"chuffing" poems - Hello Poetry

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to **** you. You died before I had time ---- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off the beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My ****** friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine, Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ---- Not God but a ******** So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the ***** And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two ---- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagersnever liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through.

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29.7k

Sylvia Plath

Daddy

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to **** you. You died before I had time ---- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off the beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My ****** friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine, Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ---- Not God but a ******** So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the ***** And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two ---- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagersnever liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through.

80

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to **** you. You died before I had time—— Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My ****** friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—— Not God but a ******** So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the ***** And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, The voices just can’t worm through. If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—— The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There’s a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you ******* I’m through.

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Dec 7, 2014

Dec 7, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC

jana-chehab

Daddy by Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to **** you. You died before I had time—— Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My ****** friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—— Not God but a ******** So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the ***** And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, The voices just can’t worm through. If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—— The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There’s a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you ******* I’m through.

80

Veins, veins, length and breadth, intertwined beats to freedom or desolation; a terminus lost on a circular. An ebbing destination, unchartered targets, Follow the signs. We are a one way street, follow the signs on software maps. Stumped by sequential lights and us, caught in a dragnet within steely fish, gasping for air, choking on smoke, bilious coughs, hacking sputum, gobbing phlegm globs in interval gaps within gridlocks; nose to **** to nose to **** The rage, the stares the shouts, the finger, the Grrr’s, the Rrrr’s, the honks, the blares, the bumper to bumper expletive shares. The rolling down, the alighting, the threats, the fighting. The falling down, the separation, reseating, the rolling, the thunder, the trudge, the stops, the starts. Follow the signs, follow the signs. Robotic conveyors for humans, mechanical fossil fueled chariots, grumbling, grunting, wheee-ing and screeching, and screaming and spewing and chuffing and guffing black plumes, air tarred, veins, veins clogged and bogged, viscous, molasses, liquid black blob. Road fogged, numbers logged. Veins, veins, follow the signs, slow crawl. Veins, veins, follow the signs, follow the signs, sprawl. Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

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Nov 12, 2017

Nov 12, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC

Marc_Hawkins

SPRAWL

Veins, veins, length and breadth, intertwined beats to freedom or desolation; a terminus lost on a circular. An ebbing destination, unchartered targets, Follow the signs. We are a one way street, follow the signs on software maps. Stumped by sequential lights and us, caught in a dragnet within steely fish, gasping for air, choking on smoke, bilious coughs, hacking sputum, gobbing phlegm globs in interval gaps within gridlocks; nose to **** to nose to **** The rage, the stares the shouts, the finger, the Grrr’s, the Rrrr’s, the honks, the blares, the bumper to bumper expletive shares. The rolling down, the alighting, the threats, the fighting. The falling down, the separation, reseating, the rolling, the thunder, the trudge, the stops, the starts. Follow the signs, follow the signs. Robotic conveyors for humans, mechanical fossil fueled chariots, grumbling, grunting, wheee-ing and screeching, and screaming and spewing and chuffing and guffing black plumes, air tarred, veins, veins clogged and bogged, viscous, molasses, liquid black blob. Road fogged, numbers logged. Veins, veins, follow the signs, slow crawl. Veins, veins, follow the signs, follow the signs, sprawl. Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

74

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to **** you. You died before I had time-- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My ****** friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You-- Not God but a ******** So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the ***** And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two-- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through. -sylvia plath 1932 -1963

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Sep 23, 2015

Sep 23, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC

stereophonic

Daddy - Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to **** you. You died before I had time-- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My ****** friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You-- Not God but a ******** So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the ***** And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two-- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through. -sylvia plath 1932 -1963

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Pints int sun Socks, sliders and chit-chat Walking home in zig zags Good people I miss all that Summer days Sunny haze Topping up the tan In the English rays Factor 50 Laid on thick When the temp strikes 20 The sunstroke hits Ice-cold bevs On a picnic bench Tunes blasting Pints thrown Am chuffing drenched The ciggies and spliffs Chasing the vibe Oh, what it is To be alive The beer gardens Packed to the brim “Sorry mate You can’t come in” Party in the park Barbecues And burnt sausage Go on then Another gin The English summer What a sight Top’s off, top’s on Golden days And Endless nights

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Mar 18, 2025

Mar 18, 2025 at 9:33 AM UTC

northernpoet

Sun’s Out, Guns Out

Pints int sun Socks, sliders and chit-chat Walking home in zig zags Good people I miss all that Summer days Sunny haze Topping up the tan In the English rays Factor 50 Laid on thick When the temp strikes 20 The sunstroke hits Ice-cold bevs On a picnic bench Tunes blasting Pints thrown Am chuffing drenched The ciggies and spliffs Chasing the vibe Oh, what it is To be alive The beer gardens Packed to the brim “Sorry mate You can’t come in” Party in the park Barbecues And burnt sausage Go on then Another gin The English summer What a sight Top’s off, top’s on Golden days And Endless nights

