"croaks" poems
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
Breeze bellows,
leaves echo in
quivering psithurism,
dithering like
unbroken smoke,
this approaching omen goads.
Dozing crows
slumbering in rows,
droves of locusts'
silenced drone,
almost comatose in repose;
nighttime overtones
choir of toads'
raspy croaks
answered by alto
of crickets' orchestral strokes.
Gust encroaches;
robed boughs
cloven open,
bring into
scope and focus
me juxtaposed,
suspended apropos.
Although motionless
and petrified in stone,
provoked by zephyr
coaxing to and fro;
swaying pendulous
and no longer frozen,
locus gently thrown.
Death rattle moan
evoked from throat,
reflex can't say no
to rigor rigidly posed,
final sigh in silence,
awoken vocal,
expelled and disposed.
Smote by
morose emotion,
gun loaded then exploded
by neurosis,
now bloated
necrosis decomposes
into gross ochre.
This trophy
and this ode
both an opus to
my inability to cope;
romanced i proposed,
eloped and betrothed to
my own
inappropriate composure.
Pocket full of posies
plucked when luck bestowed
and tears in a cup, a toast;
crying copiously,
tempest runneth overflowed,
eyes swollen and soaked.
Dipped my toes
in the coast
of this ocean's
amorphous folds,
gripped by undertow
holding control of my soul;
swiftly shipwrecked in
shallow shoal,
an old atoll.
On sandy floor,
water burrows roads;
digging, carving, roams
through unmarrowed
silica and sandstone
eroding into a cove.
A host for
opal geode trove,
enclosing a
technicolor rose,
from the depths
a glowing mosaic shone
Unopened lotus floats
on foam
of lapping waves,
a boat;
prone to no
grandiose notion
or motive,
adrift as wind stokes.
I suppose
this only shows
the total corrosion
into which I dove,
the only foes to oppose
are those of burdens, so
only weightless can I atone-
I must let go.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
Amongst the stretches
Of chiseled sidewalk
Stuck with gum and bullet holes,
Waves of black water
Spilled over grass
Dangling in the pull
Of the moon's smirk.
Strung from strands
Of yarn not yet dyed
Hung a bench of sticks
And thorns and buds
With the potential to be
Pretty,
And with shoes cuffing
The ankles of skin
Pale as the shallow murk
Of the wavering sky,
Swinging with the steady
Beat of the croaks
And raspy whispers from
A hat covered head,
A splash of water,
Cool with the gentle peace
Of the final page
Of a book unwritten,
But open to any reader
Who dare choke on the waves themselves.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
A six-legged Asian cockroach just washed up on American soil, and it can lay eggs on ice.
Roaches are infamous for the myth that they're one of the few species that could survive an atomic bomb. It's not science, but even Adam Savage and his gang of Myth Buster's say it's beyond myth: a human croaks after ten minutes of exposure to 1,000 units of cobalt 60. But for roaches, 10% of their population survives after exposure to 10,000 rads - hell, it's better than zero.
This new species is the most evolutionarily persistent thing ever - if surviving means anything, it win's life on earth, hands down.
But I'd rather be a monkey.
We **** up and **** ourselves everyday. We slip and **** ourselves with power tools, or smash our fists into soccer referees and manslaughter oops **** We shoot ourselves off of propulsion equipment to see what happens. Bone-crunching splatter ****
From 100 feet up, we look like ******* mad men.
But the roach shows up carefully and gets **** done with nasty perseverance. The roach with vapid speech and wide eyes, glued to efficiencies and body armor.
To exist plainly - to work, eat. and sleep - is done best by roaches. Success is a cockroach.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Thoughts spinning round my head,
Making me wish I was dead.
But I cannot die,
I can only cry,
Wishing that my wings could fly.
Ideas March around inside me,
Like a humming of bees.
Twisting me down dark roads
To the croaks of lemon toads.
Spiral pathes,
Brick bathes,
This is insane!
Vibrant colors,
Flowers like 'find anothers',
Are all over.
Here in a world of my own,
The madness here has grown.
So please save me,
By lending us a bit of sanity?
