Best Squeeze Out Poems
Some days you can barely squeeze out a line
On others inspiration flows from recesses Divine
Yet there's always that first glimpse of a completely blank page
To frighten the Muse from a poet, regardless of age
Only when the parchment fills up with ink, dare he think
I'm proud that from the fray I never did shrink
So next time you prepare to battle paper with pen
Remember this poem ~ to triumph again
With no cover ups, let me be frank
At times my mind goes utterly blank.
When I sit down to write a poem
From topic to topic, my mind does roam
But nothing comes to spark off a rhyme
Often I feel the words do not chime
Today as I sat down to write something,
I ended up conjuring nothing.
No thoughts came to stir up my brain
And no topic I found- save my strain.
But I wasn’t ready to willfully give up
And waited impatient for my mind to clear up
I thought I shall settle with ‘Compassion’
But alas, it was charged with no passion.
The urge to write had grown into a fad
And I felt I was growing altogether mad
Feeling feverish with a compelling obsession
I was moving to a state of aggression
Driven by a fiery fancy to express
And a tormenting desire unable to suppress
With a mental state somewhat fierce
I climbed up and down the stairs.
I stood upside down and raked my head
So that a little poem, into it would be fed
Feeling dizzy, I stood suddenly upright
But on my head hung a heavy weight
I poured some water over my head
But knew my fever hadn’t fled
Madly pacing across the room
I tripped and fell down on a broom
Rising, I screamed with all my might
Making the household ring in fright.
‘What the hell is it?’ I did shout
And wriggled in pain as from gout
In mad frenzy, I ran round the house
No one knew the reason for my fuss
Soon it dawned on me that I needed some rest
For I was far more than stressed
So I sat down and closed my eyes
Thinking, attempting to squeeze out a poem is unwise.
I don’t know how long I sat in meditation
On waking up I got a fresh direction
From the grip of an entangling rigor
I restored my sanity and vigor
The sun had gone out of sight
And the moon was beautiful and bright
It was already growing late
And I put off my futile fight.
PARTS AND COUNTERPARTS
scrawled on the blackboard jungle, a mural
of profanity – pronouncing women’s names,
their parts and counterparts. reality creeps
from the verminous city streets. the mundanity of
laying out private jewels as a juxtaposition,
where silk and careful hands of morality are much kinder
and richer. but humanity takes hold of a fair lady’s dress,
tearing it off, shredding the human form to pieces,
leaving it drowning, cut off, creating the volcanity of a whore.
of this insanity is born the fatality of our newborn, with
no need for formality. the brutality of drug dealers and
youth molesters pulls the innocents down into the sewers.
they sense, they know, something is not right, but their fingers
slip, their feet cannot grip the slimy pit that drags them down
down
down
no one hears their cries for help. smoke like fog swirls around
their sacrificial heads. their eyes bleed with blue breaths.
the inanity and anonymity of their broken lives unbearable.
the mentality of cobblestone above their shattered roof, flowing
with the vitality of gold, silver and diamond luxury. a boy, a girl
can hear the click of red heels, the laughter of freedom, just out of reach.
he screams, “no, come back!”
she screams, “someone hear my cries, before i die!”
urbanity, so at ease. no one sneeze. no address of poor kindling tied
to the monster’s altar, where malicious eyes and tongues squeeze out laughter.
1/23/2017
Silent One’s Word Challenge Contest
Approvals I Should Praise
The rhythm of my pen knows no bounds
Its ticks, treks, and steps knows no count.
The songs on my lip just loose the count.
No where, I suppose to untie the bond.
Strong bones are so much in here
They touch and squeeze out letters bountifully.
In these bones, many light I have received gracefully.
Linda is one, Andrea is two among all of you there.
You are all amazing guests in this field
Cup of water..., cup of tea come to toast.
Many hugs, many thanks to you, writ and host.
... Eden that crowns my garden and its yields.
Special parcel to my coy mistress, Linda.
All sea, roses...and sweet showers to you.
And my lady Andrea; always brand new!
I love you all... your words in my wall are tender.
Dedicated to:
Poetrysoup,
Poet Destroyer A,
Andrea Dietrich
and to the rest of Poetrysoupers.
I am Grateful for your warm welcome.
