Raspy Poems

Raspy Words

So many are saying things unkind,
disparaging or hurting some other.
Saying whatever crosses their mind,
and often the truth they will smother.

Often each story is slightly slanted,
with a straight face, many belie.
Once it’s news it can’t be recanted,
and half a truth is still 100% lie.

Taming of the Raw

Most everyone falls in love with raw and beautiful
whether it be a raspy woman or haunted forest.
We free fall because they're untamed and indifferent.
Bathed in shades of Vincent Green or Pablo blue.

The sable nature of a man is to tame wild things
the very things that made them unique and free.
We are greedy-want it all for ourselves -all the goodies
above and beneath...of course without fully committing.
We poke endless holes in the soil of the evergreen psyche
glean oil from the skin of earth-gems from pristine eyes
we trample the wild petal 'till it finally withers and dies.

The tighter we squeeze freedom, the more freedom flees
Mother bear devours the roughneck and explorer
the womans heart becomes calloused and fleeting 
her heart bleeding out the blues and the greens
like a fiery midnight aurora.

Summer

Fireflies at night. 
Are busy. 
They light up with attitude. 
And land on my shoulder unexpectedly. 

In the summer. 
Cars going by sound crisp as they sweep through town. 
My head is unmuffled. 
And my hands are free of those gloves. 

Winter hassles. 
Like clearing the driveway. 
My voice is raspy from the cold air and sicknesses. 
Winter boots would get muddy over and over. 

In the summer. 
Fireflies light up to make us feel excited. 
As one lands on my glass of iced tea. 
Reminding me to fill the glass again. 

I know that this lake will freeze again. 
And soon, we’ll forget about the flowers.
Nothing exists in the winter. 
Except hot tea and hot coffee. 

One of the last fireflies of the season. 
He dropped by and told me that it was almost September. 
Then, he flew so high up, I lost sight of him. 
One of summer’s last magic tricks.

The lake froze. 
My hands almost did, but I got mittens on in time. 
I have blankets and coats in my car. 
My car starts up harshly and loudly in the winter. 

Fireflies at night. 
Every summer. 
They say things and dazzle us. 
And they will next year too.

- Bloodsuckers -

              Is it rude to tell a bald man
              a hair-raising story
              - "Your speaking ability and his hearing
              are not related to his lack of hair growth" -

              Sorry for the raspy sound -
              even bugs have the right to be heard and seen
              The mosquito burrows greedily into the shiny skull
              at the expense of his unhappiness
              The spirit of Bloody Mary
              drive the victim crazy with intense itching

              Mosquitoes drinking your blood until they burst
              Just how bloody is; Bloody Mary ?
              (the ultimate cure for hangovers)
              Protect your bald head from bright sunlight
                                          ... and bloodsuckers

Fall of the Rainbow Bridge

All is burning, cinders and ash
		flakes float in black rain,
		falling on a ground
			of clinkers and flinders.

The hand of ruin traces sigils
		of chaos and strife
		on broken city walls,
		within which rats awaken

They are the true rulers of destruction,
		living cloaked with shadows,
		in any crevice or crack,
		hunting bones and burnt flesh.

Their rivals, jet-black birds,
		massing on heights above
		in their murders
		and raucous unkindness'.

After Ragnarök, the still silence
		is broken by the raspy flutter
		of a million wings,
		echoed chittering of uncountable hordes.

What life is left
		does not weep.

The Echo Returns Not

The stars dance across the sky
A nightly recital of spinning and whirling
They’re in the spotlight here
But I know they’re invisible to him
Playing hide-and-go-seek offstage
I scream his name to the cosmos
In some sort of harrowed cry
Or desolate plea for redress
It comes out raspy, choked
The faraway stars have no reply
The echo returns not
I’m left standing in the dark
Mourning his mindlessnesses
Bombarded by the silence

Janis

Janis

I can still hear that raspy, smoky voice
that could belt out a bluesy rock song.
Every time I see a Mercedes I can’t help
thinking of you imploring the Lord for one.
A young woman from Texas who dressed
more like a hippie from San Fran.
I will always wonder if she and Bobby McGee
rode that semi the whole way to New Orleans.
She stole a piece of my heart when she left
Big Brother and went out on her own.
Sadly, she flamed out like a young sun
that goes supernova.
She joined the twenty-seven club and
passed into music history.

Gwendolyn Revisits The Golden Shovel

...after Gwendolyn Brooks & Terrance Hayes


In this dim-lit hall, gathered close, we
Chalk our cues, faces worn but real.
Eight-ball in the corner, staying cool,
Brothers in the game, that's who we

Are. Schoolyard dreams we long since left,
Traded books for pool cues after school.
In this smoky haven loitering, here we
Find our place, amongst shadows we lurk

Quiet-like. Clock ticking, hour grows late,
But time don't matter much when we
Line up shots, aiming for that strike,
Playing it cool, playing it straight.

'Round the table, huddled close, we
Share our stories, raspy voices sing
Of life's hard knocks, fleeting joy, hidden sin.
In felt-green world, for now we're free, we

Hold on tight, though hope grows thin.
Raise our glasses, cheap whiskey, no gin,
To friendship lasting. Together, we
Make our music, spinning pool hall jazz.

Summer's ending, farewell to June,
We play on still, knowing in short time, we
Might not be here, where dreams can die,
Our final game coming too soon.

