Long Guttural Poems
Long Guttural Poems. Below are the most popular long Guttural by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guttural poems by poem length and keyword.
I woke trembling on the threshold of dawn
as dappled sunlight through my window shone
Upon my primed canvas there had been drawn
a masculine image with finely chiseled cheekbones
What virile fantasy had I born while in flight
for my hand to have created such a dashing face
In stippled darkness of my dream-filled night,
a handsome fantasy did I dare fondly embrace
His eyes stared in wonder; tantamount to my own
No angle shielded me from their deep penetration
I held my breath, then released a soft guttural moan
as his strong hand guided mine without hesitation
Warm colors defined muscular features I painted
His hazel eyes were flecked with dustings of gold
Flushed with desire, in a warm blush I was tainted
when he faintly whispered, "To have and to hold"
My palette was awash in shades of crimson. Soiled
with streaks of scarlet were my hands and gown
My brush strokes lingered on his full lips as I toiled
imagining passion's kiss, in their depth I would drown
I could not bear the thought of tearing myself away
On and on I painted where his gentle hands led
until finally wearied from hunger, upon my bed I lay
Unsated was a craving within me, a desire to be fed
With eyes closed, I hoped to dream of him once more,
of this man who had completely captivated my heart
Come, handsome stranger. Find me as you did before
I cannot endure life if we must live it in dreams apart
Oh death,
You are ugly!
Get away from me!
Each time you laugh
Your guttural laugh,
Like a Python,
I know you have devoured
Another poor soul
I know because evil forest
Lives next door
Every witching hour,
I observe your lifeless victims
From my tiny window,
Where I plead my own case
As they ferret one unfortunate soul case after another
To the church yard
No one knows who is next
Or what hour you will cold-cock
Even the most vicious witch,
Witch doctors are impotent
When you register for them
Your confederate earth and earth worm
Know not to pique you
For fear of famishing
The day a coffin maker
Swears at you,
He goes home without a bounty
Doctors who snooze with cadavers
Shudder ceaselessly when you sneeze
A morgue attendant
Would rather have his eyes plucked out
Than peep through the window of a morgue;
For angst of what lays in wait...
What the peeper has spied
The maw cannot orate
An obdurate hover,
Knows not to stalk
A soul case into it's crypt
For death angst
I have hailed you Ozoemena
And christened my folks Onwubiko
That has not pacified you
You have only lent a deaf ear
To my feverish entreaties
Tonight,
I shall restrain all sacrifices to you
And your allies
I have heard of a sure-fire Ace
Who once bequeathed you
An undying pin-fall
Before you skedaddled from Hades
And commenced afflicting everyone
The poor and rich
Are at your mercy
My folks and I
Shall seek solace in the sure-fire Ace
Oh!
I see your guttural laugh dissipating!
Because you know
He is coming to judge
The living and the dead
Death, concoct yourself
You will not be passed over
Your internment is at hand
As our people ventilate: death dey smell
You have caused enough pain, sorrow and suffering
To our people
When the master descends on you,
You shall get an overdose
Of your own pills
Death,
You are already ugly;
You are going to look
Even uglier six feet under!
I know, I know.
For some of you people, it's hard.
You have no choice.
Your parents didn't teach you any better.
If at all.
If you had any parents to speak of.
And the crowd you run with is worse than you.
So, in conclusion...where would you go to know.
Where would you learn to grasp the courtesy, the decorum.
The bourgeois sense of civility somehow afforded to the rest of mankind.
You wouldn't.
You didn't.
And there you are.
Flapping.
Flapping that big-ass mouth of yours.
Into your spittle-loving smart phone.
Spewing and flailing.
Mewing and assailing.
With everyone within earshot (read: a thousand nautical miles) absorbing your golden renderings.
Renderings filled with more primal, guttural nonsense than a naked mute, set on fire, playing charades.
More monologue than dialogue.
A demagogue with a catalog.
And then you finish your call.
And start another.
More nonsense about someone else we don't give a **** about.
And then you finish.
You go silent.
There's hope for us.
When all of a sudden.
The earbuds go in.
And the singing begins.
In tune, then out.
(Insert meaningless rap dribble and delicious mcnuggets of profanity HERE)
I guess naked mutes like karaoke.
The train arrives.
We all depart.
There is a G-d.
(5/6/14)
"Get high on yourself baby
You
The revolution"
It wasn’t Reagan chirping away
That brought down the Berlin Wall
It was Nina Hagen brawling like a sprung spider
From a death crack in the wall
She understood its graffitied brick and steel
Was but a trembling empty web
Before the CIA ever did
She
A wound-up special weapon of orange and green wired hair
"Born from Xixax"
Safety pins looped through her ear lobes
Pull! Throw!
Clamped hair to her armpits tattooed eyelids of Ra
Rants like Linda Blair rising from her bed
To the ceiling
Half a sentence growled German the other harmonic English
Demon angel of Opera Punk and Gospel
Guttural laughs
Lunatic bass synthesizers and guitars
Wishes Mr. Brezhnev a happy birthday reunion from the junkie "UFOs
Who did it
The Holy Spirit"
And "Hans Hans" her lover her anti-christ her double agent
Conjuring LA earthquakes
And her baby daughter to the sun-beamed dust balconies of Mars
The Stasi didn’t know what to do with her
The prophet the chosen one
But to kick her out to the other side
With a good luck to you all
Over there in West Berlin and New York City
It wasn’t an old man with nuclear tips
Who changed the world
But an outrageous young singer anarchist
A barbed wire flower with a forked tongue
Who did not demand to be free
Because
She was
Already free
That’s when the wall came down and communism collapsed.
