Siphon Poems | Examples

The Grifters

They do not spend their time at home
the way most families do 
Talking of the day’s events
and dreams they will pursue

Oh no, this family’s different
they’re led by dirty Don
Steeped in lifetime swindle
a master of the con

Bit coins, crypto, real estate
corrupt in every way
Saudi secret deals are how
these grubby grifters play

Now they have a new account
they’ll siphon from each day
It’s called the U.S. treasury 
no doubt, their greatest prey

Nurses

Nurses

Most aspire nurses

to achieve more out of life.

Nowhere does caring invoke the spirit.

But time shapes your world its way,

sometimes silencing your hustle.

 

It’s like no other profession.

You become a proficient whisperer

piercing into the hearts of others,

not realizing you also have one.

these are acts of infinite morality

guiding you to the best of the next life.

 

Your resilience has no comparison.

Your hands, an unselfish spontaneous radiance.

Your smile radiates a refreshing chaste blessing.

Your tears, pure like dew drops from heaven.

Your eyes, 

oh! your eyes

they siphon into our soul -

they are the voices of God.

Heaven is smiles on you.

©Al Juman The "Said" Poet  12 /2021

Darkness We Meet Again

Alas! You dark, grotesque, vile servant of Lucifer, the antithesis of the morning star. 

Once again, you have sought me out and endeavored to siphon my light at the end of my tunnel. 

In the past, you may have thwarted my desires, cast me into purgatory, 
and whispered sophistry in the crevices of my mind. 

But NOW your machinations are no threat to me. What once was a callow mind has turned into growth over time. 

I have learned to see where there is no light, how to climb where there is no ladder. 

So do your best,  you nocturnal fiend. Your reign is over; you no longer have influence over me. 

Now I know, good times and bad times are like tides that ebb and flow.

 So traverse the realms to shroud my days in night.

 I will say to thee, “Hello, my old friend. Do your worst, because God has bestowed upon me my own personal light, and I walk by it habitually every day and night.”

I Lay Awake

I lay awake at night, dreaming of my future.
In the black void, my destiny flickers faint,
A fragile ember fighting the pull of silence.
I fracture my pain into shards,
Each a memory too sharp to hold,
Yet too bright to ignore.
The sparks ignite lightning through my chest,
Burning a path I cannot escape.

I lay awake at night, dreaming of different futures.
I see the love I held, could have held,
Would have cherished, should have saved.
Faces blur those lost,
Those who never truly stayed.
I reach for them in the shadows,
But the weight of absence presses me down.
I try to give, to help, to heal,
But every open hand meets fire.

I lay awake at night, dreaming of discipline.
If I endure the harder path,
What will I become?
I see the echoes of lives touched by me,
The takers, the users,
The thieves of my aura.
I guard my energy,
Let no one siphon the light I’ve earned.

And in the void, I find a spark
Not to ignite,
But to guide me through the dark.
The fragments of my pain align,
A mosaic of scars and strength.
I become what I strive to be...
Me.

An Open Letter to the Flat Earth Society

Do you sometimes use GPS
To navigate your flat world?
Did you ever wonder how all those satellites
Get around to the underside?

Do you use a flush toilet
Or a siphon?
See, fluids can sometimes run uphill.
Your “the Amazon River is flat” theory
Fails to hold water.

Did you ever consider an Antarctic cruise?
Did you ever want to sail around the South Pole?
You could look out for the ice-wall
That you think holds the oceans in.

Do you recognize a metaphor?
When the Bible talks about the
“Four corners of the Earth”,
It’s an idiom for distant lands,
Or is your world-view ‘square’?

Every other celestial body we can see is round.
Why should the Earth be so different?
Phases of the Moon,
Pictures of Earth taken by astronauts,
The “celestial spheres” really are spherical.

If you need a book to tell you what is real,
Try a physics book.
If you need a tool to discern what is right,
Try logic or experiment.
Try to see beyond the horizon.
If your world is really constricted
To what you can see from your limited view,
Then, perhaps, start walking.

Old Company

I know you,
misery.

Old company from years before I ever met joy.

I have shut the door in your face in recent years,

Tucked you in the back of the closet to hang on your own. I know how you hate being alone.

I know you,
misery.

A bad influence from my youth, drugged up on the dredges of fantasy and bloodied bits of hope in your hands.

You tear apart every good thing. You rot what is ripe, you siphon what brings life.

I know you,
misery.

And how I loathe you everyday. How I despair at the sight of your face, the reach of your soft hands.

I know you,
misery.

And I hate how you mock me, how your voice croons with affection as you torment me, how your arms wind around my hips and your warmth seeps into my wounded flesh.

And you tell me you know me too.

So for today I know you a little better, hold you a little tighter, and I let you in.

But I know you,
misery.

And I’m telling you never again.