I have to admit I’ve got a confession
About my unhealthy obsession
Other kids love pop stars with all their heart
For me it’s the Bristol Stool chart
There’s seven different types of poo
With pictures that give me a clue
to how long the poo’s been in my bowel
Poos that’s both fresh and some that’s foul
Each morning once I get out of bed
For breakfast I’ll have brown bread
The chart is a handy tool
To identify your type of stool
Now I’ve decided to tell
You about the different poos that smell
Cos it’s clear that the Bristol stool chart
Can also indicate your type of fart
Type 1 is as hard as a nut
And stays longest in the gut
Type 2 is a sausagy lump
That’s hard to squeeze out your rump
Then there’s types 3 and type 4
These are the poos I adore
These are the poos I prefer to make
A cracked sausage or smooth like a snake
Types 5 and 6 are easier to pass
Blobby or fluffy ones from your ass
Type 7 is the worst of all
It gushes like a waterfall
So now you’ve got all the scoop
On all the different types of poop
I love identifying my poo and type of fart
The Bristol Stool chart fills my heart
A new morning, bright, not in its light, but in its brilliant composure.
—quote by poet
God Orchestrates a Momentous Morning
As the sun provides a scintilla of light
at dawn, and the clouds squeeze out
slight sprinkling, atmosphere tweets
along with the daybirds and hoots
with the owl. S u d d e n downpour -
delightful the serendipitous chorus.
TIRED KINDERGARTEN TEACHER
I love their cute, fresh, open minds
But teaching comes in different kinds
One day I succeed in planned teacher-telling
The way to do things properly
Next day I fail like a drunk in charge of a watermelon
Kids are like balls of mercury
Their containment is in serious doubt
Exhaust me like a lemon at maximum squeeze-out.
We fight for our lives,
We fight for our freedom.
We live for pride,
We live for honor.
What is our lives without freedom?
Some think it is not worth living if one cannot obtain freedom.
Others would disagree and praise the hand that feeds them,
Even if that which they praise is a monster.... just to live and breath...
Squeeze out of life all they can... no use of pride or honor.
For what is pride and honor really worth? Death?
I would think not, for life is more powerful the death.
But why choose life if pride has vanished and honor ceases to exist?
Ones reason for pride has changed over the years.
Once it was that of a good man with a pure soul who could be proud and deserved honor,
But now... now... it is beauty and wealth that lead us to have pride in ourselves...
So shallow, no depth...
Surface looks, when did they overrule the pure complete honesty we should all live by?
But we are lost... what is the way back? Is there a way back?
Do we even care enough to look for a way back?
Or better yet, if we did look and find a way back what would we find?
Perhaps we would discover that the meaning of pride and honor has been forever corupt,
And the only way out is to turn and look forward... for we cannot change the past,
We can learn from and use our knowledge of it to help mold that which is to be our future.
A future of continuing freedom.
A pathway to Peace.
When life gives you lemons,
squeeze out every drop.
Have you a drink,
because thats all you've got.
The taste maybe bitter
But in time, that will change.
Just add a little sugar
Sweetness goes a long way
“In no time, made myself indispensable
I bask now in the sunshine of my popularity
I have made the young and old my minions,
Giving each one what he wants
Snippets of news, served in lightning speed
A magic world unraveled at the click of a button
Making you sedate as with opium
Turning you into addicts of my hypnotic charm
Some stay wide eyed staring into my screen
‘Night owls’ who refuse to follow the dictum-
‘Early to bed and early to rise’-
The time old ‘mantra’ for wellness
I imprison you in a world of make believe
Where only we two exist, you and I
Your spirit arrested without handcuffs
Your eyes, resting no more on what is around
Confined to a virtual cage, you turn into a prisoner
Sadly, the key in your hands tightly clutched!
Remember, you are as free as you choose to be
I have my sway only on the gullible....!
Alas! With your sense of direction lost
You turn into a moth, caught fast in my web,
Mysteriously drawn into my incandescent light,
Unaware of the peril looming or the claws tightening”
Folks, break free of this confinement, cut off the hooks
Your spinning around only makes you dizzy
Digital technology turns a boon, when used discreetly
Smart phones, a bliss making the whole world within reach
Sans this, we fall headlong into primordial darkness,
Unschooled of what happens around, unable to cope with change
So squeeze out the essence and discard the dregs
And embrace your transition from the possessed to the blessed!
Placed First
Jan.8.2022
Let’s Explore Digital Technology Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Simon Rogerson
Loneliness engulfs him
Like an arsons match he ignited their relationship ablaze
once a very unbreakable bond
now, simply reduced to a pile of ash
in temptations distant haze
loneliness entangles him, weaves thru him
like diseased roots of an aging tree
they wrap around his feelings, squeeze out all emotion
and eventually choke the life out of his reality.
loneliness is his soulmate
now...
and for the rest of his years
joined together by selfishness and fate
at the expense of someone else's tears
while the years drip away, and quietly disappear
they leave no trace
but landing ever so gently
upon his lonely artificial face
though it's not by choice
that this partnership remains
but as a cruel reminder
of a love lost
and a heart tragically stained...