Celebrating Glen Hughes journey

Where the cold nights, the shadows blend,  
Glenn Hughes rises, a voice that transcends.  
With a soul forged in fire, he sings of the pain,  
Each lyric a journey, each note a refrain.  

From the ashes of rock, a phoenix takes flight,  
His heart laid wide open, a shining light.  
With Deep Purple's thunder, he carved out his name,  
But it’s in the ballads where he found his true flame.  

A warrior of sound, with many stories to tell,  
Of love and redemption, of heaven and hell.  
His raspy, a comfort for all,  
In the chaos of life, he answers the call.  

Through the highs and the lows, the struggles he faced,  
He channels the darkness, the light interlaced.  
In each heartfelt chorus, we find our release,  
With Glenn Hughes' music, it brings everyone peace. (Peace within ourselves)

FALL IS RUSHING BY

The raspy rustling of freeze-dried multicolored leaves
Rush past my raised windows and open door as the soft breeze
Gathers its strength and sprays them haphazardly along
The leaf cluttered sidewalk and shadowed lined street.
Fall is rushing past me, Massaging my ears,
Delighting my senses. Raising my awareness
                Of another passing year.
Another Season coming into its own,
Of which I must rise in unison to capture
The play of its vibrant life colors 
To experience its fully clothed glory
Trees are giving up their spring and summer growth
To the nudging of cooler nights and coming winter snows,
Only to rise again with next year’s budding.
Each Season expresses a new and different story.
So soars by us each brief life through its Seasons,
One with the cycles of the Creator,
Loving the magnificent moments of brightness and joy
It's lingering beauty swept away 
In the next season of liberation.

Haunted Woods

This is the tale of young Polkahontus.
She lives in the forest; her aim is to taunt us.
The squeezebox is ancient; it’s lacquered and red;
she communes with the spirits and plays for the dead.

She gives the accordion a little squeeze;
the raspy sound out of it’s more like a wheeze.
She dances and prances and plays in the wood; 
I’d drop a tree on her if I only could.

At dusk she gets started down there in the vale;
I’ve fingered my crossbow with thoughts to impale.
In the rain, in the snow, even bitter and cold,
she’s playing that polka; Good Lord, it gets old. 

I’m at my wit’s end, so I get down the rifle
with murderous thoughts of a squeezebox to stifle. 
I aim through my scope with the polka red dot,
but I won’t pull the trigger, ‘cuz that polka girl’s hot!

Racing the Currents

Softly murmuring, the river’s raspy voice
Settles my soul with its rumbling choice,
Rustling quietly beneath a glowing moon,
Splattered by the sound of the river’s rejoice

Light trickles from stars who’re strewn
Across flirty skies where dreamers swoon,
Leaving the heart full, moaning its needs,
While witnesses tell tales much like cartoons

Roaring rapids reveal what the mind reads,
In stories of crashing winds with its dark deeds,
While the river gulps and hiccups on its course,
Promising to bring us its astounding proceeds.

Waters boom and belch, such a mighty force,
Revealing God’s strength, the only true source,
Mighty waters rip out a path like a racehorse,
One that most gamblers would surely indorse.

Death Of A Smile

The last time I could remember seeing you was 2017
Life was one big song
You know the one that plays from the voice of the vinyl 
A unique raspy calm like sand on the beach
Where you forget everything and just breathe 
Watching mother nature smile made me mirror her
Watching the mind of her heavens made me want to lasso the moon and kiss her sun
Family is the one thing that can be so dangerous but held by the hands of beauty
For just a moment I remembered life is really a beauty 
Full of shattered glass memories as clear as yesterday 
And for a moment I forgot the death of a smile
p.s. don't forget your tears can be happy...

For the love of salt and sea

For the love of Salt and Sea
A man,
Standing tall and feelin free.
With his old raggedy clothes,
Pipe
And his sunburnt nose.
On the bow of Ole Navy,
Just watching,
And waiting for the Jubilee. 
With a voice that is raspy, 
Calling out 
For his old dog Scrappy.
The sun will soon be risen,
nets to be lowered,
boats could be seen on the horizon. 
For the love of salt and sea, 
A man, 
Whose home was never in Tennessee. 
Bent to touch waters of blue,
A smile,
A rendezvous.
A knowing,
His days were coming to a close,
Peering deep, forgoing. 
For the love of salt and sea
A longing
Now a spirit set free.
© Deborah Seale Schnadelbach

Ballad of a Scandal

Now let's begin
This tale I'll spin
Took it on the chin 
Never thought I'd win

Honeysuckle 
Boot belt buckle
Scraped up knuckle
Raspy chuckle

Kicked my ass 
Soft green grass
Still I sass
This too shall pass

Knew I'd lose 
It was no use
I had to choose
Handpicked noose

Before I fought
Tied a knot
In the rope id brought 
For justice sought

But then a sound 
Shots rang out loud 
Eyes search the crowd
Never been more proud 

To my rescue 
My only nephew
To my opponent says " I can't let you."
" I should be the one that gets to."

With those words I shut my eyes
Feel the lump in my throat rise
Purse my lips choke back my cries
Really though it's no surprise 

See we all had a common flame
All three had tried to stake our claim
Yet all we did was bring her shame
Upon my lips her sweet name...

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