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
the radiator croaks
like bourbon and Barnaby Jones huffing ******
in a lead Zeppelin; and heat clinks like a spider's tooth
on a moist towelette. and the stars hold a bounty of something deeper.
a dread helpless, in mean peace with a vital vital Truth
with no choice, as yet; but a marred County, of Big Thinker.
and you can hear the wrinkles on an Angel's *** and prove
the useless rude. and politely
unseat the morning sun
through the levolor
minds
during eclipse.
during a near
miss
from the dark-side
of a rogue
moon.
the hard way.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
There is music at dawn in the song of the koyel
The tweeting, the chirping, the warbling,the cry
The medleys that float in the morning air
As birds sing a welcome to a rising sky
There is music in the span of feathered wings
The steady drone of the humming of a bee
As the sun revels on his throne at noon
While a brisk wind whisks leaves on willow trees
There is music in the silver drops of rain
A gentle drizzle or a thunder squall
Music in the flow of rivers and streams
And the sparkling cascade of a waterfall
There is music on slopes of lofty mountains
In echoes that reverberate of a water spring
In the soft rustling of a valley of flowers
Of blue irises and pink hyacinths
There is music in seas and oceans blue
Waves overreaching to meet the shore
Rippling in sounds of frothy ecstasy
Whispers of pearls and ocean floors
There is music at dusk when the day rests
The throaty croaks in a nocturnal sheer
As moths flutter drawn to light
'Tis music of life that I hear
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
I love to sit in the bogs
and listen to the frogs
I love to hear the sound
as they hop upon the ground
Their croaks "music to my ears"
it always brings me to tears
The place I like to romp
inside the darkened swamp
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
I walk around
The air as still as can be
Shivers run up and down my spine
The room is like a blank canvas
The only color is the yellow tiles
And the fading white walls
The chair creaks as I sit
The sound bouncing from the walls
My shoulders lean forward
And my eyes close to imagine
This room from when I was a child
The memories start spilling,
They make my heart ache,
My throat close,
And my chest burn.
The floor underneath croaks with each step
And the doors have started slamming with the lightest breeze
The windows can’t hold themselves up anymore
And I realize
The room I grew up in
The room with all my greatest moments
Has become a place that’s no longer recognizable
Only the aroma brings back
A trace of childhood
That’s left in this broken place
I once called home
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
At the edge of morning--broad sky fine
And soft as peach skin--
The sun, a round, sweet skinless half--
Rilling water washes through gullied gorge,
Cresting fig root and tongue of cobbled stone,
Lazing into lacquered lake or placid pond;
Squat and pooch-bellied on flatly floating leaf,
The idle toad croaks his great guttural,
Glutted belch.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
JIMMY WIMBLETON listened a first week in June.
Ditches along prairie roads of Northern Illinois
Filled the arch of night with young bullfrog songs.
Infinite mathematical metronomic croaks rose and spoke,
Rose and sang, rose in a choir of puzzles.
They made his head ache with riddles of music.
They rested his head with beaten cadence.
Jimmy Wimbledon listened.
