Best Throttling Poems
I’d love to say that ‘Crusher’ Webb is one good mate of mine,
but old ‘Crusher’s’ temperamental and can act more like a swine,
and it don’t take much to set him off; that’s when we all show fear,
so we don’t know how to take him, ‘specially when he’s on the beer.
I’ve been there when he’s lost the plot and really gone to town,
and it’s taken more or less four blokes to try and hold him down,
when the trigger’s been so trivial, that most would put aside,
but not old ‘Crusher’, he goes mad, so the berth he’s given’s wide.
I hate to think how many nights that ‘Crusher’s’ spent in gaol,
from throttling blokes and busting pubs when he fell off the rail,
but the fear we have means nothing for he’s just part of our life,
so what must Deb be going through - his darling homely wife.
She’s just the nicest person, so it’s a bit like chalk and cheese,
the schizophrenic husband and his wife, who looks ill at ease.
It must be a living nightmare when old ‘Crusher’s’ at his best,
storming ‘round the family home with dirty water on his chest.
Thank God they don’t have children for this brute to terrorize.
It’s bad enough when he’s around to see the terror in our eyes,
but it was on a brief occasion when I spoke to Deb alone,
that I was shocked with what she said in quite a sombre tone.
Deb’s voice shivered lowly “These days I must be so alert,
that I don’t become child bearing” and my answer is quite pert,
“But didn’t ‘Crusher’ have the ‘snip’, so no ‘hiccup’ would apply?”
and Deb replied, “Oh yes he did, and that’s exactly why”.
Then:
Desire enveloped us,
stoking fierce passions,
beneath a milky moon,
your abandoned kisses,
left me breathless,
under a starlit sky,
love silenced our nights,
a serene peace settling,
filling empty desolation,
at rest at long last,
your presence my final abode,
each caress rich with hope.
Now:
your absence is felt,
each day, every night,
throttling my dreams,
crawling inside a void,
my crumbling heart weary,
knowing you may never return,
all promises lay strewn,
like quiet wilting flowers,
brushing against my thoughts,
defeated by your love,
my tortured breathing,
is shallow, agonising, slow,
each memory a jagged ache,
knowing you left,
a thousand moons ago.
Wish all my friends on Poetry Soup a joyful, peace filled and prosperous New Year!
As the glow of 2022 has died out
When a new dawn’s halo is round the arc
Best wishes and prayers from all hearts sprout
‘Let a new world of light emerge from the dark’
Let us wait to see new hopes blooming
Grab the little joys the mind can contain
Dismiss all defeatist thoughts surfacing
Warmly greet the New Year about to begin
The stream of life glides gurgling
Listen to its dulcet rhythmic refrain
Put down smothering blues brewing
Cast away all sad and throttling pain
Inhale the salubrious air and begin again
Hope for happier times, day after day
With enormous appetite, life’s zest, regain
Newer vistas will open up and come to stay
* * * * *
Jan.1.2023
A little ways north of Mill Creek
the beach runs round
to a single wide arcing swath
Where the tide stems landward in shattered segments
fast against the open mouth
of sea and sand and barnacle
There is also a cliff near the free stone rising
above the under-base of a million waves
throttling a darkened face
Somewhere out of sight
from landlocked eyes
salt water still churns
And churns for a million years
oblivious to the damage
inflicted on the crumbling mass
It's as if the big bass drum
of agonies from time immemorial
strums a one note dirge
And thereby summons the shelving mist
to curtail the pitiful death
from the tired eyes of a dumbfounded poet
Who loiters in the wet hiss
like a reporter in search of tragedy
and finding none, returns to home
"Oh dear theist",
Thus spoke the lord from the distant skies.
It never matters me,
the size of my idol you worship.
I fail to see,
those lumps of colours with which you drain me.
The forms of my idols that fancy you,
Do not fancy me.
A poor man's ball of rice,
and the rich man's delicious sweet make no difference.
Neither I see your wealth and power,
nor those enormous idols you keep.
I pity mankind,
for making me tall and tall over records.
I laugh seeing my idols to your left and right,
though you know, everywhere its me.
People prefer POP,
when mud and clay makes me even happy.
More I see, Your dedication in my decoration,
than your expected devotion.
My immersion,
you organise is a grand way, throttling traffic.
The decorative' s from my idol,
perish the fish and the tadpole.
A logic as simple as the buzz of the honey bee,
is all that the mankind lacks.
Purity in your heart,
and truth in your devotion is all what I see.
