Best Squelching Poems


Lifting of My Veil

I been seeing my life through a cloudy veil.
Although it was my fault, my own sight I did curtail.
I believed in going with the flow, how could I fail?
Until my soul I taxed with a enormous bill of sale.

Hesitation became a crutch that I demurely hid behind.
Disillusionment concealed from my unconscious mind.
Instincts I ignored, to my ego, that was unjustly unkind. 
Creating a hazy web of sorts internally, once all combined.

I lifted the veil and my vision is suddenly crystal clear.
Insight of self, promises an astronomical year.
Finally squelching the doubts whispering in my ear.
Thinking positively, I make a leap in my career.

Independence is now something I truly embrace.
Confidence is stronger, my fears I do solemnly face.
Life is now full of possibilities, no longer an enclosed space.
Lifting that veil, I can now contentedly say, I found my place!

Cecilia Macfarlane

The Bogeyman

Soaking wet the grey sheep huddle
by the stone wall shaped and laid
to last five hundred more years still.
Rains sheeting o'er the moor leave 
us dripping as the fish in Foley's Tarn.
Clouds careen across the sky like 
ragged flags unfurling, our house is
battered by the storm's relentless wrath,

and something's coming...

It's nights like this that bring the creature 
from the other side of time, misshapen 
wretch with no measure of humanity,
dragging its loathsome body to our door.
Squelching abomination with dark sockets 
for its eyes, a travesty of decency and grace. 
Not marked in any almanac, no picture 
of this beast save in the nightmares 
of our child, who flies into his mother's 
arms and trembles, trying to scrape 
the ugly specter from his mind,

for he knows...

he can feel the slimy presence
hidden deep within the shadows 
of the house. Is it living only in his 
darkest fears? Once settled is he 
free of fang and claw?

"Leave a light on, Mom!"

Moneylender (Poem Based On Shylock; a Character From Merchant of Venice)

Moneylender 

You were rejected by your fellow man
A pound of flesh to heal your wounded pride
A just reward for squelching on a loan

Your hatred toward these men-- I understand
Burns deeply in your heart and it resides
You were rejected by your fellow man

They bully you, so now you take a stand
Measured by Scale of Justice you supplied
A just reward for squelching on a loan

You make an honest living, better than
The ones who cruelly mock; cast them aside
You were rejected by your fellow man

Losing your daughter, ducats and your land
Upon the law of God you have relied
A just reward for squelching on a loan

To write you off as evil was the plan
They persecute and fool you with derides
A pound of flesh to heal your wounded pride
A just reward for squelching on a loan
© Jesse Wood  Create an image from this poem.


The Murder of the Mimes

With painted face and silent smiles they light the night so dim,
Oblivious to their stalker and his diabolic whim.
They'd come to sunny Florida to flee Maine's winter snow
And play their silent pantomimes on sidewalks as they go.

But the analyst has programs and experiments to run;
Methodic’ly he thus connects the silencer and gun.
Onlookers claim the analyst did murder them that night,
Then calmly pulled his pencil out, his test's results to write.

But as for wherefores and the whys, when asked of him a reason,
If these are not fair game, he cries, Why call this 'Tourist Season'?
His court appointed council does the best that he is able
To win the jury's pity for this client so unstable.

This man, his sobbing lawyer pleads, was brilliant as a child.
He never was a vicious lad, and next to most, quite mild.
Such things he pondered others wondered, if indeed they never spoke them,
As, to what hue those Smurfs, now blue, would turn, were one to choke them.

The lawyer then begins to quote behavior science stats
Of those who make their living pulling habits out of rats.
If in his heart a man resorts to rationalization
A wrong might seem a right when there's sufficient provocation.

As situations worsen and confusion grows with time;
Seems right, when with a silencer, one shoots a silent mime.
If innocent is how you find there's none 'twould you disparage,
For squelching this inquiring mind would be a grave miscarriage.

Those murders were experiments, not born of animosity;
Performed were they to satisfy a morbid curiosity.
Still the jury found him guilty and to ease his troubled brain,
Ordered soon a lethal potion be injected in his vein.