2k
Hovering, its gentle, gleam a'glitter,
Sun rays hugging so daintily the plains of grass
That it could have been akin to quiet coveting
Of their transient green so far from its grasp
Then, as if in secret rising from the earth's coat,
From blades made chartreuse with sunset's caress,
There lifts a drunken, blanketed quiet that fill-
In preparation for the night- the land's every crevasse
Upon the branches arching, merging, enweaving,
Where the last few robins had been orchestrating,
The leaves give their tiny bodies up to the fading breeze;
A waltz so natural both need not bother hesitant contemplating
In dappling, splotching, sparks of amber scintillating a hue,
The trees too the sun embraces; the shades of sunlight
Creating a calico on its surface, still dull greens and greys amidst
Its autumn forgery, aureate bleeding bright
Nocturnal symphonies crescendo in harmonic chirps, croaks, and hoots;
As sunlight spools it's last golden threads to defy it's cruel god or master,
Who reigns, an even more kingly victory, wins last of battles, drags the sun down
To horizon's prison- subterranean capture.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
*I've been thinking about you baby,
So I'm drinking about you lately
Now I'm dreaming about you baby
& My head's screaming sedate me
I've been tearing out my hair about you baby,
I just simply can not bear it
Prayers come & go without merit,
Maybe only you can save me
I've been chain-smoking about you baby,
Trying to rid myself of your lingering taste
But it's savory & I hate it
Bad habits are hard to break
Now I'm binging about you baby,
& I'm choking about you baby
Feels like hanging from a bridge
[Rope + Throat =
Dangling, here - you baby]
The Frog Prince croaks, alone for you my highness,
Beauty is only skin deep when vanity is all but timeless
It's chipping away my sanity; (your china is the finest)
Your parisitical silhouette (the iris of my crisis)
I've been sniffing glue about you baby,
Now you're stuck on me like paste
With eyes closed, it's almost as if
you & I were face to face
Your touch, my long lost grace
How I long for your forgotten, electric embrace
I've been free-basing about you baby,
& basing my phrases around you lately
Just can't phase you out of my head
I see you in my dreamscape
You're my favorite escape baby
Now I'm hallucinating about you baby,
It feels like I'm losing you baby
Your pallor is opaque, are you okay baby?
I see a ghost; the resemblance is uncanny
It's become unnerving, why can't you just be happy?
Your antics make me frantic
I'm sour & spiraling downward baby
I've been robo-tripping about you baby,
& double-dipping about you lately
My frame of mind is shaky
So scrape away all my brain matter baby
I've been injecting about you baby
Now I have this festering infection,
affliction for your affection, and
My veins collapse about you baby;
Encasing my brain in frost,
You're cold as a glacier;
Read between the lines baby
You call the shots
Maybe I should huff some gas about you baby,
Or smoke some crack about you baby
I dunno what to do about you baby;
I could melt you on a spoon,
My life is drab without you lately
I just want to see color*
**Inhale *a dab about me baby,
So you can recreate your perception
of times past about me baby;
Mix & match the parts you like best
&* Exhale all the rest baby**
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
Tiktok
The clock says in a hurry
Tiktok
The clock croaks in a constant rhythm
Pit pat
The rain rattling on the roof
Pit pat
The rain runs down in a fast marathon
Dug dug
The heart of your mistress beats
Dud dug
The heart of your lady pulse in a slow dance
Your lady in her white dress
On the floor she lays
Her eyes closed
Her hand closed tight into a fist
Her light lavender hair
Splayed around her head like a halo
Her bottom lip is bleeding
Her breathing unsteady
Kling klang
The chimes sings in a high note
Kling klang
The chimes chants in an attempt of announcement
Woosh woosh
The wind blows harshly
Woosh woosh
The wind whispered loudly
Dug dug dug
The heart of your mistress beats
Dud dug dug
The heart of your lady pulse in chaos
The clock
The rain
The chimes
The wind
Even her heart
The letter clasped in her hand
That contains the news of your demise
Reminds her of what she lost
Drip drip drip
The tears streaming down her face
Sniff sniff sniff
The grief starts to set in
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
And if you're asking if I slept well the answer is no.
my eyes and heart are aching with cement stuck in between my toes
and your words in my fingers.
Tears come back to burn like the summer sun
tripping on my own eyelids
drowning in winter
drowning in you.
Your voice croaks from all the plastic you've swallowed.
Shadow after shadow I'm on my knees begging that you won't have another drink;
you see, I'm afraid that the burning of all the camera flashes and ***** have replaced the warmth of long term friendships and sarcastic complains.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
White snow covers the brittle branches
Of the sage brush beside them
The birds song of the Nevadan January is gone-
Not even the brisk wind moves this scene
Her car pushes through the stillness
Then the clicking of her engine stops.
