Sagged Poems

Cute Cat Couple

Cute cat couple in the house, one white and one black,
our lovely pets, we call one Kite and the other Jack.
Wherever we go our close company they always keep,
on bed by our cozy side every night they like to sleep.

Jack would climb and roll over my sagged shoulder,
Kite would lie on paining thighs, for I’m getting older.
Knitting a sweater my wife sits on the sofa with the pet,
fur and wool strands intertwine to make it a unique set.

In separate bowls we give daily food to Jack and Kite,
for we’re in need of peace, don’t like to see them fight.
In the closed room when sounds subside, I sit in the dark,
listen happily to the rhythm of our pet cats’ silent walk.

We won’t let anyone touch or caress our charming cats,
nor would like them called our animal pets chasing rats,
for Jack and Kite are like our beloved children we fancy,
we don’t care a bit if people call us a feline couple crazy.

Heartbreak

O’ Casagemas,
what is this Heartbreak I hear,
from this woman with sagged, fired breasts
and onion hips that tell a strumpet?

This cruel, shameless voyeur
with little mind — who owns a
vainglorious torso;
a Lady Serpent, viperous!

O’ Casagemas,
this Heartbreak hurts,
running streams of cold blood at cockcrow.
We cannot be counted among men
but among lizards with tail monuments.

Veronica, Juliet, Ada or Ulu?
How does one even spell her name, with votive
words, or with streaks of bleeding ink?
Heartbreak spills from a hollow platter, gushing
cascades of heated tears.
Caustic! A ruinous fountain.

Dream.
Casagemas sprouts, a monocotyledon
on which she feasts — succubus!

Incubus at noon.

Night.
Painted on the frame of a subtopia,
this naked virago — pulse of falsetto —
weeps at the feet of the grave of Casagemas.

Morning.
Velvet roses and tailored satin, pink and white fluff
for Casagema’s Rebirth
and christening ceremony.
In attendance:
fair daughters of Eve, naked, baby-fresh and
Casagemanous, to wreak vengeance on this
hag with a fluke in her liver.

On Growing Older

On Growing Older

Sometimes my steps are steady,
Sometimes my hands shake.
Sometimes my memory falters,
And I make some sad mistake.

Sometimes I hear you talking 
But I do not understand.
Just remember that I love you 
And I do the best I can.

My skin is sagged and wrinkled.
I look a little like an Elf.
My eyesight's getting hazy,
Sometimes I repeat myself.

But I still love the beauty,
Of the big old open sky
And Precious little children,
Sometimes at night I cry,

I look back on my efforts
Did I do the things I should
But I find a gentle comfort,
That I did the best I could.

I am weary but the knowledge
That strikes the sweetest cord.
I can lay aside my worries 
And leave them with the Lord.

Lost

In sky called life beauty shined bright,
where butterfly flew free,
weaving the lattice of delight,
flowers bloomed charm for me.

My volatile mind wandered in a trance, 
drifted in the draft of its dreaming wings, 
floated toward the sunburst horizon, 
made a fresco of formless fantasy.

The dawn splashed the spectrum of bliss.    
As I was set to fly,
the realm of rapture I didn’t miss,
didn’t see storm clouds in sky.

Splintered by the flicker of twilight,
my sky fell in the vortex of spasm
with my crushed dreams in the abyss.
In its darkness I lost my path.

The garden turned to dry debris.
As the buds sagged in vine  
storm clasped the petals to carry.
Butterfly lost wings’ shine.

Growing old and decrepit

We cannot fight old age –  So, when I get there…  I’ll just embrace it with a big dollop of humour!!  Quote by poet.

My decrepit body makes me cry
Growing old ain’t fun, I cannot lie
My bladder leaks, it makes me sigh
Pelvic exercises I will have to try!

I’m not so agile, I am way too slow
When I need the loo I HAVE to go
Cos I can’t control my urine flow
Pass me a nappy, I won’t say no!!

I piddle when I cough or sneeze
I’m chesty, got an awful wheeze
My boobs have sagged well past my knees
Do I want a new body - ooh yes please!