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When the skylarks would warble hover and sing at about a hundred feet, high on the wing, and we… on a heat clicking Sunday between Salt End and the sea, well we knew - just from the ozone, on the breeze that we’d be off …a shimmering heat haze convoy of old crocks, Bud, Margaret, Brian and me to Tunstall, a diminishing, mystical land of sun, sand, sea - and tumbling rocks. But it wasn’t just us…it was a cavalcade - motors galore. Uncles, Aunties, Cousins, Grans, Grandads and more in Austins, Morris’s, Vauxhalls and Fords, And a big old Rover wi’them wide running boards, a motor bike’n’sidecar with Maurice, Denise & our Val to wring the best from the day a’la Plage de Tunstall’… The beach crackled in the heat… if you walked too slow it’d burn your feet. and our Dads, our ‘civil engineers’, built a brick oven and in a giggling gaggle… Mums cooked a real Sunday dinner. Kids’d run back & forth to the sea and back buckets & spades, hacking big holes and shots in goal, cricket with fallen rocks for a wicket and, after pudding, burying drunken dads in the sand. Heavy, wet woolen cozzies, sand in groins, ...changing in turn, under a soaking wet, gritty towel.  “Don’t dry me with that, Ow! Buddy hell - watch my sunburn.” Then, all back in the cars, for our return into the sunset and driving away.  Chaffing sore shoulders.  Chuffing good day! - yeah…Parfait!!

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Apr 17, 2020

Apr 17, 2020 at 12:07 PM UTC

chrisslade

All Aboard the Skylark Convoy to Tunstall

When the skylarks would warble hover and sing at about a hundred feet, high on the wing, and we… on a heat clicking Sunday between Salt End and the sea, well we knew - just from the ozone, on the breeze that we’d be off …a shimmering heat haze convoy of old crocks, Bud, Margaret, Brian and me to Tunstall, a diminishing, mystical land of sun, sand, sea - and tumbling rocks. But it wasn’t just us…it was a cavalcade - motors galore. Uncles, Aunties, Cousins, Grans, Grandads and more in Austins, Morris’s, Vauxhalls and Fords, And a big old Rover wi’them wide running boards, a motor bike’n’sidecar with Maurice, Denise & our Val to wring the best from the day a’la Plage de Tunstall’… The beach crackled in the heat… if you walked too slow it’d burn your feet. and our Dads, our ‘civil engineers’, built a brick oven and in a giggling gaggle… Mums cooked a real Sunday dinner. Kids’d run back & forth to the sea and back buckets & spades, hacking big holes and shots in goal, cricket with fallen rocks for a wicket and, after pudding, burying drunken dads in the sand. Heavy, wet woolen cozzies, sand in groins, ...changing in turn, under a soaking wet, gritty towel.  “Don’t dry me with that, Ow! Buddy hell - watch my sunburn.” Then, all back in the cars, for our return into the sunset and driving away.  Chaffing sore shoulders.  Chuffing good day! - yeah…Parfait!!

28

Wind whipping through naked limbs, plastic bags like tumbleweeds. Solace under an overcast sky. Billows bellow out from the candied sunrise, brief beauty unfolds in rippling hues of taupe and ochre and violet. I watch alone, as the commuters argue over lanes. As trucks trundle past. I enjoy the parallax as the chuffing dragon's breath of their air brakes grows, and then fades. I watch alone as light begins to bathe all. An upside-down ocean. A gorgeous abyss. I watch alone, yet I'd like someone to share this morning with.

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Dec 15, 2021

Dec 15, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC

Listerineyedrops

Morning

Wind whipping through naked limbs, plastic bags like tumbleweeds. Solace under an overcast sky. Billows bellow out from the candied sunrise, brief beauty unfolds in rippling hues of taupe and ochre and violet. I watch alone, as the commuters argue over lanes. As trucks trundle past. I enjoy the parallax as the chuffing dragon's breath of their air brakes grows, and then fades. I watch alone as light begins to bathe all. An upside-down ocean. A gorgeous abyss. I watch alone, yet I'd like someone to share this morning with.

18

Tweet tweet! what a beautiful bird I am, The sun a yellow comb, strokes My little juniper tree and me. La-dee-da. I’ll fly across The stone yew and its chuffing Fugue. I’ll watch the Shotgun wedding of smoke and leaves. I'll watch their breathes Catch and stumble While the chimney boys sing And the choir boys weep. La-dee-da. Filthy bird song! They shout Like bullets. As I fall onto my mother's nest. She’ll unfold her downy hands And there in the tickled pits of her palms, Will splutter and wail A filthy black bird With its filthy smoked cloak And Her eyes will glaze, Returning my dismal hums. She Will fetch a shiny name for me In the cracks of bourgeois cobble. **** And it will all just be a joke La-dee-da And I will be a joke La-dee-da And I will stretch my wings and drown.

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May 14, 2020

May 14, 2020 at 5:16 AM UTC

MandaKolav

Pollution

Tweet tweet! what a beautiful bird I am, The sun a yellow comb, strokes My little juniper tree and me. La-dee-da. I’ll fly across The stone yew and its chuffing Fugue. I’ll watch the Shotgun wedding of smoke and leaves. I'll watch their breathes Catch and stumble While the chimney boys sing And the choir boys weep. La-dee-da. Filthy bird song! They shout Like bullets. As I fall onto my mother's nest. She’ll unfold her downy hands And there in the tickled pits of her palms, Will splutter and wail A filthy black bird With its filthy smoked cloak And Her eyes will glaze, Returning my dismal hums. She Will fetch a shiny name for me In the cracks of bourgeois cobble. **** And it will all just be a joke La-dee-da And I will be a joke La-dee-da And I will stretch my wings and drown.

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