Best Wheezes Poems
This bridge has arched the lake's narrows
for a century, flanked on either side
by Autumn trees shedding their faded leaves,
blowing with the first snowflakes
across worn gray stones of my spirit.
Six months ago you felt the first pain.
Now you lie in white sterility
of hospice care, continually exorcizing
the feeding tube, a final tether
binding you to earth,
where the morphine pump wheezes
every fifteen minutes
and missionaries advise prayer
to the strength-less living.
Your a**hole oncologist told me your suffering
was none of my business.
I told him to take his prognosis,
as suffocating as the pine cleaner
lingering like miasma
over hallway linoleum,
and get the f**k out.
From the corner of my eye
I spot a wild rose sprouting on the bank
at the base of a haggard maple,
an anomaly in bleak October,
glaring crimson as my resentment,
angry as the dream when I said,
I'll be your will when yours is gone.
Knowing full well it won't survive the winter,
I give fate the finger
from my dismal perch,
just as I gave you two dozen such blooms this Mother's Day.
I'll see you in Spring,
rises the phoenix from my Summer ashes.
The flurries thicken around me
like a gathering of angels.
With eyes stinging
I toss plucked petals of pennies
into the Judas lake
while wishing as hard as I can.
12/31/18
Categories:
wheezes, death, memory, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Vistas of autumnal flame set the fiery meadows afire
Where song of the winds wheezes in auburn breeze
And gold, red, brown whispers kindle tunes of a lyre
Rustling in cool air, melodies of leaves, falling from trees
Where song of the winds wheezes in auburn breeze
Pumpkin dreams meet to greet tricks of Halloween treat
Rustling in cool air, melodies of leaves, falling from trees
As carpets of crimson colors crunch beneath eager feet
Pumpkin dreams meet to greet tricks of Halloween treat
And gold, red, brown whispers kindle tunes of a lyre
As carpets of crimson colors crunch beneath eager feet,
Vistas of autumnal flame set the fiery meadows afire
October 5, 2019
Placed 4th: Poet’s October pantoum cash prize poetry contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
HM:Strand choice 5 contest by Brian Strand
Categories:
wheezes, autumn,
Form:
Pantoum
Out in the middle of a large farmland, I become a girl of old charm and unexpected songs again. Past the flanks where cluttered rows of hyacinths and ferns quiver, disarranged huts begin to shake as the rough wind wheezes. And on this late July, mounds of dust remind me of summers back in my grandfather’s hometown. Yet, a different vanishing overtakes me.
a season passes…
carrying all its flowers
to emerge as buds
Watching for thrushes that grow moist from dusky froth , my heels trek along deepened clay. As I lay on haystacks listening to stars chiming, the inky moon sinks its riddled face through a veil. Somehow, I feel alone...abandoned like the opera of a heart which seems to fall into a tragic ending. Yes, Grandpa isn’t around any longer, as a eulogy of tears swells.
on this barren field…
a solitary twig cracks
from one glittered tree
The nightfall drools looking for the yellow among clouds. For a while, the hazy outlines of strangers--native women and children ---disturb my old revelries when Grandpa would linger by the porch dipping tunes from his violin. Through calm intervals of laughter, we sway together; fire to air, salt to honey. Much as I need to inhabit this space, it no longer belongs to me, or to him. But twilight comes brimming with all the glistened jewels of our own world.
between two lifetimes
is a haunting melody…
like a song unsung
11/19/2015
Creative Haibuns Contest
For Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Categories:
wheezes, beautiful, grandfather, memory, nostalgia,
Form:
Haibun
Furious wind from the north hisses louder,
banging against the gaped mouth of a sky, drenched…
Haggard, the night wheezes with quack
of birds waylaid; a time of unruly rainfall
crashing once more: and the moon grows bald,
groaning a jumble of cracked acoustics:
On and on, the roar of sleet
pierces through lush trees
in a noise that grates far into the dark horizon,
an energy fierce like a woman scorned.