You can’t. You don’t. You won’t. You dare?
If you really knew me, you would not have asked.
You would have known but I am a chameleon.
What you see is my demure, discreet, sedate side.
The one I bring to work; not the one I live in nightclubs.
Of course I am kidding! I titter, and we both laugh.
She laughs, relieved, because the thought of a wild me
is too weird for her dendrite field to fully handle.
I laugh because at a primal, guttural, ugly, selfish level, I am a secret.
Taking my true self out on weekends, daring Mr. Goodbar to get me.
She gives me a hug. Says something bane, boring, prim, prissy, ugly-normal.
My evil, devil-may-care, raunchy risk-taking side smirks, making fun of her for that.
Dont trust me i whisper to myself
But surely my lies i could tell
Fractured emotions on wingless back
wage meaningless and undeserved attacks
Whispers choked by guttural slants
freely give myself to all my cants
my recall from anothers thoughts
Splinter psyche and frayed emotion
gather round to point and muse
Always me in anothers shoes
Fear and hate rise through the ranks
Stand atop a mound of mirth
Self respect lies closely by
buried facing away from the sky
Hope impaled for all to see
A warning of what will be
Memories the dusky paths formed of patience dust
killing the self so softly
Licking emotions from my salty hands
The life inside no longer stands
Pity never pitys me
For in my mind we are never to be free
A sudden, deeply inhaled breath cools
the tender linings of the throat,
belying the violence to come.
A brief moment
s t r e t c h e s into a thousand
as adrenaline EXPLODES through veins
and the [[tightly-corked]] breath expands within
until, with a quivering, violent eruption,
it escapes.
Tumbling up the raw shaft
through which it had been stolen
with the force and fury of a hurricane,
it rushes wildly back towards freedom.
It grows, echoing, reaching for its release;
Finally rattling and pummeling past
the last, weak resistance of
vocal chords it splits the air with a
shrill, primal, guttural cry
And then…
Silence.
9.7.18
Contest: Write me an Emotion - Act
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
I follow my senses to the meadows
Where the eagles keep an eye out for the bunnies
I feel a kindship, knowing I am a predator also.
Their eaglets waiting, for the tasty morsel, I gulp.
For I am Aries the fierce and the powerful.
Hunting my own prey, recognizing their souls
You had best be on your way; for I am ruthless.
I will sweep you up in my pandemic and carry you off
No one will know of our battle.
I have been waiting many moons for this day
My ancestors give guttural grunts of approval
They want me to devour my enemies,
I glide in my mind to my soul place.
At this moment, in this meadow
I am not sure where you stand.
Edible? Maybe. I am a carnivore.
My teeth gnash thinking of the meal I am seeking.
Come let us eat, my pretty.
Not both of us, but one who is smelling the blood
One who is angry for she is not with her eagle brothers.
Come to the meadow, my pretty. Come to the meadow.
The sun blowtorches its way into the water,
fragments, and the bottom is an aqua sky
webbed by white-hot lightning.
Here and there, legs hang like halved mannequins
disappearing into a squiggly-bright ceiling,
through which you can make out
the slurred shape of a poolside palm tree.
The deep, guttural grooon-grooon of
the water’s stomach growling is all you hear,
dredging up a similar sound from your subconscious,
last heard while you were immersed, long ago,
in another fluid world.
The water suddenly internal-combusts
in a tangle of arms and legs,
flailing in a fizz of a million tiny bubbles,
some kid having just somersaulted into the blue.
Soon, another’s face splashes down before you,
slightly albino in the shining water,
bug-eyed with silvered goggles
like a child alien from a waterless planet
discovering buoyancy.
Then you realize it’s your own kid,
wobbling from side to side,
toothy, hair waving like smoke
as he dog-paddles away.
You come up for air, breaching the surface like a
graceless dolphin,
and clarity hits your ears,
a momentarily soundless din.
You can already feel your skin heating up
in the blast furnace above water,
confusing because there are beads
running down your face and neck, cold.
You suck a lungful of air and push yourself under again,
but not before catching a glimpse of your wife
drowse-browsing a magazine on her sun lounger,
and the two umbrellas,
the big one shading the miniature one
stuck in the snowy slush of your pina colada.
Like dawn in heat
I am already slave to your loins
our impending collision
the meeting of body and mind
immanent
A gentle run of tongue
shimmers parched rims,
lost fingers are confused
with buttons and holes
Slowly fabrics are rent
falling to retire in shreds
letting shadow and light
rest on the fusing of our skin
The rod of your desire
is arched to my wetness
as buds tip your lips
my mouth parts
descending to my knees
your shaft slides down my cheek
discovering my mouth...
and the guttural sound of sin
A moving campaign
of desire, mind bending waves
traveled all the rooms with a view
unbridled hands, roamed
without thought of destiny
The whole of your intent
is rapaciously introduced to heaven
overwhelmed and conquered
I am now a lost continent
awaiting your next expedition
And suspended in
a pure vacuum of ecstasy
so exquisite it rests on my soul
I am imprinted for all time
... through the window
an icy breeze dimples my skin
and I lay in amber light
humming...