Yawp Poems | Examples

Frogs in Heaven

If I ever find my mind in a sermon from heaven
Or ever blind as a frog in a broken earthen oven
I’d hop my hump back down to earth   
And yawp my stump for a crown of worth

Real heaven can exist in the commotion of a threshold 
Reckon, if you can, and resist the devotion to what you’ve been sold
Through faith we create those things which brings us to believe
True faith will negate the strings on our wings we can’t perceive  

I like the crazy notion that every day is nowadays today
I live this lazy devotion that times are eternally now this way

Push my timid tush up to the threatening door
Mourn the twitching toad on the rainy road  
who cannot embrace the face of the killing floor.

Stop Thinking!

The 2nd Trump Presidency Begins

To express my own Whitmanesque
"barbaric yawp", constrained by
internal (and external) barriers,
mentally constipated, I merely mutter,
feel pressures steadily mounting.
Hesitant, I expel grunts and breaths --
disinhibit streams of consciousness,
encourage verbal fluidity, ease
the heaviness I feel, the weight
upon my chest.  I breathe deeply.
Physiological processes require
tiring conscious effort.  I decide
to be calm, to relax, to direct
myself away from temporal reality
to mere existence without excess
self-awareness, without fearfiul
anticipation of "future", which
other animals on earth seem happily
to lack. (Or do they?)

Stop thinking!

(No!  Don't!)

The Yawp

See the recumbent lion,
it yawns, mouth stretched open
a wide silence – he is not tired,
just philosophically bored.

It is a yawp
as much as the startled jaw
of a newborn kitten
is a visible caricature of surprise
for having arrived and survived.

Sparrows yawp in the beaks of raptors,
raptors yawp also in the frozen mandibles
of a relentless winter

but pity the man or woman
 that does not yawp
at least once in a lifetime
their lips will become sewn tight
and an innocent horror 
locked in forever.

Good As Undone

Eyes lock
with stealth 
both move
faced they stand
hands raise
tension builds
forward then lunge
stomp yawp Bash...
high missed five

Benumbed Jane

Benumbed Jane!

"he'd never give a plain Jane like you a second's thought"
(but hellishly reign his godly wife)

O Jane!
Be little prettier 
Be more wiser
Crucify your benumbed senses 
Resurrect your eloquent vehement 
Why she choose to be the godly wife?
Why he choose to be the beastful husband?
Let's not brawl and yawp 
Let's not cuddlerape and strangled with a scarf
In unwieldy guilts and sins of the battlefields of the Great Marriage
Give up now
Or
Surrender to salvation 
You are not owing to “Beauty and the Beast” - A French Fairy Tale
Time has no time
Be little prettier 
Be more wiser
O Jane!

And Home Again

Beneath the yawning, azure skies of Earth,
          We left our seed to wend the Sea of Suns,
               And prove the binding mettle of our worth,
     Beyond the sullied world we'd left undone.

Across the Great Expanse we bounded, free
          To stretch the limits of our brains and bones
               Though sailing 'cross that ancient, starlit sea
     We heard the gods of ages yawp and moan.

We plunged an aching void of endless night,
          Through spinning rainbow nebulae of death,
               To wondrous planets, multi-hued and bright,
     But none with Terra's sweet, enchanting breath.

Ten thousand worlds of mystery, we found
          Grand vistas, picturesque, for us to roam,
               Yet in the end, we turned our trek around, 
     Still yearning for those colors of our home.

To wade again, the meadows of our birth ...
          Beneath the yawning, azure skies of Earth.

O Let Me Play

He said to me,"Ma'am I don't really run,
I have no friends under the sun!"
She said to me,"Ma'am I know not to skip,
My friends are sailing in another ship"
They said to me,"Ma'am we know not to hop,
As the aunties in our building  always yawp!"
Oh tell me now what shall I say
When I hear of kids that do not play,
Wassap,facebook have become their life
As society only causes them strife 
Can we not let them free for a while?
Is it that they are always on trial?
Let's take a step towards their needs
Even a farmer nurtures his seeds!

Values In Life 2

Without values life may whop
And you cannot even yawp
As the destiny may strop
A valueless person nonstop.
If your values from life lop
It is zilch and make you fop –
Fop – a man with concern atop
For dress than character prop.
Without values we may drop;
Cannot stand or walk; sit or hop.
So respect values that clearly mop
All bad, illicit or forbidden crop.

Sanmati My Inspiration

Sanmati, my messenger, is no more a milksop.
Ardent though is she never will yawp.
Nagging sometimes though in some shop.
Merrily walks in crowd alone till atop.
Amends her needs; tackles one with strop-
Till he agrees with her, else does lop.
In always high spirits, ready to swop
Joy or sorrow equally treats like gumdrop.
Angry if treats us like a bellhop
In our home or out, but never plop
Nor cry in public to show us flop.

