Long Innards Poems
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Of all the people who knew me well,
My best friend Bud knew me the best.
I always turned into a lout,
Bud always putting me to the test.
It was as if my innards,
Were thrown into full throttle.
I never saw a man yet,
That could hold his beer like a bottle.
Boy I could yell, I would have such courage and might,
Always ready for a fight, I was such a louse.
Uncouth was I,
I couldn't see or walk straight, but I loved my stout.
I started my car without a second thought,
After all, my breath mints were sitting next to me.
If I get pulled over,
I'll just grin and hopefully I wont have to pee.
While sucking on my covert mints,
My liquid courage makes me feel boastful.
The officer already knows,
But he'll use all the resources at his disposal.
The lights are bright,
And the siren is loud.
My eyes hurt,
And then my head, it pounds.
"Hi sir, I stopped you because,
You couldn't stay in your own lane."
"I need your license and proof of insurance please,"
"I'm not drunk," as I mocked with a smile I chose to feign.
"Certainley Occifer...here ya go".
My courage now challenged by the man in blue.
"I detect an alcoholic odor coming from your vehicle,
please step out sir, and follow what I say and do."
"Place your heel in front of your left foot like this,
then walk heel to toe ten times."
In my mind I'm already trying,
To add up all my tickets and fines.
"I can't even do that sober sir,"
Oh I can't believe I just said that!
I stumbled and then I fell,
So In the back of the cruiser I sat.
Where was Bud when I needed him,
It's off to jail I go.
I'll never have liquid courage again,
Next time Bud invites me out, I'm saying "no!"
Descending,
I manipulate and manoeuvre for the updraft
Spluttering,
I spiral down, then briefly up again, to glimpse a glowing sky
Flapping,
I fall forever faster, flat-eagled
Plunging,
I watch the unwelcome gloom envelope my horizon
Tumbling,
I twist, turn and turbulate, ... then the thudding thump
Gasping,
I groan and exhale, a noiseless moan
Curling,
I recoil as innards become outward form
Emerging,
a base inside-out creature crawls and creeps
Tasting,
the tongue-tied intestines and the unseeing socket eyes
Groping,
a gruesome grub befriends the worm and slurps the slug-slime
Engorging,
as flaunted members flail blood and flick licky, sticky fluid
Reforming,
dim visions populate carnal shapes with awful movement
Gaping,
a fearful half-formed and startled face averts its gaze
Residing,
in deep gutter niches... these are my companion dwellers
Wallowing,
I sniff a redolent upswell of dank fissured earth
Disturbing,
I scrape, cleave and wipe away a smear of covering soil
Trembling,
I sense a warmth of body, a stretching of exotic wings
Enquiring,
I mutter clumsy overtures and crude enticements
Retreating,
I hear unmistaken rebuke and a sigh of disappointment
Imploring,
I elevate my utterances and seek a further hearing
Caressing,
I feel a welcoming and forgiving response
Pulsing,
the creature's cocoon gives way to nebulous female form
Ascending,
at first a cherub woman smiles playfully down on me
Transforming,
a stimulating and sensuous siren cavorts and teases
Uplifting,
wings gather me in for a swooping flight of fancy
Revealing,
from above, her intimate view of dwellers in the hinterland
Coaxing,
she fills me now with empathy and understanding
Alighting,
my body-mind lies prone beneath her
Tingling,
I feel her form and thoughts slowly enter and encompass me
Exploring,
I arouse and we gently probe between lips and sphincter
Delving,
I follow our rhythm of kiss, taste, touch and thrust
Wandering,
I experience our ambiguous male and female desire
Playing,
I laugh at how we tickle our innocence and sophistication
Loving,
I know for delirious moments what it is to be another
Consumed,
lost in coexistence with a like- but more extraordinary- mind
There are times when it is safe to be in one’s body
As in the time of family way caressing my ribs
Baby who lives because I do with such flare
Tiny little feet kicking me deep in my innards
Such sharp joyous yellow pains tattoo my brain
braided with all the names and things to be for sweet babe
The gay day of burgundy birth
erases the bloody hurt
healing cries from my little person
Unwritten absence of hearts searching for
And finding good despite rape
Finding love despite hate
Unwritten absence of being prey
Of sexual assault turned around by fate
During such an act one must fall back
And lean into the abyss recoil insulting kiss
But who knew it would give me truth
Truth in the form of a journey
From rape to faith to power of attorney
He ran from himself inside of me
Blessing my womb with a holy seed a baby
Unwritten absence of smiles at the time
I found I was heavy with child seeming so unkind
Until I decided to make up my mind
And give this babe a heart like mine.
Unwritten absence of hate for the father.
For my love for the child will be a better bother.
Written 9/21/23 for Contest Unwritten Absence
Sponsor Ink Empress
Oh, America,
my beloved America.
The world owns your soul,
and chortles as catastrophe comes.
Bartered was your legacy,
for riotous living,
and pottage no longer gratifies
your innards cravings.
Terrorist lambaste your innocent,
and spread false doctrines.
Fear and anxiety hold you captive,
casting foreboding shadows o'er your land.
As a mongrel wallowing in its vomit,
so it is, you and your sin.
Having no vision of signet ring and fatted calf,
your robe now drapes a self righteous frame.
Has the line in the sand been crossed?
