Clench Poems

Through Life's Clenched Jaw

teeth grind silently
in jaw's prison for sorrows
anger pressed to bone-
forgiveness waits at the gate
suppressed until victory

clenched lips hide the cry
parry what loud eyes don't see
masking every wound-
rage silenced by the anger
etched in muscle, bone, and brow

knuckles white, jaws locked
displays the relentless fight
in hate's epitaph-
yet while clenched, a jaw can't shout
a clenched fist can't grab a sword

the choice lies within—
clench until the fire is spent
or loosen the hold
to free the mouth to declare
the path to revolution

Quiet Triumph

In broken silence,
a single breath rises--
flickers of hope through the cracks,
light spills where shadows clench
vigor birthed from the stillness,
victory whispered softly.

Hands Can Make Hearts

Two hands can
shape a heart,
in the gap between fingers.
Out of silence,
a signal
in trembling air.

Hands hold, hush,
heal and reveal,
in touch of fingers,
feelings and
gel gestures.

They cup tears,
clench truths,
cradle hurts,
crush promises,
relay messages ,
meld minds,
and wave goodbye
without words.

Fingers trace the
soft crescent of faces,
feeling to shape
the form beyond
what eyes see,
and hearts wish,
to a warm 
shiny smooth
sculpture
in marble.

We surrender
to the hollow 
cup of hands
and touch of
soft fingers.

Howling Wilderness

In the wind, hear a plaintive, mournful wail.
It is more than a wolf caught in a trap.
It's more than fishing gear catching a whale
and rainforests being wiped from the map.

It is a voice that cannot speak in words. 
Across the ages, you discern the moan 
of vanishing prairies, buffalo herds, 
that's carried by plowed up topsoil, windblown.  

Earth's untamed ecosystems we hold dear 
are crying softly, asking for our help, 
grimly warning that they will disappear.   
Like a badly injured dog's dying yelp, 

hear the wilderness's last gasping breath, 
"Save me from the clench of languishing death".

Quiet Grief

Mother’s Day feels like a joke with no punchline, like the kind of card you don’t buy because you’d have to lie in cursive. I stare at the shelves lined with pastel lies, the soft-scripted thank yous, and the you’ve always been there's. I want to scream at the cardboard. Always been there? Where? In the silence? In the slammed doors? I don’t remember the warm memories I’m supposed to have. I remember the pressure, the pretending, the clench in my jaw when I’d try to get it right. I remember not being enough no matter how much I performed love. It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s that I don’t know how to say it in your language. Yours is all obligation and correction. Mine is quieter, stubborn, broken in places, but still trying. So Mother’s Day comes around and I write this instead of buying a card. Because no Hallmark line fits into the mess I carry. That’s okay, honesty is the only gift I can give.

the spell of a pregnant pause

time passes, hands clasped,
afraid of what might happen,
clench tight on what's been.

eyes stare unblinking,
lest the sheer weight of mere thought,
reveals happenstance.

ears distracted dwell
on mantra seance murmurs
when will never end?

circles of tears

circles of tears

she sat in her closet wrapped up like a ball
wading through old letters containing darkened secrets
reading wrinkled notes and looking through faded photographs
that were left to be forgotten

she tried to forget the haunting memories
that invaded her sleep
the familiar faces buried in her mind
that never freed her from the feeling of being watched

i look for her now when darkness quiets my heart
wishing i had never come across the note
bearing her name scribbled at the bottom
beside the stain of dry circles of tears

oh, the memories we dreamed to someday have
yet she was finally overcome by the last one
and now i am left holding it
she should not have gone on that cold november day

now i clench the memories like a wilted bouquet of dried brown roses
faded like dreams often do

i could have said goodbye if only i had known she was leaving
taking with her the bundle of dreams
drowning in her circles of tears


@ tolbert

Zen mode

at the Bindu chakra
I feel a bliss pinch
my eyes clench shut
but I do not flinch

rapture spasms rise
held erect by spine
all nodes within form
as a force field align

a million bliss bubbles 
surge as strobes of light
the epiphany renews
heightening my delight

The Slow Rot and the Coming Storm

We built it with soft hands,
stacked comfort upon convenience,
turned our backs to the gears turning in the dark.
Fed by silver screens and full stomachs,
we let the fire flicker,
too drunk on the warmth to notice the smoke.

They whispered,
“Don’t worry.”
And we believed them.
We traded vigilance for spectacle,
truth for something easier to swallow.
The cracks in the foundation widened,
but we called them character,
part of the charm of an aging empire.

When the first stones fell,
we laughed.
When the pillars trembled,
we turned up the music.
By the time we saw the beast,
it had already made a home in our halls.

