Long Coughed Poems
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There are many kinds of wars some make you die some make you cry
when your far away suffused in gunpowder, you learn to live and lie
A red letter day arrived, their baby was born blue, cold and stillborn
he sat in the bunker away from atomic blasts grief soaked and forlorn
Jim walked in and released his gunny sack " dam the war " what you got
stoic and in shock he wheezed, coughed took a drag of cigarette, wot?
There are many kinds of wars, some make you die some make you cry
today was not a day for tears, with a mendacious smile he prayed to die .
July 20, 2022
Sponsor Faraz Ajmal
Contest Name Tears of a Valiant Soldier
"I am feeling it." He said.
He meant his age. As I watched
I saw a vision…
Out from the cuttlefish bones of his breast
grime coughed up and dribbled.
I saw his heart stutter, the vapid flutter,
watched his lungs belch and utter
like a broken bladder.
A horseman on a creaking steed
raised its hoary head
and pointed an ancient ladle
speaking thus -
"Stir me belly lad," it said,
"spoon me sticky sump,
dole globs of lymph from here to there.
Me grease is dumpy and lumpy.
Me hip-bones crunch
while me dingle wilts and dangles.
Me ears is gummy lad,
I've gone to the bad.”
The specter faded.
The old guy smiles, rubs his thin hair.
"I also see it sometimes," he says,
"that liver-spotted ghost
that chains me to an even older vision
of you."
The dark night did his fearfulness arouse,
While flashing-booming-crackling filled the air.
This night of trepidation fills the house;
breath shortened running fingers through his hair.
Dark fear descends the mountain with a scream,
like flames from mouths of dragons, fear burns deep.
He cannot rest, perchance he moves to dream.
There is no sanctuary within sleep.
With every fear that populates his heart,
his head is buried ‘neath the pillow soft.
The fear that stalks his soul will not depart.
“Perhaps this is the last time.” Then he coughed.
Brief reassurance panics, then soon flees.
All hopes and dreams will not his life appease.
"A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come." ? (Julius Caesar) William Shakespeare
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A squirrel named Pip, a nutty soul,
Had dreams beyond his acorn bowl.
He yearned to leap through time and space,
To visit other eras, to find his place.
He read a book (a discarded tome),
Of wormholes leading back to Rome!
He gathered nuts, a hefty stash,
For bartering, he made a dash.
He built a contraption, twigs and wire,
Fueled by berries, setting it higher.
A clockwork spring, a rusty gear,
To yesterday! he cried with cheer.
The machine sputtered, coughed, and swayed,
Then promptly in the garden stayed.
He hadn't accounted, alas, for the fact,
That physics is harder than cracking a nut.
One day I delivered a poem
one that seemed to be premature
so I swaddled her up
and set her aside
to grow 'til I felt reassured
How she yowled and howled for attention...
how she cried so piteously!
How she coughed and she sneezed
whimpered and wheezed
then threw up all over me!
Still I tenderly tended her bedside
and lovingly nursed her along
determined to sacrifice everything
to raise her up healthy and strong
As she grew and recovered, she wandered
and crawled over everything
and I found I had trouble containing
my rambling, unruly offspring
She became an inexcusable bounder
a wayward and bratty ingrate
who despite all my love and affection
refused to make sense or read straight
She dallied in questionable places
she idled and shiftlessly shirked
lazily lagging, ignoring my nagging
while I selflessly, endlessly worked
Firmly applied discipline to her
and structure, and meter, and rhyme
but she bucked, and rebelled, and bit me
and stayed up beyond her bedtime
We wrestled, and wrangled, and brawled,
bickered in bitter altercation
if I didn't do something quite soon
she would ruin my good reputation
At length, I decided I'd had it
we had reached the end of the road
and although she clung like a wet paper towel-
I flung her and flushed the commode!
