Guttural Poems | Examples

A Small Crowd

Fallen leaves knuckled
below eddies float again
swiftly shimmering.

Rain withers with gray
asphalt rising. Curbs cement
puddles running still.

Sunlit raindrops stop
hissing at guttural moans
tickling us for laughs.

The Speaker

The speaker spoke in a guttural cry
Screeching against the day
Dooming us all to lay down and die.

We all uttered a final sigh
Nothing for us left to say
The speaker spoke in a guttural cry.

Trembling, our fates cast and chide
Unholy it takes us down one way
Dooming us all to lay down and die.

No longer any charades to ply
To cause respite or other delays
The speaker spoke in a guttural cry.

That bastard who led us to fry
Missiles overhead as we pray
Dooming us all o lay down and die.

Nuclear fire, the apocalypse tries
To decimate the world, plutonium haze
The speaker spoke in a guttural cry
Dooming us all to lay down and die.

The Lunacy of Language

Ah, words, the lunacy of language
The cackling currency of the confused
Squandered in vain attempt at conversation

Words, the spit balls and snow balls of youth
Sharpened to become the epees of aging
Slashing thrusts rendering opponents silent 

Daggers wielded swiftly in rhetorical deceit
Pretentious pandering of pointless swords
Dancing on the edge of a quiet moment

Words, guttural curses of hurled invective
Hard eyed tortured faces spewing city venom
Tone, tenor and force strangling logic and reason

Thus, do we share a common tongue
Yet cannot understand each other
For it is our hearts that define our words

Sizzle

My hair ripping as her fingernails entwine
pulling my head back
She slaps me harder than she should
Her smile slightly offset
My cheek reddening from the welt of her hand
Shifting herself forcing me deeper within her
The pleasure of her warmth
subdued the pain
My throb in unison with her undulating frame
Cast myself down in reverence
Genuflect to her genitalia
Praising with my grunts and groans
Come she barks her orders
Her hips thrusting with disjointed pressure
Empty now in a guttural groan
but she is not complete
Her knees shifted
Now either side of my face
Choking, gurgling her essence
Her musk a must
Her wetness engulfing
No protection from her want

Water sings a lilting lullaby

Hear Ye!
the babbles of brook flowing on by.
the fizzy hiss of foam floating on tide.
the howls of a waterfall crying into sky.
the raging roar of waves crashing on beach.
the pitter-patter raps of raindrops on window panes.
the splish and swish of paddles straddling lake.
the tinkle taps of gentle rain showers on rooves.
the guttural gurgle of water sinking down drains.
the blink and plink of dew drops tumbling down leaves.
all singing in cadence, a lulling lilting lullaby,
caressing ye to sleep.
But, Beware Ye, 
lest Ye hear,
the alien tap of 
drip, 
     drip, 
           drip, 
drops in sink!
relentless, incessant, clatter, 
insistent for a fix!

Fireworks and gunfire

People say that you can’t tell the difference 
of a scream of joy 
from a scream of pain.

A scream of pain is a scream of anger 
Guttural, loud, violent ,
Gunfire that is ricocheting 
Through your mind, body, soul.

A scream of joy is a breath of fresh air,
A sense of calm that is washed over you.
While screaming your body erupts
into the flames of thousands of fireworks 
that shine so bright everything else melts,
as they melt into the night sky.

Pain is a complex emotion
but so is joy.
Something that consumes you,
yet connects you to reality,
It’s what makes us human.

You can tell the difference between fireworks and gunfire 
But what about joy and pain?
With two emotions so similar and wound together,
one would simply not exist without the other.

Listen closely to screams,
They connect us to our souls
and show our true emotions.

Where it Began

My grandmother knew
the exact moment I was born.

She was sitting in the passenger seat
of my grandfather’s navy blue Jeep Wrangler.

Speeding down the New Jersey turnpike,
the windows trembled against rushing air.

She closed her eyes and said,
“I just heard my baby granddaughter cry.”

Every time she tells this story,
I imagine my first guttural wail
transcending miles of houses,
trees, and pavement.

I think what a crude force even then
was my unrelenting fear,
its velocity,
its volume,
its stamina.

Cat-whipped

Cat-whipped

Apparently, our home’s, furry little empress, 
knows well how to count: will not settle for
less, of her required treat-amount – 4 bits of Friskies,
her mandate, not mine,
before and after each organic dine -- 

almost out, today I tried 2~
followed a disturbing, guttural
whine – So, I gave her one more;

dissatisfied, continued to opine...

pointing directly toward the door – 

Off I ran, feeling quite commanded

as if for criminal trial, Remanded!

Praying vociferously, yet open the store…. 

Her Majesty's proclamation~ a minimum of 4!!!!