While your flag still flies, the eagle soars,
and your Statue of Liberty stands erect,
return unto the father.
Oh America,
my beloved America,
God loves thee more than I.
Disgruntled, they come to me as bit-parts
ripped from black and white movies.
Mad aunt Anastasia, who should have been a nun,
one of her hands would refrain from touching her,
the other has been long carried off
by wolfish priests.
The Holy Ghost has pickled her in a jar,
she now floats between worlds.
Uncle Sean, the iniquitous Maître D'
looming above a meaty cleavage,
he who flambéed Steak Diane
with a slyly sapid leer,
poured cognac,
then after the salacious hunt,
triumphantly decanted his thirsty+ lusts
into any grateful woman
whomever.
Cousin Tommy died early,
but not before he had burnt through
the Old Testament.
A brimstone disorder gnawed his innards,
left him lacking normal human kapok,
kept him bubbling until a self-inflicted wound,
blew out his brains.
There are cousins removed and living,
who disassemble themselves, with zealotry,
or ennui. None took the middle way,
none quietly settled-in
to live a life of unremarkable normality,
trysting the nights away
with damp-stained regrets.
Like larks’ tongues, they sing in the invisible.
They reside in the far reaches,
until dark angels flame out
in their berserker eyes.
As I gaze upon my shadow,
it appears to grow a hole
Just where my heart belongs,
morphs a void into my soul
Open to all the elements,
sunlight shines right through
split second after a cannonball
ripped my chest in two
Give back my innards
Return this heart to me
Fill this visceral hole
And leave my body be
Still I look upon my shadow,
now appears to sprout wings
emanating from my loins,
fledge red abstract things
Open to all the elements,
thermal winds raise me high
One moment after shrapnel,
blew my atoms into the sky
Give back my sinews
Return pink mist to me
Feed off your own evil
Go away leave mine be
Now searching for my shadow,
it’s gone can’t be seen
I haven’t got any eyes,
only contours in between
No need for rare elements,
when sublimating the earth
oh come closer afterlife,
from my quanta seed rebirth
Give back my conscious
Return those eyes to me
Let meaning have a purpose
And leave my shadow be
This or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Split wide open
06/07/22
I recall writing checks in my spidery crawl.
The TV then was a humming spaceship
with glowing innards that deep-scanned
all who glued their flickering, bug-eyed minds to it;
it abducted whole families at a time.
That same television
materialized microwaves as heavy as lead ingots
replacing bread bins
while ushering in decades of TV dinners.
“Radio Shack’ and “Block Busters’ were thriving
The short brutal war between Betamax and VHS
was long over.
Cars had not yet learned to speak.
Many men thought that learning to type
would be a waste of their valuable time.
We had to go out to get stuff.
Fish in fish tanks
were considered adult entertainment.
The long married kept their sex life
hid like a ‘sixteen millimeter’ movie
projected onto the back of their brains.
Camera film had to be sent away
to be often irretrievably lost.
The food pyramid was thought to be
the right way up – we were already fat-heads.
We trusted the nightly news.
Then the Net captured us,
we found we had many hidden talents,
some even discovered how to wriggle their ears
and both at the same time!
The first automobile I ever had,
I bought when I was a sixteen year old lad.
Since it was numerous times pre-owned,
Its gears and innards groaned and moaned!
It was a nineteen-thirty-seven Ford Deluxe,
And as I recall it cost two-hundred and fifty bucks.
It had sixty-five horses under the hood.
To keep apace of traffic, I pedaled as fast as I could!
The great Barney Oldfield I tried to emulate,
As roaring about town I did perambulate!
I made intimate acquaintance with many a cop,
And as a result had some serious chats with my Pop!
It was known by its sobriquet, the Blue Goose,
And although I put it through lots of abuse,
It got me and my dates to movies and proms,
But I suspect it was a bane to some anxious moms!
Since my youth I've owned finer automobiles,
But I've never been prouder of a set of wheels!
The Blue Goose got me everywhere I wanted to go,
And compared to prices today, sure cost a lot less dough!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long-truncated railroad stop
humming still with a faded reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
Sweat, rustle and creak,
an invisible locomotion of leaving and arrival.
employed upon an iron labor.
The tall dry weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle
as they wait here or idle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its innards now
are a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate twirling flight
under a corn fed sun.
A mid-day heat thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its bygone world
had not forever disembarked.
*Image of Knight Kneeling by Everypixels.
Suppliants Soliloquy
I turn away a stage no more
Set up high on a pedestal
To say my peace, naught to be lore,
Observed a point, incredible.
If this naught be my righteous day
I feel my eyes will not suffice,
But close my heart its stead, say nay,
Kept open to needed advice.
I claim no virtue 'tis of mines,
For I, a mind, made full of sorts,
So worthy be the choice defines,
This day mines will then set the course.
It is but a crawl through mired mud,
Slime of crimes my outer being
The innards smell a stench of crud,
My essence hid but seen fleeing.
I will not heed to ill advice,
To consort with those troubled minds,
This naught be a good day of choice,
To listen to a host of whines.
If I could change but one small thing,
It is my mindset one accord,
I wait what righteous day will bring,
Find you a servant of the Lord.
2022 January 18
*1st Place*
A STRAND (1057)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 January 22
*HMS: 8 syllables x 24 lines = 192 syllables