Clamped Poems | Examples

Confession of a Serial Killer

they wheeled me in like a busted fridge
metal bolts, the stink of bleach
my hands were calm for once—
you'd think I'd scream,
but I'd already done all my screaming.

a priest mumbled junk at me—
I asked for a cigarette,
he gave me god instead.

the guards were kids
shaking like leaves
they strapped me tight
like I was gonna run.

I looked at the bulb overhead—
thought of the girl in Idaho,
how she laughed
before I broke her neck.
I almost cried.
almost.

they stuffed cotton in my mouth,
clamped that steel cap down
like I was a bad battery.

somebody puked.
someone else prayed.
me? I grinned.

the juice hit—
a million volts of penance.
my spine tried to climb out,
my teeth danced,
my bowels gave up.

and still
it didn’t feel like enough.
not even close.

Meatball Noose

Corked off glue, oral mucosa clamped, oyster bald razor, thumb running along twine binding the package, a conductor testing violin tension. Hairy balls of fire, a jackdaws caw, drawing her in with dirty sticky wet joy. Creaks on bed springs, open windows, neighbors staring, a drumbeat counting down to rupture. The squeezebox gripped tight, seething under bare back muds. Breath, a bird in a cage, jabbing at the bars of her ribs. Burnt-out fluorescent light, firefly flash caught behind bone. Hands unwrap with surgeon’s grace, flesh revealed: pink, marbled, mutinous. The cuts: rare, exotic jewels radiating a savory sheen. A finger tests the muscle, a pianist poised over ruin. And then: a grunt, “the trick,” a gesture, sleight masking ripened fruit. And my snake, swollen, pounding, thick and huge, slithers through her smooth underbrush. The Calvary arrives, a swarm of bees in spurred leather. Engines rev, Bouffants tumble, spiderweb eyeliner, one blink from collapse. Ten-gallon hats deflate, soft as old balloons left out in the sun. 
Starlings chime down an alleyway.

Meatball Noose

Corked off glue, oral mucosa clamped, oyster bald razor, thumb running along twine binding the package, a conductor testing violin tension. Hairy balls of fire, a jackdaws caw, drawing her in with dirty sticky wet joy. Creaks on bed springs, open windows, neighbors staring, a drumbeat counting down to rupture. The squeezebox gripped tight, seething under bare back muds. Breath, a bird in a cage, jabbing at the bars of her ribs. Burnt-out fluorescent light, firefly flash caught behind bone. Hands unwrap with surgeon’s grace, flesh revealed: pink, marbled, mutinous. The cuts: rare, exotic jewels radiating a savory sheen. A finger tests the muscle, a pianist poised over ruin. And then: a grunt, “the trick,” a gesture, sleight masking ripened fruit. And my snake, swollen, pounding, thick and huge, slithers through her smooth underbrush. The Calvary arrives, a swarm of bees in spurred leather. Engines rev, Bouffants tumble, spiderweb eyeliner, one blink from collapse. Ten-gallon hats deflate, soft as old balloons left out in the sun. 
Starlings chime down an alleyway.

Covid

Covid

commiserate, conjugate
circumambulate around the 
circumference of the
continent
covertly circulate
in the crevices of 
confederates
cramped, crawling,
crooning in the
cavern of 
Copulates
we concurred
that the crisis
was going to confabulate
Covid closure
clamped and comorbid
into crass and crumpled
consternates
constipate crush
collapse and confiscate
curious conjugates
carelessly canned
into cisterns of
congenial but classless
contaminate.

i cannot continue
to calculate
the cost of our
confusion.

A Wake on the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and insomnia befell,
No creature was stirring, but my thoughts are pell-mell.
Would the family squabbles and feuds come with the cheer?
Would I have to drown them out, with too much beer?

The smile and wave diversion has limited worth?
How long can my mirth defray my feeling good dearth?.
I flit like a butterfly, I sting like a bee. 
But, my hands can't hit what my eyes can't see.

It's all so jovial, with all folks tongues tied.
Letting slip barbs tongue-in-cheek that lied.
Lips forced into clenched fist clamped smiles.
With forget-me-knots shrouded as wait-a-whiles.
 
The reindeers were laughing, stopping on the roof,
as I downed another draught of whiskey high-proof.
A hangover is a sure-fire cure to help me cope,
with the downhill slide to the slippery slope.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and I'm awake,
fearing the family feud sparring earthquake.
My mind is churning over past disputes, give-and-take,
and how to avoid ruining the day with a silly mistake.

Reverse Psychology

The reflection in the water of the woman
Was not pleasing; even to herself she looked 
Hard.
Frown marks were etched deep; two lacerations 
Between her black unruly brows.
Thin lips clamped together in a downward Arc
Showed her disappointment in life; her dissatisfaction.
She didn’t want to go on; She didn’t want to go home.

Her reflection said “I bet you haven’t got the guts to get in like Ophelia did.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed; she actually hated her reflection. 
She took off her green shawl and lay it neatly on the green grass beside the still pond.
The unhappy woman stepped into the pond;
She sunk slowly down through her own reflection.
She had fallen for her own reverse psychology.
And now she is no more.

Mad Hatter Day

What a fashionable day to be in Wonderland!
quaffing a piping mug of peppermint tea
clamped into my manic hands
sprinkled in three spoons of
that sticky, drippy powder of craziness
with a side of derangement tarts
served on a golden platter
all I need to balance my appetite
for keeping my soul content
with this fairy tale madness!