Service to the one in need,
gives me more pleasure than the tallest of the idols. #PSM
Told her I could rope the moon
She said go hail a cab
But my truck is parked in back
Are you down with that
Throttling between those lines
Her foxy turns my neck
I want to brake but keep going
Keep the mind in check
Moving up to break that stride
The end is what we bet
Something possibly rolls along
Better to never forget
Looking ahead and she is there
I might get in a wreck
Cannot keep my mind off of her
A sort of love lunatic
With many others my soul waits
My heart placing a bet
Will it or does it never exist
She could just say yes
The Nearest Exit …
… discarding memories,
suffocating in nostalgia’s
throttling grip,
I flee, moment by moment,
away from the now,
seeking, yearning,
chasing phantom clouds of
promise,
coveting shrouded whispers of
hope,
seducing empty vessels of
belonging,
I flee, moment by moment,
away from the now,
seeking, yearning,
lost, alone, torn,
slowly crawling to the nearest
exit
On the banks of river folks gathered solemnly
Where in repose lay the body of his father;
Dry dead-wood was stacked in layers they built,
Fire was crackling, burning, heads were bowing,
Memorializing deeds in voices of the elders--
That is how cremation was done in his village.
He recalls now how they walked river’s edge
Where wildflowers bloomed, animals grazed
As farmers tilled rice fields in dawn’s silence,
Much as his father did until he died that day.
Frozen he stood there, thousand burns unseen,
Inflamed in veins as he looked to his mother
Gasping for words choking youthful innocence
As tearfully they hugged fearful of the burden
Bewildering his mother into stilled unknown.
Look at him, for a glimpse of child-subjugated
Who parted in hopes of altering course of fate,
Grateful to those who made room for his stay,
In a city where wealth was sign of intelligence,
Poverty denigrated~ tantamount to ignorance,
And class defined by the ancestry of bigoted;
There he found shelter, offered only as a loan,
Love not included in covenant of sustenance,
And mighty price required to learn existence:
Humiliated endurance, humbled-subservience…
That even in freedom-won, never sets one free,
Suffocating still in those embers carbon-fumed,
Life robbed of childhood throttling pitied tears,
Adulthood festering wounds of acrid memories
Spurned by summers and dejected by autumns,
Parching his life’s springs, stunting his seasons,
Caging his heart where his father’s ashes burn.
March 14, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand 1096
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 29 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Festering Wound
The thug’s greedy plan was ill-fated.
“Beware of the dog!” the sign stated.
Sharp teeth pierced his butt.
He screamed, “Get off, mutt!”
Desire to steal quickly abated.
For Samson, fame was just beginning.
This brave dog would set the world spinning
with such doughty deeds,
supplying the needs
of many while great kudos winning.
He quickly developed the power
to fly. There exists not ONE tower
inhabited by
trapped ladies who sigh.
Now all the bad guys hide and cower.
This thug-throttling canine has muscle.
He comes out on top in a tussle,
but he’s brilliant too.
To Mensa* he’s new.
Competing with him, humans hustle.
This grand rise to fame was engendered
when Samson so actively hindered
an evil guy's plan.
Now many a fan
admires him for services rendered.
howmanysyllables.com 9--9--5--5--9 per stanza
He-dog--canine version of "he-man"
*Mensa is the largest and oldest high IQ society in the world.
In an annual Mensa competition, usually held in April, Mensa teams from around the U.S. and Canada compete within their local geographic area.
March 16, 2022
By Cherbo Geeplay
You woke me up when I was dead,
teaching the night stars wantonly
to obey the Atlantic; then slashed
my arteries in flight to Lake Piso,
humbling its boundaries, before
fusing them calmly to a gel.
When the elders speak in parables,
it is a mix of pepper soup which the
fufu welcomes and surrounds. As
the deer is trapped in the undergrowth,
so does it wait to be strapped. —These
are the open arms to the farms, mucking
the deserted mansions decked in chocolate
nuts, covered in honey; the lost spectacles
of yesterday is now over. Once gowned with
cluttered cow-webs and peppered with
shrubs, this, before the revival of the
grimy walls, serenade and greened
with lilies whose aroma calls from
a hundred miles to the carpenter
—the tool man and his bride waiting
to be announced as the sun swell
the hilltops, smiling to the boats
sailing on smooth tides.
ll
Moving quietly to fair waves,
the clouds crushed, hovers,
washing the mud away,
freeing her from the rocks,
bathing the earth and taking
away the dust disguised as
chaffs. the yacht’s inviting voice
is heard throttling along—between
hearty murmurs, chuckling to the
weaving currents, curving the
Atlantic surf, dancing fervidly,
where the fires meet the pits of
burning woods. The hearth in a
melody on the placid shores of Sinkor,
intimately as Monrovia grins to the Atlantic.
lll
Bewitched, racing to the beaches
is a sweetening of the surf stones.
