Short Throttled Poems

Life's a theatre!
Scene 2: doom and gloom throttled
The audience cheers...

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one at a time
thought forms climbing
love’s chime throttled 

23-December-2022...

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ringlets of black smoke
released from the throat of 
the Santa Fe Railroad
as she comes
around the bend
full throttled horn
there goes our
time machine
friend...

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an ache to be free
of tattered threads

free of split thoughts
of curdled words
withered hopes
battered dreams

an ache to be free
of twisting strands

free of bruised whispers
of rotting echoes
throttled silences
saccharine smiles

an ache to be free
of today’s pain
free of what is felt
of the screeching now

free

of me...

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Razorblade drapes cracked daybreaks’ neck,
Crooked arm beneath her face,
She reclined dove quiet,
Conscience dwelt, guilt-ridden waves
Amidst the silk and lace.
Roared a solemn riot,
A lump caught in my throat, gorging brimstone,
The noose tightened,
Throttled tears of eyelid fashion.
Sneaking on my winter coat, wore Judas fear,
Brooding cold and frightened
Carried home my crimes of passion....

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My memory endures a tourniquet
as it tries to forget, while holding blood.
It used to sport a bouquet
as it tried so hard to boast.

Bouquet becomes tourniquet.
A flow is held.
A part of me is throttled, my throat is squeezed.
It wants to loosen - but strangles.

Some things will not release.
Eyes will gawp, try to pop.
Memory can cause so much pain.
That tourniquet that holds so much.

(4 May 2003)...

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The sound of throttled fury,
The ricocheting of muffled guns…
Creeds forced down the unpracticed cords,
Swallow or face a close-range shot.

Success from some, 
Failure from the others…
Blown skulls and splattered blood,
Take responsibility and bathe
In the bloodied glory…

Now, what use are your creeds?
Tell, which loving Allah is so inclement? 
Perhaps he eats human bodies,
I surmise, he could be a carnivore!...

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I grapple,
tussle
and scuffle for nothing.
I squall like a storm;
on a Workers' Day.
I wake up everyday
and yet I am not a worker
but a slave.
I drink my own sweat
I swim on my own tears
because I do not work
I slave
I slave for survival
day and night
my life is a fight
I brawl
I wrestle without payment
I need my freedom
I need my peace
I am arrested
kept in a box
I suffocate
I am throttled
I Am A Slave, Not A Worker.

Drencho POET Loads....

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It bled, bled and bled
Profusely.
But no wound was visible.

It cried, cried and cried
Badly.
But no shriek was audible.

It rolled, tossed and crumpled
Hopelessly.
But no movement was discernible.

It felt throttled and choked
But kept quiet.
It moved yet.

The pangs were wrapped
In the cloak of composure
Because it knew
It would live now
With scars,
An ordeal,
Invisible
Inaudible
Indiscernible.

The Unconquerable
Had pronounced
The sentence....

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Remember me when I'm still alive
When my breathe hacks at my chest,
My blood runs through my raw veins,
Full throttled life, extravagant in beauty.

When I am weary of all my struggles
 And relapse into time-plunged culdesac,
When vicious silence breathes subdues the interval,
Where triumphs cool, or victories prude.

Remember me in those sterile days
When the fateful gravy train departs
Down the hill into the grey valley
When victories and all celebrations cease....

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Hereto, as my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of time
'til nothing but a gasp remains.

There abides a wisp of evil
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of confusion
on this saint/sinner's face.

I'm not meant to meet my Maker
'til I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to Your liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and You. 

then will I be granted access,
evil, grace, confusion mixed,
I will need exoneration,
all my faults and foibles fixed....

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Hereto, while my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of time
'til nothing but a gasp remains.

There abides a trace of mischief
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of confusion
on this saint/sinner's face.

I'm not meant to meet my Maker
'til I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to His liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and you.

I will need exoneration,
all my mischief set to rest,  
then will I be granted access,
take my place among the blessed....

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