I am hooked deep inside my cavern-hanging host
replicating in cosy subterranean cell
night-time radar feeding my needful innermost
viral reservoirs overflow with gruesome gel
I slurp onto scaly creature, grimly scuttling
fissures unfold, revealing gory condominium
caged meal within a meal, proximity shuttling
re-absorbed, disturbed, unsettling equilibrium
I emerge, swimming 'Trojan' in moisture flowing
aqueous channel opening, internal organ-treat
indulged, engorged, rapacious appetite growing
coughed-up bipedal phlegm, damp cold air to greet
I am scooped again, adjacent cloth, nearby skin
bodies pressing, heavy breath, compulsive sneeze
defences haemorrhage, weakened corpses grin
death is killing me, wretched repulsive wheeze
I seep through porous mask and sweating gland
my time is spent, havoc wrought, no place to go
anti-bodies gathering, hostile hordes at hand
I am oblivion but still have many names to know
...He turned back to see all four of his gang
staring at him, in anger and shock.
“That boy was worth thousands,”seethed out mad Bret,
his hand shifting towards his rifle stock.
Chester pull his gun in a blur of speed,
sent two slugs into the nearest forehead,
the bandit went down, but the others drew,
the air crackling with muzzle flashes and lead.
Chester hit another, straight in the heart,
then felt something bite deep into his side,
he stumbled backwards, then fired again,
his shot hit home and another man died.
Then Bret’s rifle roared, shattering his shin,
he collapsed down to the group in a heap,
but he still had his Colt, two bullets left,
aimed upwards and let fly with a screech.
Two shots hit Bret right in the sternum,
soon too he collapsed down to the dirt,
both men bleeding heavy, both wounds mortal,
they faced their last minutes on this earth.
Bret choked through blood, croaked out a rough,”Why?
I though this gang meant everything to you?”
Chester coughed,”Yes, that is what I thought,
but that boy you seized was my nephew.”
Bret never said anything ever again,
Chester slumped back, and looked up at cold stars,
praying that Ronald still sprinted away,
that his horse had kept pace long and hard…
A whole day passed, then the Marshall came out,
with a posse, Ronald, and Tim Miller,
they looked at the scene, shook their heads slowly,
said,”A fine final scene for these killers.”
But Tim found his brother, his face at peace,
hoisted the body higher up on his horse,
the other men grumbled, but Tim would not
let his kin be brought in for a reward.
He had heard everything Ronald has told,
and though his brother down dark paths had roamed,
he’d shown he hadn’t lost everything good,
and would rest quietly beneath a stone.
Back on the ranch he carved into granite
so all that who might ride by it would know,
‘Here lies Chester Miller, who lived a rough life,
but in the end managed to die a hero.’
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.
Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.
Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.
Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.
Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
"We're going to need a bigger fig leaf."
Proclaimed the teacher to her staring class
As the model removed the last of his attire.
A collective, almost silent gasp
and the clatter of a fallen brush on parquet floor
confirmed this to be true.
Among the downcast eyes of most
was an accusing glance from pink-faced girl
to blushing secret lover.
Others scanned the body top to toe;
some fixed their gaze;
not all upon the model's eyes.
The over-fondling of a brush,
the squeezing squirting of thick paint from tube
A pencil slowly rotated in a mouth;
gestures, lost of innocence,
in steamy, thickening room.
A closeted sigh.
A wistful moan.
The heavy silence broke;
"As you may have guessed," the teacher coughed
"The subject for your sketch today is Adam."
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest Fig Leaf, placed 3rd
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Date wrote: 31st March 2022
What is this world I loved
She was Sold to drugs
She’s feeling pain
She said she’s numb
Why is she the one that I shunned
Coughed up half a lung.
Get off the mattress
Been with an actress
But fire and water always clashes
Look the fact is
You don’t know the storms you create with your actions.
Lost at sea she’s left stranded
Sun beats down and she can’t manage
Salt in her wounds left her damaged.
She wants to know what the plan is, your thoughts can be planned but only time will tell what happens to that seed once it’s planted.
Arose from the dirt is a rose in the image of your actions, from pain stems the thorns beauty born out of madness, petals lost, taken for granted. If heavens on earth it can only be found once you’ve landed
hit the ground and seen what happened.
Now she’s dressed in black her life’s been tragic,
The weight of the world is in the size of a tear drop and she can’t take more of what’s been handed, so she lets go and lets the world drop to end her sadness.