Stomachs Poems | Examples

Children of the Gaza

Children of the Gaza, 
How do you strive to survive? 
Children of the Gaza, 
Why aren't your struggles amplified? 
Children of the Gaza, 
Can you hear my voice? 
Children of the Gaza,
Tell me, are you still alive? 

Young souls, being killed everyday,
"Babies aren't meant to be here", they say,
There's a horrifying, terrified sound 2 year olds make,
Hearing the sound of planes. 

Being fed water instead of milk,
Where has your baby formula been? 
Being thrown bombs over your heads,
Is this how months olds are supposed to be fed? 

Voices struck in their throats,
Bloody and hoarse,
Lost in the noise of destruction,
Panic attacks and starved stomachs.

What did they do to deserve,
To be born in the middle of the war?

Two Drunkards

They sat holding bottles
In their hands
And armpits
Pouring mouthful 
Of liquor to fill 
Their hollow stomachs.

 They gazed at each other
As cat and mouse
And spoke a lot of
Inglish with slain syntax
To devirginate 
Their motherland.

The two drunkards! 
Spoke of a nation's illusions 
And the wilted state of
A nation's elites
Raping the cultural norm
Who raped the temple?

They said something
About Lubowa hospital
And praised the Bus Kingdom
For Grazing well the Gen z's 
Digging the tax hole
Who murmured a secured Future. 

They gazed at each other
As hare and hyena
And shakily gasped for breath
Of the holy bribe paid 
For their nocturnal duties
Poverty pasted on muzzled faces. 

Oh, the two drunkards! 
Finally hit the climax 
And roared at each other of
An accusation of not belonging
Reached for each other's neck
To strangle a refugee within.

© Ankwasa Harlord

Getting Chummy

“Doo-doo, doo-doo,” we hear the beast coming.
Music gets under our skin. The worst of attacks,
narrated by the boat’s captain. Unsettling sink
of the USS Indianapolis. Just below the hull,
a giant life wanting to strike a blow. This boat
a smaller target. Getting chummy, stomachs
lurching. Baited by grimmer details. A solid blow
to the vessel. All hands on deck - only three.
“Doo-doo, doo-doo,” and oftentimes whimsical.
Who will survive? Aye! Aye! Not the captain!
The shark will save the other half for dinner.
You, who know, know what happens. Those
who don’t, be warned; watch, get an education!

Carnival Capture

Summer fair; fried foods.
Scents wafting through the air-
Making stomachs growl.

I Know

I Know Why
Elephants' Heads
Are So Big!

Because Their
Stomachs Are
So Big!

Why Else!?

   It Tastes So
   Gooooood
   Suckin' My
   Own Nose
   All Day!

***

From Under
  The Mud
A Frog Raised
  It's Head

To Suffer 
  The Storm?
"I'll Love It,
  Instead!"

A Flock Is Encircling an Esophageal White Sky

Above a beached bleached paperback, "The Doors of Perception",
a pent-up penchant for greed is flung wide open:

The esophagus of a seagull sky grows narrow
until one seagull stomachs trash with zero
tolerance for sharing. Squeaky double doors apprise
descending gulls this bird has wings doubling in size.

Squishy moist sand, footprint-ridged into pouty lips,
chased-away seagulls waddle toward crushed crumbs.
Captains trudge farther ashore or return to ships.

The Lighter Side of Antisemitism

     For those who want to ‘kill all the Jews’
        Here’s some food for thought

     Get a rabbi to extend Passover one more week
        You’ll love what will have been wrought

     For another week of ‘matzo only’
        Jews’ stomachs will do somersaults

     And that way it won’t be antisemitism’s fault
        ~ that our bowel functions came to a halt

From Yesterday to Tomorrow

we were strangers once, then we weren’t,
suddenly laughing ‘til our stomachs hurt.
late night talks, dumb inside jokes,
“best friends forever” like it was wrote.

but life moves fast, and so did we,
different paths, different speeds.
you took a turn that I couldn’t see,
while I kept pushing towards what I believed.

I moved forward, chasing dreams,
you stayed true to what made you feel seen.
I looked at the future, eyes set on high,
while you lived for the moment, just getting by.

now it’s “hey” with a nod, maybe a smile,
like we weren’t close for a little while.
you didn’t care for the things I did,
I kept going, while you just lived.

it’s not a fight, it’s not a loss,
just two different lives, no need to toss.
we didn’t want the same things in the end,
but that doesn’t mean we’re not still friends.

