Although it's a well worn cliche,
there is something soothing
in the thought of lying in bed
listening to rain. Last night
I was front row in a symphony.
An adagio of soft fall, murmurings
on a metal roof and whispers
running along gutters.
Calm in the tempo
of raindrops, muted gargles
and gulps echoed inside
the throats of downpipes.
Then everything changed.
A quickening pace heralded
heavy rain and hailstones
falling in a roar of wind.
Lightning flashed
behind curtains, thunder
drew nearer, giant, swollen
bags of noise burst
to come crashing down,
rattling windows and sending
the spill rushing through
doorways into tense rooms.
Heaven unleashed its might,
as if trying to tear itself away
from this world,
as it still does, weighted
with words and held here
on a page, longing to lift
into song with drum rolls
and tremble in a crescendo
fit for a thousand voices,
straining to break free
and fly somewhere else,
finding itself stuck
in a poem, slowly drifting
towards sleep
and oblivion.
Categories:
gargles, night, rain, song, sound,
Form: Free verse
The Soul Eater
Has a very deep voice; he
gurgles and gargles, and
he call out names and eats
them up. He belches and fumes
And has a great
sense of direction; he knows
which way is up. Yet all
he really wants
is to be
admired.
Categories:
gargles, judgement,
Form: Free verse
soda stream pops
gargles are gurgled
mischievous meanders over moss
jutting chins of fresh shaven
intrusive rocks
sunlit tendrils stroking at the seams
Categories:
gargles, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Under the sparkling waterfall, cascades
of rushing amber waves. A breathless
spirit of invigorating grace - she fades.
Just as quick, she reappears, with cockle shells
dancing upon her bikini’d breast. The mermaid
sways my sigh, with a melody that no mortal can slay.
With splendid scales of jade and gold,she riles the deep.
The briny sea swallows her whole —
but then she sweet talks the whirlpool.
Such beauty gargles and spouts like a whale
as rainbow fish frantically scurry
and sail to their slippery domain.
The half-clad fish trills once more, than heartily laughs
as she tells me the secrets of her lovers.
This lass with two sea legs leans to her tell.
“I wait ‘til the bloke knocks himself out
or nearly drowns or until
he drinks himself over the side of his charter.”
We cackle together, Galia and I, as tears cascade
down the buoyant cheeks of sea pals.
9/23/2019
MERMAIDS Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories:
gargles, sea,
Form: Verse
This man refusing to enunciate
who sounds like someone’s missing marbles found
by his mouth took a vote in which escape
has hands-down won against rolling around
a schizoid tongue by an everyone-but-one
to one-against-which-one-won margin, stubs his toe
on stakes in the ground and moves swiftly on
from religious talk to an amputee’s hop,
thus dealing a crippling blow to choked upon balls
made of glass in so doing, shifting their hopes
from tongue to a$s until no-one calls
no-one else for help, assuming he’s dead as the Pope
who still enjoys a game of quick marbles
with only himself and ghosts of the gargles.
Categories:
gargles, nonsense, religion,
Form: Sonnet
Bleak dark forest
frost on the ground
cold nipping at skin
twigs cracking
distant howls
and loud growls
A girl in the day
a wolf at night
searching for her prey
a magical sight
Beautiful grey fur
long and smooth
piercing yellow eyes
envisioning your demise
Hearing footsteps
smelling fear
tastebuds exploding
as you draw near
Gentle footsteps
creeping up behind
down low prowl
scared out your mind
heavenly beast
doused in grace
now you see her
face to face..
Bearing sharp teeth
thick saliva dripping
her hunger takes over
your flesh she is ripping
You try to scream
it's too late to run
blood gargles in your throat
choking, a melody unsung
Belly gloriously full
blood on a furry face
satisfied, she walks away
still with beauty and grace
Categories:
gargles, horror,
Form: Rhyme
A telepathic throat
gargles stories and
spits fables’ fish into a watery abyss.
The surface shimmer draws us in
to fall, dream, dive, swim
as the storyteller spins us.
We balk at the tales of winged-hearts.
Love doesn't exist.
We swear by this as God disappears,
erases slowly while we wake up in season.
Love drops to the ground
with winter all around.
Snow covers and closes our eyes.
Pronounces what has died.
In the lens the pupil frames
a frozen image of my flame.
Could it possibly survive?
Rise up and be alive?
The same old story persists
where we make the same old wish.
Devils, misfits, do-gooders, cherubs and chumps,
wonder if God is make-believe, a dream or a magician's trick.
We cross our fingers and chant the scriptures
until The Almighty is real or a lie we can live with.
To be, to be, is miracle enough for me.
My cat chews on this paper—naps on every draft of this poem.
I worship her.
Categories:
gargles, cat, depression, god, seasons,
Form: Free verse