How she blares a war amidst a company of men,
flowers, and all in one driven ride
that her wild thrill rasps zooms ---
until on ninth hour
a slow-motion of rhythm flows,
while she pauses to croon a mellow tune
as if... in final taps of a wail,
nothing ever happened.
For Shadow Hamilton:The Noise Contest
Written 3/9/2017
Categories:
wheezes, howl, sound, wind,
Form:
Verse
Brave is the rose caught in November’s thorn
While she endures nights of chill and snow,
Awaiting gold daylight's warmth to bestow---
And liven her frame…her mouth drooped, forlorn.
Gently, new moon peeps into kohl of eve
While its luster reflects on this bud , soft
Like a pubescent ovule held aloft
By elms guarding her round shape NOT to cleave.
Though one kind-hearted owl perches nearby
Mutely disapproving this ghastly tread…
An obscure fog sprays crystals overhead
Instead, wings lock against nip of the sky.
How unwavering…in her innocence
Morning rises, its lucent gleam so young
That frozen dusk pales with wheezes unsung…
Oh, grit of a rose saved by providence!
Written 9/10/2018
Contest of Broken Dream
Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018
Categories:
wheezes, courage, flower,
Form:
Rhyme
LITANIES REHEARSING ADIEU
Soft
wheezes
from
crossbills
and mistrel
fusion
pluck
refrains
from May blooms,
train litanies
rehearsing
adieu
pause
unto
biting cold
out stretched
wings
to soar
high!
_______________________________________
ACTUAL FORM: Waltz Wave
1/2/1/2/3/2/1/2/3/4/3/2/1/2/3/2/1/2/1 syllables
***Sponsor Kim Merryman
Contest Name Shall We Waltz?
++Placed 5th++
O.E. GUillermo
10:22 pm, June 13, 2015
Categories:
wheezes, animal, beautiful, bird, flying,
Form:
Verse
The joy of birth, the growing up,
leads us to adore our lovely babies.
But not, alas, without the toils of life.
Because we experience a lack of sleep,
contend with baby vomit,
or idiotically putting on his boxer shorts
completely the wrong way around.
Yet all is part of being loving
to a newborn child. Sometimes
I get the weird, unworldly feeling
that I'm the worst grandpa of all.
Perhaps it's just that I'm getting old.
Try lifting the chubby scamp a little while
and oh my poor back simply aches.
And if he cries I must find out
what ails the urchin, my dearest pet.
A dirty nappy? Someone take care,
mother or granny, it's their job I'm afraid.
But if it's a bottle of milk he wants,
or nibbling a few small pieces of cereal,
then I am game. Bring on the glorious food.
And when he sleeps, I'm just in heaven,
contemplating the profound miracle of life.
For though he's not directly mine,
he's the continuation of my genetic line.
And so I worry if he coughs or wheezes,
or falls whilst crawling, adding to his bruises.
Awake he's smiling, a gurgling bundle of joy
that makes me proud, he's Nicholas my boy.
NB Nicholas, my grandson, is now 18 years old, studying dentistry at University (first in class) and has a driver's licence too.
Categories:
wheezes, grandchild,
Form:
Free verse
Lin, sorry to hear, as I am sick too
But I know it's not covid or the flu
Been blowing my raw nose
Sneezing still comes and goes
Maybe this cold needs a brandy or two
Written by Tania Kitchin
Hi poets, I've not been ignoring you
I've been battling the naughty germ, the flu
Writing this just to say
Feeling better today
I'll catch up on comments. Merci beaucoup!
Written by Lin Lane
Poor Tania and Lin are both ailing
I’m healthy but my muse is sailing
Away on a cruise
So I’ve got the blues
My chagrin is not worth detailing!
