Long Throttling Poems
Long Throttling Poems. Below are the most popular long Throttling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Throttling poems by poem length and keyword.
my grandfather
died from black
lung working in
a mine that wasn't
his and now all this
time cautious of the
dark and the damp i
can't seem to find my
own mine so turning
silently i become a
mime and ask you
to understand
my gestures as if
a jester in your
court am trying
to court you by
holding my breath
while holding my
throat throttling
in hopes you
will guess and then
i'll be able to gasp
but your yours
is not mine
and as the batteries
of the sun dim not
sinking just being
less of a beam for
me to follow i stop
and swallow that
last gasp of air
as my ears
clearly hear
the song
dark as a
dungeon
down
in the
mine
Form:
Few years ago, I drifted on a wetland
swiveling through the pewter
of evening as contours of statelv herons
unfolded...velvety the feathers white,
and ablaze by clear Asian ripples of before.
Yet, from a visit today, my eyes
follow them along weeds...
their poses now limp from a gray night
through rows of frail blooms, fumbling
along a marsh looking old;
their feet throttling in slow sink of motion
against those once radiant plumes:
In quiet reflection, I imagine
these birds' pliqht amidst
nature's environ , steeped in frail
passages of late life stages unattended:
How I weep for these herons' destination
beyond soiled grasses
as I wrap my fingers in prayer,
relishing this instance where
I gaze at an avian delight,
slowly yet wondrously aging through my eyes.
I was pulled out of the school; doomed into hard labor,
To my home, at budding age, I became a life-saver...!
When kids of my age, with stylish satchels, proceed to school,
I, in cracker-workshops noxious, chemicals heat and cool...!
With my tender hands, I shape cute beautiful fire-works,
When I see, you crack them, my wish to do so, within sparks...!
The fumes and toxins I breath, I know, are deadly harmful,
I cannot just shun them, as life toward me is scornful...!
I am squeezed in often, into damp, cramped throttling spaces,
Where, doctors say, children catch incurable diseases...!
My fingers and hands get blisters; they often itch and bleed,
I cry loud within often, who could, my soundless noise, heed...?
When I, owing extreme aches, from mounting duties relax,
Manhandling me, my master, like a galled gory goose, quacks...!
Rules and laws, they say, made for our benefits, are, many,
They remain in books, and for us, never earn a penny...!
I have just one request, to you, dear friend, who's of my age,
When you meet one shabby like me, do not flare-up in rage...!
18 March 2022
Things are moving at a rabid pace.
Motorists throttling throaty compact cars.
Coming up on you at Mach speed like their lives are on fire.
Like their time is more precious than mine.
Notice the clusters of yellow-vested workers
digging up the earth, laying miles of line everywhere.
A couple of them were in my backyard unannounced.
For two days they worked in silence.
I opened the drapes on the picture window
to let them know that I know what they're doing
And is probably no dang good for the people.
They glanced over and continued laying plastic veins into the black earth.
Letting me know that they don't care that I know what they're doing
is no dang good for the people.
In their frenzy, they trampled my infant rose bushes to death. They are death.
Just like those chem trails stitched across our sky are death.
Things are picking up pace.
They've already erased Honest Abe.
No more copper in the pocket.
Silver and the greenback are next.
Plastic only-more control-a globalist's wet dream.
They want to know when you're buying
what you're buying
and how much of it you're buying and at what price.
Restrictions, red-flagging, and rationing are next.
They'll say it's for our own good; they are our slow death.
Big Brother is not only watching but is smothering us.
They want to kill the middle class and individuality,
Cull the herd, shame and arrest the songbird in all of us.
I dreamed I was a porter
carrying bags that weighed a ton.
Quickly answering in the Club Car
when anyone called, "Hey Son"!
I dreamed I was a conductor
punching tickets neat as you please.
Walking up and down the Passenger Cars
taking the jostling at my ease.
I dreamed I was a brakeman
watching the signals along the trail.
Jumping out to throw the switches
keeping us on the correct rails.
I dreamed I was a fireman
keeping us on the roll.
Getting grimier with each shovelful
as I emptied the Tender of its coal.
I dreamed of being the engineer
throttling up or slowing down.
Eyes vigilant on the rails ahead
Steel churning on steel just above the ground.
That Iron Horse was beautiful
brighter than a new penny from the mint.
When the sun hit upon it
you couldn't help but squint.
I dreamed of all the stations
with children their eyes wide.
I watched the gauges and checked the shafts
my long nosed oilcan trustily at my side.
I dreamed of a long line of boxcars
being pulled behind like a rope.
Getting freight from down below
up the graded slope.
I dreamed of trains as a child
which carried me many a mile.
Waking in the morning for school
I couldn't help but smile.
Growing into manhood
with such dreams as these.
I went to work for the railroad
with my dreams as my keys.
Now, when you see the gates go down
lights will flash as I guide my Engine through.
Listen for the horn and bells and whistle
of the dream I found in my "CHOO CHOO".
1942
She snapped her static line
onto the anchor cable
and listened for the sound of the engines throttling back.
One other before her had nodded
and jumped into the dark night.
She felt the bag on her leg,
put her hands on either side of the opening.
She looked straight out to the invisible horizon,
even though it was dark.
And pushed herself out the door.