I do not know

I respect not the cruel world!
Brickbats at me it ever hurled!!	
As a human, me it forgot!
The cruel world, I respect not!!

I do not know… how I survived!
Parental love I was deprived!!		
Many snubs I did undergo!
How I survived… I do not know!!

As a stray man, me people stamped!
My freedom wings, they ever clamped!!
Upon me they did place a ban!
Me people stamped… as a stray man!!

Industrial Dispute

Santa stood in the warehouse
Full of nearly empty shelves
Last night they’d been ram raided
By a bunch of discontented elves

Recently infiltrated and recruited 
Into an association of packing staff
Whose ideas and demands and wants
Caused Santa to cynically laugh.
He could have held out for longer
That much was very clear
But the clever blighters
Had subverted his reindeer

To make matters even worse
Pushing poor Santa to the edge
The blighters had gone and clamped
His only working sledge

Only thirty days to Christmas
He knew of no other way
Than to meet their demands
For increased shift working pay
He’d do what it took
To bring things back on track
And ensure he had enough 
To fill his mammoth sack

He reached for the Gordon’s
For one last large stiff gin
Then went to arbitration
With a forced and fixed grin

Canadian Snow

My path is icy
But love has melted away
And my feet surely
Tread on the firm route
That is lined with
Deep friendship
Deeper even than 
The cold Winter
That Jack Frost has
Clamped around my house
I felt trapped 
But kindness
Gentleness
Inexplicable love
Has made a path to freedom 
This path I am brave enough 
To adventure along

CV

Stand-N-Soak

Docked your own can it tote-n-land home
Locked unknown antidote to amp the mode 
Clamped-n-sewn your stamp will show 
Plan it slow in a long tramp you know
Boat the load and camp your stow
Go for broke to brand a glow
Sold your joke now stand-n-soak
Hold folk accountable and count your table
Don't poke a mountable route make a staple
Flow on ropes tight like cable
Low-n-behold a dangle blame angle
Won't hold me-n-strangle in a shame shamble
That’ll level the bevel playing field left disheveled
Hips shoveled as his groveled  
It’s bliss behold miss molted 
Changes skin manages kin 
Estranges them bandages again 
Rearranges agendas to gain
Free ranges attendance scars remain
Eerie chances dependence hard refrain 
Flee dances of steep step stances 
Weep wept lands won’t weaken plans 
We keep kept cans to seep sunken strands

Belonging

Summer fog.
The air thick and warm
with a closeness gathering in
the early morning as if all
that it shrouds share
a common breath.

Everything holds together,
birds, water, the pebbled shoreline,
as a cormorant dives
downwards through the still, 
its underwater wings stirring
the cloudy strands 
of last nights dreams.
I feel it surface somewhere
in me with a shadow 
clamped in its beak.

A few early walkers
emerge, pass by, then dissolve
back into the morning without
so much as a ripple. 
The fog follows me,
quietly closing up the hole 
I leave. I fear if I make
a sound or move out
of this space,
the morning will collapse
into a hot, harsh and angry day,
pushing everything away,
back into the lonely enclosures
of its dislocated parts.

Waiting For the Thawing of An Afterwards

Ice shrouds over the hunched houses
where blood and flesh huddle and wait.

An ice ravaged 
face rears up from an invisible earth
its fangs blackened by a tooth-aching light,
more flesh piercing incisors
dagger down from the clamped
and sunken roofs.

What wreckage there is, is buried
hidden from sight, but it is not
a clean landscape. Not a landscape at all
but a telltale footprint,
a restructuring of destruction.

What was once seen as a town
is gone. Not forever (drama makes
actors of us all), but we talk now
in a past tense language of 'back then'
and not of any postcard view of tomorrow -
not yet.

Mind Bruises

I will tell you a sorrowful tale of an ancient time
 when the turning years carved grooves into vinyl,
a time that changed everything and nothing.
He was a lad, a stripling, knobble kneed and roughly handled.
A youth with a common history told a thousand times 
in any slum-clamped town.

A cultural weather mellowed him,
it gave the young a way to be poets, cynics, heedless pundits.
Rainbow children beguiled; they wed their minds 
to a street corner weed, past its vows between them.

Then it was that mop haired songsters 
again stirred his angry blood; he defied ruler and book,
forsook the hierarchies of the hard boiled,
long hair grew into words that shook as he danced
defying the soft shells of faceless egg men.

The boy drifted, still raw-boned, still trapped
by the rats in his head. Jail house beckoned; 
bars griped his knuckles tight.
One night he became a storm in a windowless room.

They held his body down, beat it black and blue.
All he could think of as fists pounded broken ribs,
was if he yet lived, he would write it all out one day
yet still leave out the bad parts.

Panic

Just witnessed a nasty incident.
So glad that it’s now over.
My hearts all a flutter as 
I’m trying to recover

At the supermarket coffee machine
Standing there on my own
When a nasty accident happened.
A woman fell off of her phone.
I saw the horror in her eyes,
Saw the fast approaching fear,
During those few vital seconds
It wasn’t clamped against her ear.
For a instant it was just like 
Taking part in a movie thriller:
I was looking into the eyes
Of a panicky potential killer.

Scrabbling it up quickly,
Normal position was assumed 
As, giving me  a haughty look,
Normal service was resumed.
Reassuring words were poured
Quickly from the other end
As contact was restored with
Her equally panicking friend.

Be afraid, be so very afraid
If, when you’re  on your own,
Confronted by a user who’s lost
Contact with their mobile phone

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