The shells humbled under the rocks.
In trance, the turtles are running
with the whales, the currents,
silvery, the smell of saltwater
overpowering, yet elegant. Your
slender sailing finger rubbing
my rough ankles bring comfort.
—You woke me up when
I was dead, teaching
the night stars wantonly
to obey the Atlantic Bay,
like seashells humbled under the rocks.
Copyright 2018, Adelaide Literary, NY
Soothing scintillas
Do kiss an impuissant swain
In weird, wintry pain.
England seems hoary--
Throttling cold untold lashes
The land of glory.
I wonder how it whips the zephyrs that flee
In a churlish yet blissful den
Throttling though the gushing of glee
And seized a million mirth like a wee ben?
I wonder how the flowers bloom
In a precise moment of a single day
Glaring it's beauty to the groom
Whom she pleased all the way?
I wonder how a tyke titillating
In a shallow way of enjoyment
As nobody could cling
Even for just a moment?
And how I wonder to a damsel in distress
Who trapped into peril
But a knight in shinin' armour caress
Rescuing decisively with a thrill?
I feel the zippy breeze of cold December
Creeping up to my veins the sensation
Why thee to remember,
Yuletide season with applause fascination?
Aristocrat, oh my dearly!
Amending my appetite of love
Trampled my primitive sanctuary
And animate me like a dove?
My glistening eyes on you
Gnawing the fear deep within
My coy heart sough,
You're my inspiration in this domain.
Amid the abyss that divides us
With your finicky type,
And vile manner you showed
I grope but a love without gyp.
As a college student I'm old enough
To spill out one word as I vow
You build me authentically tough
Tossing the allurements that sow.
Murmur of my voice you listen!
Come to my dale words of word
In my studies you are my inspiration
The Romeo that dispense my world.
I dreamed I was a porter
carrying bags that weighed a ton.
Quickly answering in the Club Car
when anyone called, "Hey Son"!
I dreamed I was a conductor
punching tickets neat as you please.
Walking up and down the Passenger Cars
taking the jostling at my ease.
I dreamed I was a brakeman
watching the signals along the trail.
Jumping out to throw the switches
keeping us on the correct rails.
I dreamed I was a fireman
keeping us on the roll.
Getting grimier with each shovelful
as I emptied the Tender of its coal.
I dreamed of being the engineer
throttling up or slowing down.
Eyes vigilant on the rails ahead
Steel churning on steel just above the ground.
That Iron Horse was beautiful
brighter than a new penny from the mint.
When the sun hit upon it
you couldn't help but squint.
I dreamed of all the stations
with children their eyes wide.
I watched the gauges and checked the shafts
my long nosed oilcan trustily at my side.
I dreamed of a long line of boxcars
being pulled behind like a rope.
Getting freight from down below
up the graded slope.
I dreamed of trains as a child
which carried me many a mile.
Waking in the morning for school
I couldn't help but smile.
Growing into manhood
with such dreams as these.
I went to work for the railroad
with my dreams as my keys.
Now, when you see the gates go down
lights will flash as I guide my Engine through.
Listen for the horn and bells and whistle
of the dream I found in my "CHOO CHOO".
Dislikes
Blow dislikes in the aired balloon
Soar high and high in firm alone
Space even will not greet you fool
Why are you behind in the childhood of noon?
Where were you born no one known?
All die in time faith is fun
Dawn awakes to see you’re gone
Evening awaits you to see in tomb.
Crawling hopes have been shone
Don’t find place even in moor to bloom
Shrink yourself in the hell soon
World has united to ditch you gloom.
Villain you are align your self
Mind your business in the black hole pace
Light years cannot glow you the way
Here will be happy when you are away.
No one escape are tuned to you
Land is barren wind is foiled
Water cannot irrigate, your brain is dead
Depth is low wherever you go.
Sometimes you cry in the moor, we hear
Your ghost is there to scare for dear
Hearts are barren to cultivate you here
Vanish from earth throttling the air.
Have arisen mind to shred your bile
This is the message to elope your vile
You are barred to appear in aeroplane air
Parliamentary house is now most dear.
Hotel and rail way are far from your access
In towns and cities you can’t famish
Come appear let us know your gist and dearth
Humanities have heart to understand your fear.
Civilisation wants to fructify all
We secure the earth for the laughter sure
Baptize yourself to save from fall
Why are you short with bomb and gall?
( Completely fiction not solid to hurt anyone. )
fast
throttling
in a pageantry
of eternal beauty
my little pigeons
perform’ng
a ministry
like some goddesses
of my deep-delv’d niger
come, throttle, dance
like some mbari dancers
smil’ng before this moon
the happy queen
of my clan!