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Best Poems Written by Geoffery Mchugh

Below are the all-time best Geoffery Mchugh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Space-Age Hooks and Barbs

It has been DECADES!

And yet, for some ridiculous reason, we 
still choose to TIE our shoes and
BUTTON our trousers, ZIP our
blouses.

How ridiculous.

When Man first invented the wheel, do 
you suppose that there were some naysayers who said;
"I'm still going to drag my loads through the dirt on a rope. It was 
good enough for my father and by gawd it's good enough for me!"

I doubt it.

So. (BUTTONS FLYS LACES)
Why do we stoop to such Medieval methods of
attatchment Today?
Who knows. But I eagerly await the day that Velcro finally
gets the credit it rightfully deserves.

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Golden Shower

Compressed air rose
In autumn air most lovely
Her mouth wide open

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On My Brother's Favorite Sandwich...

Hark!
Peanut butter and 
Miracle Whip collide in coitus 
between two slabs of pumpernickel.

Disgusting eugenics!

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Shark-Tooth Choker

What hides beneath the busting red-tide waves, what wains?

Have you seen the Fat-white, would-be Samurai that lives 'round these parts?

To him you see, the
warrior code is the word of the fiery gods, and he
follows it to the letter:

Two minutes and 11 seconds on high, heat only
when thawed for best results.

A divine wind guides his every move, blossoms and bombs are his
orations, his
deeds are explosions over many oceans, an amalgam of
light and splendor, interracial 
hues and shades of color illuminated by the bare bulb above his head.

Pin pricks dot his thumbs, shinto values are not the order of the day. Outside of
his house, we see his vista; a rising sun
shining through blackened thorns and smog.

The burrito is irradiated, ready 
for consumption, a victim of the .00005 kiloton explosion within the off-brand microwave.

Our feudal soldier draws his fork from it's sheath, a
tsuba well worn and scarred.

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Backlit

For external use only-
enter the dragon and the spore.
The mold.
Allergen and Alopecia.
enter the giant ceramic logger and the ballad of the
blown fuse.

This is the outtage of power

interim

buds begin to flower and birds breed where
apple blossoms shower on 
the living pretense of
Astroturf.

Sweating now, the 
father of the flame
the serf draws his kerchief from his shirt and
wipes his brow
raises his axe and slaughters the 
pregnant sow.

The Universal Man by 
Ted Davinci. or was it
Leonardo Kazinsky?

Details | Geoffery Mchugh Poem

Heart-Attack

There are frozen furrows in the Earth where
the plow made love to Terra.
It looks so pitiful in the dead of winter, with
no vegetable detritus on the ground to attest to any
kind of harvest. 

For control over the forces of nature,
many have struck a blade into the earth and ruptured her
trust in spring. They say that when your cart is full of corn, it
is easy to counsel frugality to your neighbors.

This would have been a killing field, had the seeds been planted.
Had control been granted.

But it is icy.
Here the weak sun is rising to cast its pall light 
on the scape where the would-be prometheus collapsed,
and his ventricles ceased to allow his defiance of the
Gods.

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Boomerang

What fools do sing of Karma?

Justice meted out like some kind of sick equation as though
any thoughts or theorems are constant.

I'm sure Pythagoras and Euclid would be very proud of all of us.

See this place and time:

Sigma batwings beat like boomerangs,
doors slamming out the dust-choked sunlight,
trapping sinners in the saint saloon.

An argument!
There at the corner table where 
pink flesh meets inlaid wood and 
the oily leather squeaks and cracks around the
ultimate geometry machine the 
steel bed for brass and lead and rifling.

This is bar-graph justice, an
erxcercise in mean and percentage, or
was it median?

Bam!Bam!
Like a prophet fired from the kiln those bullets eat the air 
between the foresight and the torso.

This is aborigional justice come
'round full circle on a decent man.

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Telagram For Mr. Tiamat

Excuse me sir, but 
I always tend to wonder when
I think of you and
your awesome powers, your
infinite wisdom...

What in heaven or earth were you thinking when you created the Platypus?

Details | Geoffery Mchugh Poem

Pandora Seated At Wrigley Field

(Poetry) let it thicken as it stands.

Let it be beautiful, unharnessed verbal rage or 
song or deed, or graven image set in stone, where 
walls fell around some demagouge in 
some ill-remembered time. 

$IN

In our arrogance we place this 
joyous thing in 

chain$

We seek to give it rules and charter, duties and forms but 
the ravenous beauty of our thinking has outsmarted us.

and,
much like pandora's discretion,

when the first man (Or Woman) 
-chicken or egg get over it-
pressed his stick to dirt and made his mark he unleashed a
torrent that can never be held at bay.

(Poetry) will not be held in fief, and the
Box which was held by the daughter of Zeus 
     is 
       open.

And I for one am glad of it.

Let it light our hearts ablaze and temper our
might with frost, let 
the last vista overlooking the plauge of perpetuity be
                      
LOST

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Counting Coup

Everything the power does it does in a circle

It's just like when the amphibian carried the arthropod across the river,
the scorpion couldn't help himself when he stung brother frog,
and I can't help myself when I go to the ATM and push two asians out of the way to get to 
my meager wages because 
by god it just feels so good to win no matter how many people I have to sting to do it.

The elders say that when raven took the sun into the sky he ended eternal night,
replacing it with cycles of sol and luna smiling on the people.

Well now the people have better lights, 
pulsing and flashing in epilleptic ecstasy while noises sound from the speakers.

It often seems that I am being counted coup upon, 
mocked in the eleventh hour,
And I don't even have a smallpox blanket on my person.

This bumbling hub of a casino is not where I die, where I am defeated.
But for now I will retreat,
leaving a trail of tears to my car.

-For the Chehalis indians