Written by Jan Allison
What I'm about to tell you is no lies
And it may come to you as a surprise
That all your sneezes
And all your wheezes
Are caused by covid virus in disguise
Written by Tom Cunningham
Tania and Lin, want to make a confession
They went out on the town for a session
But some bug sneezed in their wine,
On his way back from Des Moine’s
Now Feds have nailed him for indiscretion
Written by David Kavanagh
Poor Tania and Lin are both sick
In blighty we say Tom and Dick
But struck by girl flu
We men would boo hoo
So I’m getting out of here QUICK!
Written by Terry Flood
Our friends, Lin and Tania- feeling ill
Seems they both have a cough, cold...and a chill
They wrote each other a letter
To make each other feel better
So, their hubbies could get back on the pill
Written by Charles Messina
Everyone feels sick at the same darn time
This is a get well limerick in rhyme
No more sneezing issues
You've used all the tissues
Drink some tequila and suck on a lime!"
Written by Mark Koplin
Categories:
wheezes, care, health, sick,
Form:
Limerick
IT STILL MOVES
the earth complains
of heartburn in California
ulcers in Iraq
chicken pox in Afghanistan
sneezes and wheezes hurricanes in Atlantic
acid reflux somewhere in Mexico
it has chills at the poles
fever at the equator
sweats at the tropics
shakes all over in Japan
severe dry skin in Sahara and Gobi
vomits monsoon rains in India
its cells are dying in the Dead Sea
it foams at the Yellow River
in Venice it has a sunken feeling
some scars still hurt in Hiroshima
you’d think that the earth suffers –
it just lives the way it knows
and everything is normal
as it was a hundred years ago
or a thousand
or a million
if it complains
it’s just to grab our attention
the earth was a show off from the beginning –
it put itself together with a Big Bang
Categories:
wheezes, earth,
Form:
Blank verse
Between the Indian plains and the hills of Burma.
Protected by the affection of its three guardians,
The Ganges, Brahmaputra and Meghna.
From there - this story began.
On a grassland full of hopes and dreams.
Right at the edges of Brahmaputra river.
Lying there without any wheezes,
A sad and lonely royal bengal tiger.
He remembers the smell of the Sal trees,
In Bhawal Park near Dhaka, his place of birth.
He remembers the sounds of peacocks, elephants, and deers
His heart wish they were not yet became a myth.
He has been a part of Pohela Boishakh feast.
When people bathe early and dress in fine clothes.
All the men put on their kurta, or the finest lungi at least
While women dress in sharee, letting their beauty to be exposed.
Tears streamed from his cheek. As the old tiger weep.
A momentary recalled the legends of his ascendant.
The story of the one whose once Sultan beloved,
And the one whose survives the liberation war in 1971.
The tiger now stood, underline his courage and chivalry.
"Will this liberty be felt by my offspring?" his mind fly.
Despite the poverty, instability, and all its vulnerability,
There is more to Bangladesh than meets the eye.
~ For the "LOVE LETTERS TO THE INDIAN SUBCONTINENT" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
Categories:
wheezes, symbolism, sympathy,
Form:
Narrative
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
chilly now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.
Categories:
wheezes, city, environment,
Form:
Quatrain
These rustling humans, how they jabber!
With their smudged and crinkling ink dabber
I lie here resting while their investing
Their moments in this blabbered pestering
I've seen their pages scribbled in rages
Of inspiration by their sages
I hear the parchment, crisp and crackling,
Depicting marks pronounced in cackling
And wheezes of a breezes sighs
Read in secret by her eyes
Here in this secluded corner
This one was sent by a foreigner
The rounded man, all clad in fur,
Hears some code, it makes him stir
The thinner man sprouts in his chair
Which creeks beneath his squirming dare
The glamour creature, thin and frail,
Seems neutral about the true tale
I hear a fist pound on the table
Shouting that this could be a fable
"What if it's true?", the other asks
While in fascination he basks
They analyze it for a clue,
This letter, to learn if it's true
The chamber, while closed, is secret, airy
While echo's this secretary
The scribbled riddles held in hand
Are esteemed to be so grand
I might chew them if I could
For I bask in my puppy-hood
Categories:
wheezes, art, children, funny, happiness,
Form:
Couplet
Spring your surprises
wrapped in disguises
The telling of lies is
Okay today
As April is dawning
Issue no warning
You’ve just got the morning
To play today
Time to plan and plot
Give it your best shot
Got to get the lot
While trying not to get got
Who’ll be your April fool?