Own Owl

Guttural interval
Buzzing in falls
I don't buzz
I am in bus
What is that mom?
Who are you mom?

Nocturnal removal
Tweeting in walls
I don't reuse
I am in my dose
Where are you mom?
Which one mom?

How to make love to a didgeridoo

Her shocks poured forth like a midnight oil spill,
body buckling like a sapling in a tornado, cracked like a Grecian museum urn. Moonflower extended limb petals, hips arched, limbs touched the nightfall floor. Her firehouse quaked primal.
Waistline oscillated, packed rigid. Gasps defibrillated, beasts fought through tight ribs,
Midriff dilated, injected, probe swelled with force.
Her breath hung heavy, smoke in a chimney,
Drumbeats drumming on her global map, sweat beaded like molten glass.
Weary rasps of elation caterwauling,
guttural sounds spilled from her chest.

Every Man

I live in every man's struggles.
I lose myself in the crowd;
Everyone has a story of loss,
Of a childhood that ended abruptly,
Transmogrified into juvenile gods,
Worshipping, genuflecting, reacting,
Pale with the anguish of bent backs.
And every man lives in me,
As I in him, today and yesterday;
Ancestors and inheritors, possessors,
Crossing oceans, discovering realms,
Absorbing losses, sensing kinship
In the spurting blood of the enemy,
Enemy men, who say goodbye forever
To the children and mothers left behind.
I see myself in every man, even the enemy;
In the war cry, the final guttural effort
To resist the pale-faced smallpox carrier.

bonafide certified mommy-fied leaer of a dog pack

I am a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
They currently sit at my feet waiting to see what we will do next.
Beau our newbie is the only renegade who keeps running from the pack.
He has never had the run of six acres before, and he loves it.

Sophie, our old lady cocker is sedate and stoic…
unless another member gets too close, then she gives a guttural
warning growl.
She is proud to be the matriarch.

Buddy at one hundred and sixteen pounds could take all of us.
But he is a gentle giant, going with the flow, letting the new baby manhandle him.
Beau at five months, attacks his big bro and often
Play biting his leg and his undercarriage.
They run from couch to couch, moving furniture as they go.
I am super proud to be a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.

Butter and Balsam

She hears again his guttural sob
as he orgasms behind her.

Between his muscles and her anima -
butter and balsam.
She spreads herself,
makes herself parts to be used.

Afterward,
his hurried dressing,
his indifferent coldness.

Then, as usual, he leaves her
for that bony 
with halitosis.

One cigarette after another;
she draws the smoke into her lungs,
into her belly, feels the fumes
turning to vengeful wraiths.

She opens drawers
tossing his clothes,
anything that smells of him.

She wants to write letters,
raw accusatory letters
to his pride --- his bull-S soul

She imagines following him,
demanding violent sex
just to use him up.

One last warm splash,
one more flick of her wrist,

then turning away swiftly,
deleting him out of her life
forever.

Tribute To DMX

TRIBUTE TO DMX

Rough and rugged, raw and real,
DMX's spirit is a fiery force to feel.
His rhymes reverberate, reaching deep,
In every listener's heart, his words grip.4 

A streets lord, he's one of the lyrical Kings,
The speakers bamp to the beat when he sings.
His passion for life is inherent in every verse.7 

With a voice as thunder, a presence among thugs,
In the world of hip-hop, he forever belongs.
In the raunchy rowdy rap game, his roar resounded,
DMX, a dynamic, daring dynamo, deeply devoted.¹¹ 

From gritty streets to grand stages, he growled,
We weigh his weighty words & our blood flowed.
His gritty, guttural growls gained global glory.
His deadly deliveries made him the real homie¹5 

Through darkness and light, he bared his soul,
With every performance, he made us whole.
A legend, a warrior, forever in our heads,
Earl DMX Simmons, your legacy never sheds.¹? 

This is a tribute to the legendary DMX. His impact will be felt for generations & the next.²¹


VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes 
Copyright ©? January 2024.

Meeting Steampunk Tiger

Loud guttural roar filled Steamboat Convention Hall
Stovetop hats rose up higher, and most were already tall.
The tiger made his entry with a loud snarl and a pounce.
Watch out! Someone yelled. I think this creature can bounce.

We ran out of the way, as fast as heavily-dressed convention goers can.
Tiger made a bounding leap and soon was shaking a trembling old man.
Don’t eat him! A girl in a pretty petticoat with a corset yelled out.
He gulped him down, after shaking him up, down and all about.

We did not see any blood, for the tiger ate every drop that he could.
I was running as fast as my legs would on this double treated oak wood.
The tiger was gaining on me, I could feel his breath on my neck.
I fell out of bed before I was eaten and I said “What the heck?”

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