what the heck?”
She gave me the bird.
I gave her one back.
She gave me two birds.
Who was driving there?
I chased her down the freeway,
We are both honking now, acting six-years-old.
She is driving so fast it is utterly ridiculous.
I can barely keep up with her.
Luckily I am driving my husband’s Mercury.
You can go one hundred in it, and it feels like fifty.
I was horrified when we both turned off at the same ramp.
Slunk back a bit when we again headed the same direction.
Was shocked when her turn signal showed me the parking lot I wanted.
We both ended up in front of the same restaurant, and it was not open yet.
“That was FUN!” she shrieked at me.
“Did you know it was ME?” she asked.
I gave her a big hug. My best friend, Susan, had apparently gotten a new car.
“Of course!” I lied.
Born in 1947
a delicate post war child
So shy was she
and nervous too
a flimsy fragile flower
who when her mother took her out
began to scream
began to shout
Her hair drew great attention
from old dears far and wide
titian with a hint of auburn
shiny and sumptuous
speckled with gold
so shy she abhorred it
old ladies adored it
as they stopped in the street
to Mother would speak
as they oohed
as they aahed
as they stroked
as they patted
ignoring the child underneath
She hated her hair
for the colour it was
and the hoards of old dears
with their oohing
and aahing
their stroking
and patting
She wanted to run
she wanted some fun
so she hatched up a plan
and with scissors in hand
she cut
she snipped
she hacked
until finally her hair
was no longer there
When Mother discovered
the damage she’d done
she screamed
and she shrieked
an attack of the vapors
sent her spiraling down
as she fell to her feet
For her beautiful girl
with her auburn hair
was now bald
not a single hair
was there
The child was delighted
no more oohing
nor aahing
no more patting
nor stroking
Over the years
her hair grew back
the shy fragile flower
she blossomed
Learning to love her auburn locks
they found her a perfect lover
This gorgeous man ~ there was no other
was rather partial to hair of red
his oohing
and aahing
his patting
and stroking
she really loved
and for 41 years they were wed
he was rather partial to hair of red...
Written 8th July 2019
I am that titian/auburn haired child…
Contest: Childhood Memories
Sponsor:Chantelle Anne Cooke
N/A
Contest: You and yours
Sponsor:Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
He mimicked all who entered the darkened room,
felt the fear in their eyes when watched with zeal.
He was a performer and his sidekick Sid seemed real.
Was that really him or was he wearing a costume?
He was just entertaining, they all did assume.
His mouth closed yet voices heard with reverberation,
the microphone shrieked when laughter was heard.
A comedian on stage though he said not one word
giving the excited audience an amusing sensation.
When he was through they clapped in celebration.
The curtain closes, and he cries; tears fall like rain,
he longs to be the laughter he gives while performing,
yet deep inside he knows that he is just mourning.
All the acting and engaging never erases the pain,
the show must go on, his humor must remain.
A ventriloquist who suffered from sadness so intense,
just a man who is applauded when feeling self-pity.
For he is a clown on stage, the king of Second City,
but his anguish too much, his torment too immense.
He was always so happy, this didn’t make any sense.
This man grew old and kept his sidekick Sid near,
he kept it in a locked in a drawer by the staircase.
It was available to open up and take out just in case
he wanted to restart his overshadowed and lost career.
He died suddenly, and Sid went directly to the auctioneer.
Sid was sold for a measly ten dollars; no less no more.
A mother bought him for her son to play with his dad,
but suddenly the son began to act strange and sad.
Sid was nothing but a dummy who brought abhor,
a lifeless evil fiend that hated being kept in a drawer.
Years passed, and Sid never found a true mate,
filled with rage he never let go of his hate.
The Ventriloquist Contest
June 21, 2018
The Poetry Contest
I'll tell you a tale, I'm sure you'll agree
It'll interest those who write poetry
A poets contest
To find one who's best
To go down in historic anthology.
For the contest a massive hall was found
Poets arrived in droves from miles around
Some flew in by plane
By boat others came
With great expectations of being crowned.
The first prize was a case of finest wine
Poets revised their work so they'd sound fine
Some went weak and freaked
Others loudly shrieked
All coveting the prize - juice of the vine.
First up was a Scot with the name of McNee
He'd supped too much beer 'cos it was cost free
Then his beer he spilt
Wind blew off his kilt
Thus his ‘endowment' the whole world could see.
Next came Pam, like a glam model she dressed
She breathed deeply and out popped her huge breast
With thunderous roar
Guys yelled out for more
With an eyewink she said 'I am the best'.
28th December 2020
beautiful wedding
priest gave a lovely talk
message was “marry someone you are proud of”
Three couples broke up during the reception
Socialized behavior went out the window
Yelling, screaming, throwing of chairs
Rings were thrown
Accusations were shrieked
Guests got more than they paid for
Priest took another sip of red wine
Having no idea that he was the instigator of the mayhem