Mad Man's Heart

I want to write but cannot,
My heart is in no place,
It is reeking with unknown feeling,
A bleak spectrum of feeling,
So fused to be separated.
I want to cry but no tears swell,
I want to yawp but no sound comes,
I want to live but no heart beats.

When will I find a home?
Where I will lie down and sleep?
With a dream I set my foot forward;
A dream of a new home;
I place to laugh and swirl,
Where my heart finds its peace.

Dawn

Dawn is chirp-filled, clear and gallant
On this blessed day
What oils and easel did the Maker use
When His right brain urged the cause
For this splendor to be
Looks normal to most
But my vantage today
Brings subtlety to a boiling point
The dew's yawp stretched
Beyond the cheers of parched soil
The ambiguous sky yearning for blue clarity
Yet stuck in a smoky maze
The spaces and faces are scattered
Some appear empty
Some return from the midnight journey
And the rest fortunate for their consciousness
Regardless of state or purpose
I'm ok
Even startled
By that which resonates today
A bit louder than the ones before
Or maybe
For the first time in ages
I find myself truly awake.

(7/8/11)

Still Naked

Naked Truth

N~ascent truth resides at the heart of wisdom thus

A~story conjects still naked waits for refutation

T~he emperor’s clothes devoid of the latest chique  

I~ntimately risqué when average normality beckons

V~ie for veracity rescued from the scrap heaps of time

I~n candour modesty disentangles sexy sound bites

T~o be naked or not for whom where how and when

Y-aup those who lie in winning words instead of reason


11th November 2016

Written for contest ‘Naked’ judged 16th November



Still Naked

Naked with no laurels for my glory could I yawp in

Awe of other poets’ winning well versed script though

Kinder to myself and fellow soupers do I give merit

Eject my sulking disappointment from the scene and

Defuse what was as to denude again the naked truth


Expanded on 26th November 2016 for the contest 

‘Take The Dagger From My Heart Please - 3

The Poets

Society’s so called “beauty”
Will never compare to Nature’s pure truth;
The thing people search for and claim to have found,
But only Nature will preserve your youth.
 
I cannot turn off the poet inside me, never,
My calling will never stop sounding,
No matter how you attempt to mute it,
Its honesty will continue pounding.
 
The dead poets speak through me,
Can’t you hear their message?
Through all the hate in this world,
I live their words through the wreckage.
 
“Littérature est notre évasion.
Carpe diem”, I hear them say.
Literature is our escape
And seize the day.
 
We keep secrets from society
To unlock our barbaric yawp,
Even remaining at the bottom,
We will one day come out on top.
 
Rebellious through each century,
The poets will always reign through.
They keep some of the world sane,
Will you join them? Will you?
 
You can take away my name, my face,
My rights and my life,
But my words will live on forever,
I shall remain alive.
 
 Rebellious through each century,
The poets will always reign through.
They keep some of the world sane,
Will you join them? Will you?

Prayer

"...Dominus orationem meam suscepit."


Burning his little jelly bottom raw,
He blisters in his liquid greenish poop.
He has no means to summon us at all 
To drain the acid swamp of split pea soup.
Except to scream, a peevish infant yawp,
And so he screams, until we take his goop.
We modestly subserve our son's ejecta.
Clean, dry and warm: his everyday trifecta.

He's not alone.  I've had my days of burning.
Blistered and raw, to salve my hurt I prayed
for balm from God, ultimately learning
His summit lay on far too steep a grade.
Footless in His scree, inflamed with yearning,
My wounds combusted into wrath.  I brayed
My blasphemies, then heard the Logoi fall.
I had no means to summon Him at all.

Which births a trailing thought about the sainted:
Their whispered prayers, their worshipful reclusion,
Which all the hagiographers have painted.
Don't buy it.  Souls corroded with confusion,
Their love of God with hatred wholly tainted,
And Doubt the only friend to their seclusion,
With blasphemies they burnt the fetid air.
Profanation is the purest form of prayer.

Man Vs Wild Words

If I am but a man, then be it so. 
And I eat strength and breathe fallibility. 
But I confess, to be man is a gift by 
one name and burden by another. 
Heartbeat and fresh flesh is my honor. 
And still, I weep for my bleeding core 
that proves so fragile. 

For I am beast with evolved morality, 
fish with lung, and bird with broken wing. 
Tamed by that which drove Romeo 
and twisted Hitler. Love and Hate. 
And love do I the beauty of hatred 
seen, examined, and understood.
Between the poet and the sleeping lion 
lies my identity. Intact and scarred. 

So if I be man, then drench my brow 
with sweat, break my back with labor, 
but layer my tongue with stanzas that 
burst free and drip from my lips like honey! 
And with that identity, I shall yawp 
with barbaric thunder and scream 
my mortality from the highest mountain. 
With Pride!

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