To hear bird song really loud and clear
I need a hearing aid for my deaf ear
Going totally deaf I truly fear
I’ll get ears checked again this year

My aching limbs sure give me gyp
Got arthritis in my knees and hip
No cure for wrinkles around my lip
Anti aging creams dumped in the tip!

I repeat myself, that’s no falsehood
Instructions can be misunderstood
I repeat myself, that’s no falsehood
Oops my memory is not very good

Steam Radiator

The radiator whispered like breath
beneath the old window 
               (half opened for mercy)
where cold fingers of air
braided themselves with steam
and the snow stayed only for seconds
dancing above the sill
in the breeze.

The sofa, burgundy and bruised,
sagged like an old confession.
I curled into its velvet hush
and watched the cupola burn gold
               (above the parking lot at dusk)
through the veil of falling snow.
This was my aerie,
thin-walled and tranquil,
where I painted, and read,
and wrote my way
into becoming. 

Below, the café breathed 
lentils and clove,
hippies hunched 
at secondhand tables,
hands wrapped around chipped mugs
               (arguing softly about Hesse)
as incense tangled with the steam.
I read Siddhartha in the original,
while Han Fook waited in the margins,
quiet as smoke,
his silence teaching me
to listen without answers.

The Clown

The spotlight flashes with a funny flair 
on the sagged dress of a meek man on stage.
A miniature crimson cold sun shines stuck  
on his puckered porcelain face of forced smile.

An animated caricature captured
in the frame of a comical frail figure, 
tramps in inertia round and round  
the circus arena to amuse awhile. 

The sprightly body swivels in reflex
with the flexed shuffle of acrobatics,
as the sleight of supple hands performs 
the perfect act of jugglery.

The labored buffoonery performed  
by the funny fragile clown of lost soul,
falls flat as flakes of stale joke 
on the silent spectators. 

Before the neon lights go out 
in the last show and the curtain falls,
the slapsticks peel slowly
the paint off his sweaty face.

The unmasked face trenches the trail of tears, 
he has long shed un-noticed.
He leaves the stage singing a song, 
the lyric written by his broken heart.

The uproar of laughter at long last
explodes with claps in the gallery.
The applause hails the clown, 
left to live the comedy of hollow life.

Limestone's Whisper

Written: April 12, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Miranda Hawley

        ******************

You were not entirely missed
Unwinding under shade of woods
reclining on a playground bench
sagged, sapped, and aged knees
glancing at a spewed limestone

Spotted lying on the ground
limestone was not a mountain
separating you from my character
It's just something on earth
It calls for your attention

We are waiting for sunrise
both at night and daylight
deep down in concept, drawn
security guards at the gate
sitting here, quietly, we wait.

MOM, MY GUIDING LIGHT

Her heart is a warm, golden light
Patience is her title 
In a distressed nine months, she held onto me

Facing changes and discomfort in her body
At the edge of losing herself, she held on
Waiting patiently with love and care to see my face 

She held me with joy, with tears in her eyes when she held me
Her breast was my comfort and my survival
Her breasts sagged, but she still fed me with love and joy
Ignoring the physical changes she had

My cries kept her awake 
Her hands soothe me
Her voice brings me joy
Singing lullabies with her sweet voice with compassion to put me to sleep 
Sleep was not hers when I was awake 
She woke up several times to see if I was okay

My discomfort, her heartache
My smile, her joy 
When I'm disheartened, she inspires me 
Her tongue is full of encouragement 
She holds me up with her tongue when I fall 
Her words and prayers keep me going
 
What love I have got
This love, a great treasure I hold 
A great gift God showered on me??

I love you, mama, ?