A night jump.
Before she counted to three
she floated and felt the cool air all around her.
She felt her heart beat
strong
and free,
her body a weightless toy.
She even hoped she could use the safety chute-
just this once-
but she was jerked hard,
upwards.
Her mission below
depended on a safe landing fall in a farmer’s field.
She howled into the air.
At the enemies anywhere.
For her camarades de compagne below.
Je suis libre! Je viens!
I am free! I am coming!
The air.
It has freed me!
Again.
She dropped her supply bag to her boot,
touched the pouch with her mission papers,
saw the few fires below marking landing space
and felt for the rushing ground
to meet her.
1966
She jumped off the dock,
her yellow sun suit pressing against her,
the air cool,
the kids in the pond laughing, playing.
She would join them!
She floated and turned,
weightless, nothing,
arms out like wings.
Turning, turning.
Then,
something grabbed her suit
and suspended her,
and brought her back.
Even after the scolding-
You can’t swim, you’re too young, don’t ever-
-she still floated and turned
and turned
and dreamt of jumping
again and again
into air.
finding ourselves here
awareness self-aware
ensouling form feeble
sensory touch external
our lower mind stirring
found ego urges rising
oft against conscience
throttling our innocence
reinforcing this torture
veiling love hues subtler
until we became dead
going where desires led
in cyclic joy and sorrow
fearful of the morrow
anchored in narrowness
living in stuporousness
over time we did realise
that love never does size
playful non-judgmental
ever vibrant and amiable
aglow moment to moment
in joy without abatement
continuum heart centric
imbibing currents eclectic
simply flowing like breeze
we embrace and release
when thoughts disappear
as waves of bliss spear
magically and osmotically
vivifying form beauteously
representing flow of life
devoid of ego borne strife
getting to this recognition
we opt for polarity rotation
resting thought fragmented
identity driven and limited
releasing flow of attention
in vibrant void of cessation
wherein in childlike trust go
wherever winds of love blow
with no trace of expectation
as also sense of anticipation
welcoming offered surprise
there being no ego to apprise
whereupon one with universe
aligned with the divine verse
thus in but not of this world
innate blissfulness unfurled
choosing to abide in silence
we rekindle loving innocence
as Gods essence boundless
ever entwined with oneness
this earth is our play centre
where in joy we may canter
mind body but an interface
being breathed by His grace
thus no doing need be done
save exiting ego stagnation
fixated not at any coordinate
tranquil in stillness sedate
melding head with our heart
with all one and none apart
is-ness of being-ness bliss
Gods hand continues to bless
05-March-2021
Once. we trailed a lush forest
Of sweet desire and fiery embraces -
Where writings of eternity strayed
And a riot of fireflies
were circling
Right under a golden narra tree.
Twilight carried us, high up
a Manila moon,
Casting its glint ...we were eternal as time
Throttling off with endless schemes --
One by one, the petals bathed us
With a dewy scent of affection...
Until pile of leaves caught
Our laughter snuffed by thieving winds--
And you fell on a mantle of reeds
Chilled freezing from
a final sense of unknowing :
I remember... that was two decades ago
When all the flowers bowed
As You and I parted as pale shadows,
When love's vow of forever
melted like trickles of clay...
Wish all my friends on Poetry Soup a joyful, peace filled and prosperous New Year!
As the glow of 2022 has died out
When a new dawn’s halo is round the arc
Best wishes and prayers from all hearts sprout
‘Let a new world of light emerge from the dark’
Let us wait to see new hopes blooming
Grab the little joys the mind can contain
Dismiss all defeatist thoughts surfacing
Warmly greet the New Year about to begin
The stream of life glides gurgling
Listen to its dulcet rhythmic refrain
Put down smothering blues brewing
Cast away all sad and throttling pain
Inhale the salubrious air and begin again
Hope for happier times, day after day
With enormous appetite, life’s zest, regain
Newer vistas will open up and come to stay
* * * * *
Jan.1.2023
Those eyes of startling glare,
the pupil looks at me, the wide and narrowly looking;
I swallow hard, yet I think,
dripping off of your eyelids,
the blood looks like coming out of a beautiful fountain.
Your hands do I find to hold,
for I could not see them on you;
then on walls did I find their shadows.
So, I come to kiss the wall;
the shadows are gone, and blood comes, dripping off.
Then came to me a thought
that I kiss the very blood that came of you.
Might my lips look so beautiful as yours?
But the blood vanished also.
You are confusing me a lot.
A door to door you walk;
your stepping echoes, and I heard.
Then door to door I walked;
behind you I am always left off.
Where are you going, and
where have been your legs lost?
On bed do I rest,
for I have been searching you a lot.
Then the throttling I felt,
that I knew you are trying to hold of me.
Then why cannot it be completely,
rather than suffocating a little?
Why holding to the bedsheet?
These scars on it rather than on my body.
Shall you not scare me more?
Then for why have you scared me so little?
What be the trouble,
for I am exempted from the scars from you?
Then let me put down the crucifix from my neck,
so the blood of Christ should not stop you
from showering me with your blood.
Now Christ shall not be able
to make a distinction between me and you.
Then, will it not be beautiful?
A ghost of wings,
floating above,
out from my reach,
you are a majesty!