Practise your wheezes
Try out your teases
Do as you please,
It’s the way to be
You’re on the loose, full
Of tricks to confuse all
Your friends and bamboozle
Your family
Time to plan and plot
Give it your best shot
Got to get the lot
While trying not to get got
Who’ll be your April fool?
Instrumental
Time to plan and plot
Give it your best shot
Got to get the lot
While trying not to get got
Who’ll be your April fool?
Categories:
wheezes, april, cheer up, confusion,
Form:
Lyric
On Aging Gracefully
It seems that while we’re here on earth
we spend our time ‘tween death and birth
in growing older and it shows
how fast my body ebbs and flows.
Allowing time to contemplate
and reminisce before too late
how far I’ve come to this fair place;
they say I must age sweetly and with grace.
I know my body’s not the same
as when I started in this game.
It’s not the same; I know it well
at least as far as I can tell.
I take my glasses off my head
and place them near me by my bed.
But can I see? Oh, not a bit,
my eyes are bad, I must admit.
My ears have aids which compensate
my lack of hearing to this date.
It stimulates some thoughtful chat
though misheard words account for that!
And then my teeth, I have to tell,
are soaking in a glass as well.
They smile at me with toothy grin
until I put them in again.
My chest has fallen to the ground;
the hair I have is grey, not brown.
My chin has twins, nephews and nieces;
my face has lines and lots of creases!
I have no special muscle tone;
I am no longer “in the zone”!
I see a mirror and I scare;
don’t know the guy who’s standing there.
At five o’clock it’s time to eat,
sit by the table; off my feet,
but let not much pass by my lips
or it is forever on my hips.
My body’s cursed with indigestion;
my singing often comes in question;
my breathing breathes out gasps and wheezes;
each morning starts with several sneezes.
I yawn with nothing to yawn about;
I yawn inside; I yawn out!
And napping’s not a dirty word;
refusing naps would be absurd!
My body aches, I feel each pain
and ask when I’ll feel good again.
What happened since that time long passed
when I thought wrong my youth would last?
There is much more that I can mention
of doctors trips and drawing pension.
But here’s the truth I have to face:
they say I must approach this age with grace.
But will I take it lying down
till I am six feet underground?
Oh, not a bit; there’s not a chance.
I’ll not give age a second glance.
Categories:
wheezes, age, birthday, celebration,
Form:
Verse
Sea Czar Caesar sees her seated on a cedar two-seater beside the East Sea Seder. He grieves since he sees his sister, Esther Dexter, with her red festered blister, next her.
Guinevere is pleased her eager leader, Caesar’s seen her. In degrees, she breezes, “Sir, see our sea surf? These sea treasures are pleasures to sea czars and we serfs.”
Caesar desires, if it please her, to seize her and squeeze her.
But Esther Dexter who’s next her interjects the elder perspective protector with an inflective reflector.
“Easy, wheezy geezer Caesar. It may please her if you squeeze her at your leisure, but if you seize her in a fever, she’s sure to seizure; so leave her at ease, sir!”
Peeved Caesar, seethes, sneezes, wheezes, breathes and proceeds. He’s pissed his less best pest of a sister, Esther Dexter, with her red festered blister, persists amidst this tryst.
He flees to cleave Guinevere’s knees. “See here, dear Guinevere. I’m neither teaser nor misfeasor geezer and will not proceed to cede to my tongue twisted sister, Esther Dexter. Please heed to receive my believable plead so I may leave relieved.”
Guinevere is pleased with her Caesar and suggests to Esther Dexter to leave her and Caesar forever.
Categories:
wheezes, humorous, love, passion, sea,
Form:
Alliteration