   A-S B

POINT ZERO

POINT ZERO 

Birth slipped into fast flowing
rivers of patterned fissures 
her arching brows brazen 
searching sagaciously
microscoping every moment 
tangoing across thorny 
thickets 


Hope gazed at her prayer 
puzzle poised with pensive 
pencils plaintively planting
plantains for pink parakeet 
caressing spines singing 
softly stirring custard 
pudding 


Love thought she was best
berry fruit from which fragrant 
juice poured jetting jewels 
a silver sabre silently stared
further from truth she stood
a sacked saga sagged


Death smiled enigmatically 
held Birth, Hope and Love
in oblong esteem observing  
Time’s oval ovaries to strike
sublime a node through 
which she sodium sucked


Point Zero zipped in sidelong 
zaps dishing each zappy 
zodiac zones showering 
all four with Infinity’s 
zygotes zooming


Point Zero was Hero ! 


©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2021

How cottage cheese was created

The cow took a chance, pirouetted and pranced
to the ancient tune..
Her body sagged and one foot snagged and she
tripped on the tip of the moon..
Farmers found her at the trough.
Dogs danced in circles,
Roosters meowed.
Crows began cawing at quarter to five.
The locals were astounded the  cow had survived..
The people now swear she has special powers.
A farmer sells her cottage cheese as most 
her milk has soured.

A Painted Mind

There was headspace for thinking,
but the roof sagged low,
it restricted imagination.

Rooms stacked on rooms,
all boxed in.
The only way to hear
any other part of himself
was to drill holes,
in the dry walls of dead cells.

Nurses attended to his hands and feet,
he told them often,
that he felt they had been
nailed to a crucifix
he once found painted,
onto a public restroom door.

When dead at last,
his brain was thinly carved,
slices were offered
to a holy communion,
of private investigators.

A much-redacted report
failed to be widely published,
it could not be read,
not even between the lines.

Sleeping Outside

A week of summer heat
with no cooling breeze
or break made bedrooms 
like brick kilns 
still hot after a day's firing.
You couldn't sleep.
Air conditioning back then
was a couple of loud,
clunking fans that blew
a hum of hot air.

To get relief
we would all sleep outside
on the back lawn on hessian
camping beds that sagged
and creaked even under
a child's weight. The night air
carried a slight damp
and the hint of a breeze.

I can remember laying back
under a blaze of stars,
giddy and full of questions 
at such wonder strung 
in filaments overhead. 
Uncertainty and doubt 
had begun to pick 
my childish world apart. 
I would grip the sides
of the bed possessed by
a strange sense 
that if I let go, I would fall
upwards into the sky.

I could never get to sleep
even when a cool came 
upon the early morning air.
There were too many
sounds I could not explain
and shadows my mind 
would shape into threats.
I would creep back inside,
back into a walled safety
and the heat.

When Sheep Play Poker

"A straight!  Two-three, five-six and eight,"
but Mildred bleated, "Ain't no straight;
you, Alice-ewe, are one dumb rump."
Bright chortles burbled round the stump
till Jingles raised, "Two straws of hay,"
too rich for Fay-Fay: "I can't play,
though, know that ram hauled in by truck?
I thought he gave me … lotsa luck!"
Suzette guffawed, "Not luck you meant."
"Perv, pigsty's where your mind has went!"
"Well, we all know why he's brung here …"
"Too bad it's only once a year." 
"Who poofed?" sneered Molly, "That's so crass!
Wow, someone dined on rancid grass …"
Embarrassed Mildred urged, "Just play,
let's brighten up this gloomy day."
Belle brooded, "Yeah, dawn brings the shears …"
"Well you look cute, nude tail to ears."
"And your sagged udder shows you're old!"
Tense silence fell--that barb was bold--
but Alice, heedless, claimed, "Two pair!"
which drew the wrath of Mildred's stare:
"Two fives, a two with ten on top?
You're one stupid mutton chop …"

I Do

I don't care
Wrinkles have appeared
I see ripples atop water
Sure as your laughter.

I don't care
Time have sagged your sociable self
I know the firmness of your faith
Your closeted strength I know so well.

I don't care
The spark in your eyes seem rare
Have simmered to a glint
Yet warm as your heart within.

I don't care
Your once sturdy hands and feet
Have slowed like wheels of time
I find as kind as you.

I don't care
Who cares for you
Like an inner guide by your side,
I do, I do, I do.

*

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