The Pi That’s of Math Has Its Day

The pi that’s of math has its day,
But that of the baker, no way.
Though both are quite round,
Less merit is found,
In pies that in stomachs do lay.

Forty Percent Of Our Children Now Feel Hopeless

I wake up already tired,
eyes heavy from screens and sleepless nights,
stomachs empty, wallets thinner than dreams,
parents fighting over bills, over nothing,
over everything.

at school, the hallways are battlefields,
words sharper than fists,
hands that shove, mouths that sneer,
judgment like a plague
spreading from locker to locker.

I scroll through images of perfection,
faces carved by filters, bodies built in mirrors,
wondering why I don't look that way,
why I don't feel that way,
why I don't fit at all.

I pull at my skin,
I whisper my names in secret,
I wonder if I should even be here—
this world that tells me
I am too much, or not enough,
so I start cutting.

I was born into a losing hand,
and nobody told me
that I could still bluff my way to something good.

The Slow Rot and the Coming Storm

We built it with soft hands,
stacked comfort upon convenience,
turned our backs to the gears turning in the dark.
Fed by silver screens and full stomachs,
we let the fire flicker,
too drunk on the warmth to notice the smoke.

They whispered,
“Don’t worry.”
And we believed them.
We traded vigilance for spectacle,
truth for something easier to swallow.
The cracks in the foundation widened,
but we called them character,
part of the charm of an aging empire.

When the first stones fell,
we laughed.
When the pillars trembled,
we turned up the music.
By the time we saw the beast,
it had already made a home in our halls.

And now, even the quiet places are waking up.
The ground hums with something unscripted,
a pulse beneath the broken roads,
a breath held too long.

Fists clench beneath dinner tables.
Voices sharpen in the night.
The forgotten, the overlooked, the ones who never raised their hands—
they are standing now.

The tide that carried us into sleep
has begun to pull back.
And in the silence left behind,
the storm begins to speak.

Holiday Seasons Cheers

Season of giving is here for all
naughty or nice it does not matter
fun laughter joy and a lot of chatter
singing in front of a tree so tall

Season of cheering is here for all
bringing in the new year with fun
no matter the location, it is done
raising glasses as count down call

Two holidays where most come together
holiday season that brings the most cheer
no matter the choice; spirit, wine, or beer
unity out weighs any forecasted weather

Being present during the holiday gatherings
for those who enjoy the holidays cheer for all
potlucks only, but most stomachs take the fall
same time next year in if anyone's wondering.

A Kiss In The Dark

We weren't always dolls

Before the dolls - flesh was

RAW

and torn

Before we were dolls we could rip open our skin

and bare it to the world

and when a little girl peered inside

everything was new and unseen

but flesh got harder to dig into

and tear

and stretch over a canvas

and all the little girls grew impatient

for it had been a long time since they had seen something new 



so the little girls tapped on our skin with gnarled hands 

and crooned



open up

let us see



but we didn't

we couldn't



open up please

let us see

its been too long



but our skin was fully hardened then

plastic as a penny



LET US IN



they screeched



and clawed at our skin

but it didn't yield



when our pretty pink lips parted in protest

only echoes came out

and a little girl leaned in

maybe to peer through our mouths into our stomachs

maybe to taste the blankness

but when it did

it choked

its mouth filled with pounds and pounds of fluff and nothing

whispers of when skin was made

to be torn

and little girls didn't dull their fingernails down

scratching at doll flesh

On lunch, munch, and punch

And leaving all else,  they debate on lunch.
To one, lunch time was waste, hence, break-less munch.
The other felt, lunch-less
Would no new glory bless
To UK, nor hoary 
Return to old glory,
Lunch is a place mid-stream--  
Island to which all swim,
If cooler breaks are fine,
Need for lunch-break’s genuine,
For, from stomachs come working peoples’ punch.
____________________________
Happenings |20.12.2024|humour, food

Poet’s note: The prime minister and the leader of opposition are usually at logger heads, and British parliament is no exception. A few days back they exchanged their verbal punches on lunch and need to break for it. No doubt, no lunch is free--at home nor work nor anywhere, still…. This ditty is in full favour of lunchbreaks that refuel and decompress.

White Dress

And I danced in the courtyard
Wearing the moonlight like a second skin
You were singing in the choir bearing witness to all my sins
I wanted to know how you felt giving in to this desire
Letting me embrace your naked soul
I've long lost that white dress
Now throw your porcelain sensibilities into the fire
Let us laugh, praising the chaos in our stomachs and the fullness of our hearts
Howling through the night

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