When asked before the gavel rapped for any final comment,
The killer scratched his head as if his muddled mind to foment.
Yes just one further question in this form of execution
do they disinfect the needle in a sterilized solution?

Premium Member Grey Rock

"Grey Rock"

I am just a Grey Rock. With all the rest I blend
To keep away a narcissist, an enemy not a friend.
If I remain uninteresting, unattractive, and dull,
I am like a stalk of corn with no corn to hull.

A Grey Rock attracts no attention to a narc's eye
And therefore, won't be fodder for a narc's supply,
Which, for their survival, they require upon to feast,
To fill in their black hole, they have from satan, leased.

A narcissist needs drama to feed on and thrive,
Along with flying monkeys to keep their goals alive,
Of destroying others to give themselves a lift.
Otherwise, through life, they aimlessly will drift.

So, if I seem rather quiet, in the background, faded,
It's to stay in the shadows, where I am and feel shaded.
From time to time I'll be more than a Grey Rock in a pile,
But solitude brings me a peaceful living style.

Perhaps, the narcissist, who's been stalking me for years
Will become very bored and afflicted with the drears,
When he finds he is being no longer entertained,
Because my presence by him cannot be obtained.

Since technology enables him to my life, invade,
Being just a Grey Rock, blended, in the shade,
Disables his intrusion by squelching his desire.
Where there are no sparks, there can be no fire.

Being dull, unattractive, boring, unappealing,
Has been peacefully rewarding and too, revealing.
A Grey Rock, from a narc, attracts no attention.
Hence, all the more reason to pursue this intention.

Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2019-02-23 11:08:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.

The Cabin

You can catch a fish at the lake I know
Or an aromatic breeze from the pines
Or chop wood if you must
Maybe you’d rather bask in the sunshine

Relax in the shade for a while then
With a cool glass of lemonade 
Listen to the loons on the water
Squelching their serenade

Try your luck with a pole on the dock at dusk
Hold tight—a big one out there
Reminisce at night over coffee by the fire
Telltales of the fish you spared

Snuggle in at night and take a deep breath
The air is always fresh at the lake
And hopefully by tomorrow morn
You’ll be greeted by a sun-filled daybreak


The Bogeyman

Soaking wet the grey sheep huddle
by the stone wall shaped and laid
to last five hundred more years still.
Rains sheeting o'er the moor leave 
us dripping as the fish in Foley's Tarn.
Clouds careen across the sky like 
ragged flags unfurling, our house is
battered by the storm's relentless wrath,

and something's coming...

It's nights like this that bring the creature 
from the other side of time, misshapen 
wretch with no measure of humanity,
dragging its loathsome body to our door.
Squelching abomination with dark sockets 
for its eyes, a travesty of decency and grace. 
Not marked in any almanac, no picture 
of this beast save in the nightmares 
of our child, who flies into his mother's 
arms and trembles, trying to scrape 
the ugly specter from his mind,

for he knows...

he can feel the slimy presence
hidden deep within the shadows 
of the house. Is it living only in his 
darkest fears? Once settled is he 
free of fang and claw?

"Leave a light on, Mom!"

Brett and Rhett - Nursery Rhyme

Messy twins Brett and Rhett
Having fun playing with mud
Squatting and crawling
Diving and falling
In ooey gooey mud

Brett is sitting facing Rhett
Rhett spatters some muck
On Brett's left cheek
Brett spatters more muck
On Rhett's right cheek

Head to toe dipped in slush
Brett and Rhett laughing with glee
Playing with the sludge
Squelching and squishing
Sloshing and splashing
The sticky slimy mud


Date: 04/19/2021
Submitted for: Nursery Rhyme 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper

The Reign of Stormy Daniels

alternately titled: breast damned fallacy hi-jinxed!