And now, even the quiet places are waking up.
The ground hums with something unscripted,
a pulse beneath the broken roads,
a breath held too long.

Fists clench beneath dinner tables.
Voices sharpen in the night.
The forgotten, the overlooked, the ones who never raised their hands—
they are standing now.

The tide that carried us into sleep
has begun to pull back.
And in the silence left behind,
the storm begins to speak.

Sidewalk Steppin

Crime wave, crime pays
Crime goes on all day
But its not a crime to 
feel the way i feel
Say the things I say
I stole your bike 
cause had built in getaway
I stole your wife bewcause
She said she wasnt 
into it anyways
I dont know why Im so 
Worried about it.
God knows the world
Servbes me cold
So I sent your wife 
riding your bike righ
Back into your life
Right back to you

 that 
Right here in the situation
Right here in the clench
Jammed up in the bottleneck
Right here in the strategic conversation
Youre complete dissertation
Your doctorites thesis 
On masterbation
You otta check
Direct deposit your
Thoughts through  
your hollow neck
If you check what I bought
You know 
That its time that
Its time to inspect

A Quiet Weight

it’s the hum of the fridge
at 3 a.m.,
the distant bark of a dog
you’ll never meet,
the streetlight spilling its orange glow
onto a sidewalk
that leads nowhere in particular.

you exist
but not in the way
a tree exists—
rooted, purposeful,
reaching always upward.
you’re the leaf
that forgot how to hold on.

the universe doesn’t ask
why you’re here;
it just spins,
indifferent,
while you stand at the edge of the sink,
watching water drip
and wondering
if that’s all there is—
the falling, the landing,
the waiting for another drop.

some days,
you think you feel it—
the connection, the spark.
you buy bread,
you hold a door open,
you laugh at something stupid on TV.
but it slips away
like sand through a fist
you didn’t mean to clench.

and maybe that’s the point:
to hold nothing,
to sit with the weight of everything,
to stare into the fridge light
and see only
what’s missing.

For all the ones that aren’t and never will be

Grab it
Hold the feeling
Clench that burning fireball
While you’re crashing through the ceiling
Bash your head into the wall
And show them
What you can do
While you hold it to the sky
When the abyss stares right back at you
You’ll just spit into their eye
They won’t take us now
They cannot win
Live like you’ve always been dead
Reanimate yourself
And then
You’ll see that you have never bled
Untouchable
A skin of stone
You’ll never see a crack
You and you
And you alone
You’ll take the world all back
Today’s the day
For them to pay
More than ever before
The impure
That never were
They’re here and waging war

the spell had worked

she grabbed her cat and began to dance
the spell had worked!
Not only was she a monarch witch
but her colors were pastel

The two things she had been dreaming about
She kissed her spell book
the cat hissed a bit at first
but she gave him a warning clench

if he wanted to stay her familiar
he had better keep up with her mood
she was in the dancing mood
and the singing mood

she sang several tunes
her dance steps were getting wild now
she was spinning and twirling
I wonder if I can fly? she asked herself

Would she grab for her broom as a back up
or just kick off with her feet?
She set the struggling cat down and kicked off.
Rising out of the window and into the night
Showing her new self around to the woodland fey

Turning the Hourglass

Time limits boggle my mind 
with stressful thoughts of "hurry up,"
and "don't dawdle."
It makes me anxiously annoyed
to be pressured into completing
whatever the task.

I want to keep turning the hourglass
to keep the sands from running out, 
or shackle the tongue of a clock's pendulum
before its gong rings, "Too late,
you've failed to achieve your goal!"

If truth be told, 
I prefer not to measure time at all. 
The urgency of ticking hands
makes me clench my jaws and fists.
I become impatient when it pushes
and shoves me along, relentlessly.

Times up and I'm done.

The stress of kindness

You smile hoping the tears at the corner of your eyes don't drop

Your eyes, oh your eyes, shine with a fierceness that belies the dark clouds behind them. 

They gleam like an angel's, yet hide the stories that lie beneath.

Like they hold zero fears

The contradiction!!

You could tell a thousand tales

 Of how you've suffered and hid the pain

How goosebumps rose on your arms when your fear comes to life

Your fear of giving your best
But getting way less

You cradle them like a mother bird does her eggs.

Yet you hold the same value as a rag to them.
A rag waiting for a day to finally be used.
 
People always take from you, they take but never give

You clench your jaw when you are shunned,
The veins on your neck wanting to pop.

Your tightened fist says alot

Your eyes turn red,
You know you've had enough

It's time your aching heart gets a little rest

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