Short Rasping Poems

Silver birches creak 
in rasping winds so sublime
A frog leaps upward...

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a rasping blackbird 
lifts squirming worms to treetops
Barefooted I climb...

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Singing
The blues muse
Awakens me
Rasping seventh majors
She’s hoarse!...

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H-old with warm embrace
U-nder the sweet and tight clasp, 
G-rasping with the arms.

Form: Haikustic...

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Burnished pheasant,
Repulsed by noon's bright sunshine,
Rasping brazenly,
Calls the plump hens to his side...
Hurry to him, concubines....

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The amber skein of autumn leaves,

embanks the tumbling torrent

of the splendid forest stream.

 

A salmon homes to lay its roe.

Follow her, as she curvets

the swollen falls and rasping stones....

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Rasping like fleas
In August
the barn roof leaked
The plums hummed full of bees
the sweet nectar captivating

The children's heads nodding like flowers
and Mother couldn't care
Her form shrugging away
Presumably she would leave for home, unlit...

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Water on a leaf held
an offering
above the parched earth.

A moment of concentration
being shattered,
into the rasping dryness.

A small peace
for short reflection
upon the Cherise, clear
and quenching.

A tiny oasis left
forgotten rain
Remembering....

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Moving silently without direction
Like an old Saint 
Quick yet perturbed
Mimicking a malnourished child 

A silhouetted figure in the dark
Slithers across the curve of the Earth 
While the dewdrops gather at their pruned toes
Just to find 
You.

~Whoever...

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It begins inside
with the refusal to be
a machine.

It begins inside
with the refusal to recognize
the beat you play.

It begins with a frown. And a shrug.

And a turning away
To a voice
kinder and sweeter
than the
rasping rattling, redolent 
of your empty threats....

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A rasping pain persists in my aching knees
Nothing brings relief, despite my pleas,
Salves and creams I’ve tried won’t assuage
Arthritis persists – it’s the bane of old age,
If you know what works, oh, tell me please.

written March 5, 2022...

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The repetitive saw of metal against metal,

The bashing of steel for designs,

The whir of the copper polished

And the hiss of the patina finished.

The file and sandpaper rasping on the brass

The noise all around

The hammers they pound,

As we create our own sound....

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Have you ever heard of a rasping rhapsody
It is sung over the blue mountains in agony
Where broken hearts wail
And speak of their travail
As they wait for the Divine Kiss
Where He meets them in a Secret Tryst
Setting them free from all their pain
Till their rasping turns into a melodious strain....

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A rasping autumn's evening rings 
Caressing in coppered exultation 
Rising gently in satisfaction
And winter coming dances merrily 
Time lifts with quiet dignity
In the starlit nighty 
A cloud sparkles incandescently   
As God draws nature in delicately
While artful flurries, spreading opulently...

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                                   sunrise gemstone glow
                              sound of rasping tangled leaves
                                 landscape through the haze
                             time blessed with the richest hues
                                   reflects the joy of childhood...

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Quiet my jangling head
[marbles set loose in a drain pipe]

Silence churning doubts
[acid bath of corrosive thought]

Calm my rasping breath
[jagged edges of restricted output]

Cease excessive activity
[upanddown the spiral staircase]

Steady my stricken hands
[pounding pegs into nonexistent holes]

Undo me....

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Scrambled legs
Tingling fingers
Grayscale of concrete.
Shimmering metal
Dancing air
No energy to deplete.
Rasping breaths
Stomach twisted
Into a crumpled bow.
Quietly shrinking
Girl in a dryer
Shriveled lips of snow.
Lurching throat
Dried up tongue
But nothing will come up,
Scarecrow arms
And glass-shard legs
Are never thin enough....

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in the closed door shadows
listen for her announcement
to precipitate his arrival
cock and sock in hands
for she will make him remove
any excess
splattered on her floor
from behind door
the grunts
have become one
and rhythm ceased its turn
Her rasping  off
as i scuttle back to safety
waiting for them to leave
our room...

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Gasping
rasping
clasping
grasping
condemned man's last gasping, rasping breath,
hands on the noose clasping, grasping- death

(* Tyburn was the site of public hangings in London from the 12th century,
executing everyone from Highwaymen to Clergymen, at what is now Marble Arch)

For contest 'write me a Tyburn', sponsor Kim Rodrigues

24th january 2018...

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Fireworks!

Lights sparkling
Ruby delight
Fizzing, whizzing
Glistening night

Bright diamonds
Golden rain
Blasting, rasping 
Again and again

Rays flashing 
Shattered drops
Dashing, splashing
Cannon ball shots

Wild explosions 
Busting high 
Booming, zooming
Bejewelled sky 

 Folks laughing
Gusty cheers
Glimmering, shimmering 
Chandeliers...

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Death


I saw him, the spectre, watching, stealing my life.
His dark mouth and toothless grin, hid from all light,
while all near, withered at its feet.

And when he pointed his rasping, barbed finger at me
in the half-light; I felt its pull; its sting, its ghostly glue, 
leading me to him.

Pull away? How?

When death comes your way; the journey’s just begun....

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red thunderstorms
in the distance waves
of rain and air kiss
where are you now
wet micro busting
chaotic turbulence
destructive and intense
violent kisses on planes
are crashing debris
where are you
moving yellow jackets
stinging voyage of my
longing dangers of love
organic cabbage fields
rasping voice of subterranean
monsters blue night dropping
where are you

sep 15 2016
7.13 am...

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Epiphanic thoughts
Erupting violently
Odd Conceptions
Chaotically dance 
Within confines of mind
Rendering indecision
Empty answers
Sallow questions
Sluicing freefall
Over bottomless precipice
Panicked emotion
Building pressures
Rasping hard
For control.
Descending 
Through austere winds
Terminal velocity
This raindrop hits
Exploding silence
Upon my forehead
Calming…
My Everything...

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Midsummer nights come with humid sighs,
Offering little sleep on soggy August nights
With cicadas rasping and moths lighting,
Where such critters are clearly unwanted
In spite of it all, I try to remain undaunted.
Me and the bedclothes constantly fighting
Up and down, rearranging, turning on lights,
Moths are now joined by two pesky flies.

written July 13, 2021...

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Would I ever forget         
 finding in my pocket      
  a grain of silvery sand      
   rasping upon my hand.    

   Although just a granule,       
    trivial and minuscule,   
     gently it whispers that       
      I, too, am a mere dot. 
  
      At the end of a track            
       the last note is struck;        
        relax the gripping hand,       
         life vanishes like sand....

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