Shake Off the Wolf

steel clouds once more freeze
bare trees comfort each other
ripped trunk holds it together

the sun shields its eyes
its flames dying in Winter
the core feels the biting chill

it is in my bones
deep set; can’t shake off the wolf
its gray-fur-stare is howling

my hands crisp and crack
tips and knuckles peel like bark
soulless rain drips down the oaks

my knees turn from lies
thinking themselves well in Spring
they limp like twigs before snap

cerise cheeks remind
the otherwise bleak weather
that seasons will change in time

sun will siphon miasma

Siphon

A firefly in an ox eye's petal
tread those  October chestnuts
A siphon of a lie within a parchment
Lovers touch on the realm
Golden cup poureth
Assure broken  schemes
A way to love
A way to give
The rain falls low
but the wind rides high

Hope of Spinoza

Siphon your hope
barricade against your accusers
You should be a contender
Polish Lens like Spinoza
Nature is mathematical Godliness
Tell us truth is neigh
as we guide our silent prayers
into transmutableness

Hate Vacuuming

Hate Vacuuming?

By Mark Stucky
Vacuum cleaners are pneumatic nobles,
built to cleanse our offices and homes,
sucking dust from floors and crevices
to discard in trash cans
(where dirt belongs).

What if we could also build a machine
to vacuum hate from our world
and to hurl hate into hell
(where hate belongs)?

What if it could suck base instincts
from souls of supremacists and mass shooters,
mute divisive talk shows, podcasts, and politicians,
and permanently delete dark social media posts?

From each of us, would it also siphon out
grievances, grudges, prejudices, and pain,
with torturous psychological turbulence...
but then heal us as our last dastardly
dust bunnies disappear?

To heal ourselves, our communities, our nations,
can we really assemble that marvelous machine?
Can tools of truth, justice, and love
help us to eradicate hate?


(First published in Valiant Scribe Literary Journal (Issue 2, Winter 2022) 43-44. See also my poems "Closed Community Prejudice (an Alphabetized Memoir)," "Races," and "Weapons of Wonder.")

Watching a Worm

The nematode, only oms
And then of course, noms
And munches, 
without, really 
munching much at all.
No teeth.

Ah.
To move in the mulch.
a thicket
of touch
not really 
knowing where or,
how
you are.
A siphon of silicone
sipping at soil
silent and secure.

But,
at any sudden moment,
you might get 
all 
your hearts broken, (five, good grief)
then broke again
and again (five of em)
by the bastardized beak
of some god-damn animal?

Rough.
But,
the worm
being herself
wiggles anyway and says: 
“I am a worm.
I do what worms do.
I swam through the rain, once
to sleep tail to tail with some woman, man, I don't know
I wormed through the pit of a
turnip bit, once.
It was warm enough 
to feel like rainlight.”

And you wasn't awarded
remembered, or
understood.
You was ignoreded,
dismembered, and
stood on.

So.
Why worry.
There really are worse things
in life
than to wiggle.

Poems For Fun - In the End

They say,
“If marriage is a boat, 
then many of us are in the same boat!”
Well, who steers the ship?
Don’t mention it is “Fate”,
Then, in case of evacuation
all travellers will need 
a huge siphon or gate, 
In that case, 
it will be a common concern
yes, but
what if the fate sits on its stern?

Let Me Hold You

Come let me hold you, 
siphon away all the pain; 
You re light in my arms.

The End of Me

They will never find me here,
An empty mind Floating in perpetual fear,
As my long awaited end draws near.

Just a loyal prisoner of Impending doom,
Another lonely prophet screaming at his mirror in his lonely room,
Predicting a demise that will visit him soon.

But there is no one here to hear,
No cherished heart to hold so dear,
And that childhood dream becomes dark and unclear.

The soul siphon hovers over this withered frame,
With gnashing teeth and claws come to stake his claim,
Who from the edge of time has purchased my name.

To bind me eternally under lock and key,
And strip away forever the character of the real me,
The pending prophesy now a cold reality.

Elizabeth Slumbers

Jazz piano scale skip quick notes implore me
Siphon symphony verve blurred by saxophone sass
Floated lilly pad leap frog spring legged surety
Splats on brass buttoned soldiers dedicated amass


Bulbous glass swirl burgundy grape stem bitter 
Absorbs oak barrel sentiment, forested persuasion 
Ace praise expires, a swiftly swallowed splinter
Comical dive antics of cork fragmenting abrasion


Dissolving Elizabeth, shabbily written character
Simmered limply submissive, a nouveau improvisation
Vat of pursuit poured by Stu picks a passenger
Chords hover mahogany piano cascade syncopation 


Composition three minute summit misconstrue
Violins textured crescendo vibrates bow tight strings
Apron strewn, Libby leaves her rolling pin askew
Butter heart hails harmony a true companion brings





           22nd January 
     Stu calls me Jasmine

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