In her “60 Minutes” interview aired
Sunday (March 26th, 2018),
the **** star known within red district
as Stormy Daniels bared
her "naked lady" version

swearing oath of honesty,
she emphatically dick cleared
on a stack of video nasties, 
and x-rated 'zines
now she can live rest of life

guilt free offloading
hush money endeared
a posteriori into infinitely
jesting bordello loop

with calmly enchanting bug eyed,
drooling media hounds,
whose nostrils flared
squelching the trumpeting Don,

who maliciously glared
for traitorously breaching
“genital man's agreement”),
playing the (sock it to him role
of goody two shoes)
christened Stephanie Clifford)

shaggy long haired
pseudo Mayflower madam averred
to right justice in sought after
condom free nation,
where the turkey
ought tubby national bird

mandating free codicil
to second amendment as of furred
thus, that ass hide from right to bear arms
premature sea r man ejaculation
of Peter ought to be heard

where sudden sound
sans pubis seams burst 
jock strapped unseen bulging Johnson's 
onslaught hail of expletives cursed
out the mouth of salty sailor spewing Prez,
hook halled for a recess first
and foremost before
questioning resumed
     automatically immersed

within tawdry tabloid pulp pit
whore sing Bacchanalian refused to quit
particularly when groin
set zipper (flimsy – obviously,

NOT put thru linkedin
locked down rigorous paces
realized, when pry vet eyelit 
of trouser snake split)

yielding singular (nada so sterling)
gamut gallimaufry variegated erector set
with singular bulbous
ram rod rocket like trivet.

Claustrophobia Competes To Thai Up Thy Psyche

Alacrity bespeaks entangled, entombed,
     and entrapped Thai soccer team
diminishing strength barely allows,
     but a whispered scream,

which rescue against all odds
     (plucked out cavernous catacomb),
     fast becoming a fading dream
vicariously agonizing to see

desperation and lads bravely brace,
     helplessness predominating over initial
     found alive break thru gain
     promising grim destiny slowly doth erase

yet resignation impossible
     to ignore written on every face
despite faux (cracking)
     courageous front,

     now severely testing grace
under underground solid state
     rock geomorphology
     necessitating stepped up pace

to rescue, sans race
against time encroaching threatened space
with predicted mon
     soon meteorologists trace

with laser pointer predict
     ominous incursion cave
at mercy of vulnerable flooding
     worst case scenario, grave

nightmare predicament
     in an attempt to save
youths with barely enough
     strength to smile or wave

downgrading my own fear
being emotionally incommunicado
     during prepubescence
     pretending not to hear

clapping skeletal hands over each ear
to blot out hyper consciousness of glare
ring existence squelching
     feeble effing dare

     sputtering Nietzscheism at every turn
of the (ripped torn) page
airtight barricade against transformation
     into manhood stage

fighting to the death
     foaming at mouth dagger like
     canine teeth savagely
     evincing snarling rage,

no match for reinforced
     rebar invisible cage
holding self hostage,
     not enough money 

     to pay hefty ransom,
     thus thine mental health
     compromised, which
     to this day still pay steep wage.

God Save the Minute Men

The squelching heat has of no effect
on the air-conditioned Minute Men
as they survey the desert land.
Keeping ever vigilant 
against the alien brown skins
that endlessly cross their borders. 
These pressed khaki pant militias
devoutly scour the arid passageways
equipped with bottled water,
binoculars, and cell phones.
Guarding the roads
to the ancient canyons of the Navajo 
and the Peabody Mining Company.
Or through the Mexican Missions 
that predate California.
Territory good Anglo American's 
recently inherited
from the parents of rape and murder.
God bless America
and God save the Minute Men.