That I had loved..
Fulfilled the purpose of my birth
And that I was beloved
Until I took my last breath
That I tally up to the stars
How they've shined away
The darkness walked thus far
And hope to become as they
And I'll rise and set
Through time and space
As I expand and contract
At light year pace
And of all my passions
Squeeze out every ounce
Set all my talents into motion
'cos you only live once
And when you think of me
The universe explodes to mind
'cos I'd finally be free
As a gust of solar wind
Though it seems inevitable
I'd die unfulfilled otherwise
Actually completely miserable
If I didn't know the meaning of the universe
Inspired by Silent One's final poem contest
upon waking from a splendid plunge
into the depths of deep dreamy restful sleep
anchors away set adrift this body electric,
which succombed instantaneously
(without counting sheep)
nor joining the make belive rank and file world
with the likes of little bo peep
an immediate notion arose
to latch onto and ignore
this most delightful, flight of fancy deed
(not dirty nor done dirt cheap),
but a natural function
one cannot overdose nor excede
the USDA quotidian requirement,
where cares and concerns
of an uncertain world freed
yet an asolute bare necessity for stayin' alive
plus richly textured unrivaled vista devoid of greed
additionally cost and gluten free, NON GMO,
zero caloric effortless need
(words of caution to take seriously to heart),
and note that if one doth not yield, but sure to read
the small print affixed like a label each mind
forcing to squeeze out every metaphorical
drop of open eyed juice
perhaps resorting to meth or speed
that silent slurred speech, physical lashing,
head dropping fatique
will invite Halloween aparitions, delusions,
grand hallucinations, et cetera
as if one smoked wacky weed
the forces of anatomical and physiological
heft will take charge ahoy
and blast at top notch nautical surge,
will wrest control against blistering,
festering against withering heights
delivering balms away at feeble attempts
to retain losing battle to remain alert oh boy
no matter how much effort summoned,
(even feigning wakefulness as a decoy)
the trappings of oblivion
i.e. sinking into profound dreamland,
whether an individual ascribes to be Jew or goy
which Maxwell House maxim
“the key to better relationships may be more sleep”
no mortal ought to take lightly,
but pay heed lest the grim reaper doth creep
stealthily and scythe lent lee steal
a haggard skiff of flesh and bone
whereat corporeal essence no more
will there be for the soul to keep.
My heart is filled with so much sorrow. It is aching from disappointments, betrayals,
deceptions, and lies. How can I stop it from hurting from crying, and from screaming
in pain. My heart is no longer whole, but in fragments. How could I start mending
you when I need you to cope. Where do I start from to make you whole again, and
how do I protect you from further crumbling in pieces. Even though my heart is filled
with pain, I never stop lovingl How could my broken heart keeping loving, keep
hoping and keep praying just to be rescued,and there is no rescuer insight. Where
do I start to go to be mended. Pain has invaded my heart and squeeze out every
desirable feelings, leaving me cripple in agony. My heart is crippled in pain. I no
longer know how to be loved because pain has seized my heart.
After a business tour
I returned to empty home
Wife and kids had been away
enjoying holiday at her mothers home
Everything was same
TV, Fridge, Oven, Music System
accepting my operating command as before
bed, sofa, reclining chair all comforting my body
Missing was the vivacious vibrancy
of laughter, arguments, silence, love and affection
Walls, curtains, photo frames, flower vases staring at me
Tongue and ears jobless, eyes doubling up for speech and sound
No one to offer glass of water or cup of tea
Breakfast awaiting preparation by me, and eaten too
Lunch and Dinner from menu delivered by hotel waiter
Nightime no one to kiss goodbye, bother for next day wishes
Learned, not that uninhabited homes only haunt
Clamour of near and dear ones is what actually counts
Amidst noise decibels we try to squeeze out some solitude
Like fools among living souls we often seek silence of graveyard
Telephone bell rings
wife and kids indicate early arrival
Suddenly the empty home turns into lively fair
staring walls joyous on early prospect of baby hands caress
Emptiness camouflaging along with feelings
Haunting brick and mortar springing into lively atmosphere
Hated apartment while alone, fool was I to blame innocent structure
Learnt, futile to be in heaven after leaving, create heaven where one is living
(Entry for Members Contest – Empty Apartment by Matt Caliri )