GUTTURAL MUSE by SEAMUS HEANEY
A classic piece of observation from a hotel window ,in just three five liners .A view of universal everyday scenes from a 'detached 'poetic viewpoint with imaginative ,yet wistful digressions of the older observer 'poet'*
*Ulster poet Seamus Heaney
ever a favourite with me
In which nostalgic childhood shines through
to become a Nobel winner too
Lyrical in beauty,dug from
the depths of the past.
A storyteller, articulate in
elegaic stanza writing words
to last.Of farm life and childhood,
deep in Irish terra firma in
which he and his poetry stood.
A delightful imagist quality
of 'as is moments' once
frozen in memory,and now
released for our delight .His
triplet,quatrain and quintain form
brings a succinctness of thought
combined with the commonplace
A Tribute to Seamus Heaney 1939-2013
The morning sighs
with hoarse, guttural caws.
Crows twirl and cartwheel backwards,
like charred scraps of newspaper
caught in wild feral, wind eddies
above a raging bush fire.
Goosestepping gulls
enforce their feeding-ground territories
with threats and violent gestures
their beaks snapping shut
like rust-corroded, iron gates.
Looping caterpillars
form a Congo line
across the blistered bark of trees
while ants drag dismembered wings
along cracks in the pavement.
A magpie bludgeons
a snail against the stones
until the shell gives way
its pale body spilling outwards;
a molluscan sacrifice
that satisfies the hunger pangs
of a black-and-white starving bird.
Worms writhe blindly,
torn asunder
on the hot sunbaked soil
attacked by hordes of bull-ants
lake tiny matadors in torero corrida,
sparing with capes and lances
as they torment the helpless,
doomed, and dumb, succumbed prey.
The morning sun rises,
guilty as charged!
without pity or cause,
without mercy or motive,
to silent, stark applause,
as nature pleads for survival.
When I am older I will be a ninja warrior
Sneaking into old folk’s homes in the evening
Maybe even during their naps in the afternoon
I will make angry guttural noises
Throw my weight around
I will carve up their curtains and their lamp shades
Jump up and down on their beds
Terrorizing and terrifying them
Nurses will have to chase me out
When I am older
Cry for Help
Winnowing time for recollection
In life’s moments of satisfaction
Without artificial stimulation
Or the blunder of the situation.
Stuck in an era unresponsive
In the guttural dungeons of despair,
Begrudging a knee-jerk reaction,
Mechanical friends become repulsive.
The beleaguered mind crazes
For a one-directional mission
Of taking life to the limits
To achieve perverse relevance.
A call is put out (an S.O.S.),
Like a message on the Internet,
“Light is flickering: Save me!”
And by chance, someone will notice.
guttural croak
black as starless night
demonic tales evoke
fear of shifty ravens
it's an 'unkindness'
raven-type joke
Gates of hell were opened
Guttural groans were heard
Grotesque ghouls overhead
Gowned in gossamer gauze
Gnarled fingers reached for me
Guilefully, they took flight
Gory night of bloodshed
My heart holds all of my firsts.
The first breath of life,
the first cry cracking out of my lungs.
It holds the rupture of a dam my parents tripwired,
so the flood has always won.
The guttural scream of you and sixteen,
a ruthless rise in your grip for the ripest fruit.
I was only trying to hold on.
To hold on to innocence like the sun prying
at time on the horizon just to catch a
glimpse of the moon.
My heart holds all of my firsts,
the shushed cries and soiled flesh
I did not pray or.
God crying in December’s fog
as you abandon me in winter’s thaw.
You are forgetful,
but my heart remembers all.
Fallen leaves knuckled
below eddies float again
along the slick street.
Rain withers with gray
asphalt rising. Curbs cement
leggy puddle spills.
Sunlit raindrops stop
hissing at guttural moans
tickling us for laughs.
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.
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
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
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!
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.
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
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!!!!
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