Dean Walker

Civil War Soldier's Mantra

A patriotic fervor producing fealty
A noble cause compelling loyalty
Paired with a callous indignity
Brash enlistee plunges toward destiny
Honor's badge worn with impunity
Duty's moniker embossed with magnanimity
Insatiable bloodlust squelching all insecurity
Unbridled ego clamoring a garrulous enmity
Toward the villains who shattered blithe serenity 



First skirmish, pageantry displaced by gravity
Mettle varnished with aura of invincibility
First battle, fallen comrades question mortality
Successive battles, severed limbs, caustic wounds challenge credulity
Fragile mind being conditioned to atrocity
War's heavy mantle now shorn of indemnity
Threatening mind's sanity, hearth's perpetuity
Once faceless foes now scream their humanity
Once noble leaders brim with insincerity
Supportive countrymen now fickle, distant entity
Cheering press now rank with duplicity
Only solace, hardened comrades equanimity

Daily Life

The yellow sun rises high in the sky,
All the villagers are waking,
Blue birds singing from high up in their nests,
Weapon grabbing ready for their trip,
Lonely animals getting tracked down,
All men sneaking,
Animal has been spotted,
Spears flying towards the creature,
Squelching flesh tearing apart,
Animal rapidly dying,
Everyone enjoying their feast,
People slowly doze off into a calm relaxed sleep. 

By Chloe

Premium Member Timeless Womb

Seed - scattered strewn or downtrodden.
Grain stuck on passive flytrap mucus.
Wild life biomes ripe with  open sesame.
Frantic birth pangs stiffen their gestations as green  leaf ferments bubble underneath.
Mother of all wombs, diva pulse or fertile runner bean. 
Maternal youth. 
Eternal youth.
Bamboo shoots that wave their infant tassels
in a windmill vane.  
Future plant life leveler a wobbly wellie earth  crunch.
Squelching  noises  tower over  brown air pigment mulch.
Sweet pea treasure’s 
plot or topsoil script, ploughman’s pen an agri-birthmark issue.
Acorns cling  to feather beak and claw with migrant species casually dispersing airborne clan.
Pity the poor bacteria  as they bear their own strain.
Mediators in regrowth, 
life cycle go betweens who skirt around infinity.
Pregnant life force signage points at blossom, branch  and blade.
Father  sky, whose azure blue tarpaulin watches blithely as we earthlings bloom like algae.
Captain chlorophyll, the sunshine nabbing pirate rules the waves.
Sugar dazzle  booty on display for fortune  hunters everywhere.
Placenta of the rural outcrop overstretched.
Nourishing, replenishing yet prematurely procreates its progeny.
Compost layer genus code emulsions where thorny splatters worm themselves inside.
Gene pool mirror drapes  its vibrant colour wash on foetal lime bow and arrow  twigs.
A prism to some rainbow tint or shaft.
Muddy waters  percolating sluggishly through all those clay born  matrices below.
Our natural breeds now wet nurse turf ground offspring.
Nutrients absorbed by network carriers- sprout and stem WIFI eco-mates. 
Elevator of the undergrowth in embryo.
Going up going down.
Timeless womb your time will always come.

Posted 13 th August 2021

Going To Market

Oh, we need honey?
And milk?
And cheese?
Well, I will get them
If you please.

I am now leaving.
My friend
Is now talking.
I take a detour
As we are out walking.

Soon, we are lost
In the jungle
And squelching
Through the wet bog.
I think I hear belching.

We are face to face
With a creature.
A snake!
I wish for my home
And berry shortcake.

We are now running
For our dear lives.
I think what I see
Is a tree of beehives.

Our fate is uncertain
As we run toward the tree.
My friend can keep going.
But I fall. Oh, my knee!

Just as I think
It is time to give up
A chap comes along
With a cute little pup.

"Howdy-do," says the chap.
I look up.
What a guy!
"You see," I then say.
"I am just about fried."

I get in his wagon.
I am embarrassed to say
That I kind of like this dude.
But just then I heard a sound:
A cow mooed.

I jump off the wagon
And run toward the barn
With doors made of silk.
Then I steal from the cow
A bucket of milk.

I go to the back
And it stinks
But there's cheese!
I take all I want
If you please.

Then I look in my pocket
And there is no money
But lo and behold!
A sweet comb of honey!

I run away home
Just as fast as I can.
"I just went to market,"
I tell my mom Fran.

She looks at the bounty.
She looks kind of suspicious.
She tastes all my treasure.
She thinks it's delicious!

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