Silence speaks again
Through clouded windows she hears him shouting phrases unknown
Then his stumbled pacing sounds nearer and nearer
He stops at the sight of her
Still sitting in the drivers seat she looks forward aimlessly
With a tug at the door handle she follows him into the road
He's looking at her eyes turn into faucets
longing for her to say something to break the silence
She's staring at the emptiness surrounding him
They almost meet eachothers gaze,
He tries to pull her in, she refuses
Then as the silence floods between them
She rushes into him
The brittle branches are nourished
By the tears that violently crash down
Grasping on to him,
She wills to always be held by him
And then he pulls her off
She tries to speak, but feathers fill her throat
Their eyes meet and search rapidly for secrets
His pupils swallow her face
With the shadow of the sun behind her,
she sees herself within his gaze
He asks her "What do you see"
And she looks into the car window beside her and croaks " Me. I'm Pathetic"
His reflection scrunches his eyes and brings his hand up to his ear
He begins to disappear
The silence surrounds them once more
And she turns around and looks into his eyes one last time
And sees two tears racing to the ground
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
The beautiful songbird croaks
It's voice hoarse and rusty
Not from lack of use
But from lack of hearts to sway
The songbird croaks anyway
The beautiful songbird croaks
I tire of listening,
And reach for its throat...
It's pretty eyes twinkle up at me
The songbird croaks continually
The beautiful songbird croaks
It's kept in a cage,
hasn't tried to escape
I watch it without listening;
Only then does the songbird sing
Pressing cold beak
To fishes gills,
My heart beats through
The fins and frills,
The world askew,
The siren stills
The beautiful songbird dines
Carnivorous feathers
Peck at scales and skin
The beauty forever enjoying the taste
The songbirds song, misplaced
The beautiful songbird croaks
I won't hear again,
The soft wheezing cry
One last time embraced by him
The songbird croaks goodbye
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
The world ended,
I ruffle my blanket to
cover
my cold feet.
A lovely
soundtrack of birds
chortle outside; never mind the mechanical
croaks & ***** howls.
I haven't seen a human
all day. The most underrated
turn-off is a mirror,
as I think to myself.
She must be distraught, on the
other side of town,
while I am loosely here
& not a text to cool me down.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
What is this poison,
that dims hope like light in a room,
caked with cigarette smoke?
The sour bath of sins
that spoils the fertility of our souls,
like the black sap,
clogging the crimson holes in our conscience.
What is this medication
that murmurs obediently in the tunnels
of your flesh like a blind fly trapped in an hourglass?
The thick soup that sinks the dredged
pulse of life as it croaks and awakens in
hesitation
for the next perpetual dawn.
A sign tacked like an eviction notice in the skulls
of your dreams, telling them:
“I’m sorry Sir, but for this magnitude of pain,
there is no cure.”
And still like an earthquake, death
trembles at your fingertips like an
old, worn man— asking, perpetually,
“When’s the next train to Calgary?”
I have not the guts to tell him
the smoke has held me
captive
all this time.
2011
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 4:01 PM UTC
sshhhhh......
the mouse I'm in
is so petrified of breathing
life is a cat waiting to pounce
on every move I make
many moves through perdition-land
and the frog croaks
croak-croak
S T - 4 dec 13
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Summer is alive, the barbeque's on fire
But I aspire,
to be far away
There are children screaming all hours
along the sweltered streets
and cars breeze by, families get high
Lawn mower doldrum paradise paradoxes
I look at flight information on a melting monitor
Enter bank details
and the system crashes
I'll never escape
Three generations pass the window,
chuff away on branded cigarettes
These are truly the end of times
The claustrophobic city closes in
and I'm gasping for breath
through the intermittent smoke rings
That I am exhaling into the sky
The societal construct of monetary systems
keeps me imprisoned not only in the town of my birth
but in the mind of myself, a jail of superficial self-annihilation
I am consumed by I
Ego choke-hold, harder to breathe in the heat
Harder to pound these city streets
We need that cash, we need that (government) cheese
We need freedom of wealth to breathe with ease
I feel like Hannah, turning towards prostitution
or Malcolm in subversive ****** and sadomasochism
I feel like dying
I feel like the drifting away
I feel something
I feel it, I swear
Today I am here
But I feel like I should be elsewhere
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
*I am very unwell
My body wretches
Heart palpitates &
I am very unwell
A sickly soul within
Darkness got a hold
Won't let me go &
I am very unwell
My skin creeps
My bones creak
My voice croaks &
I am very unwell*
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
I am me.
Trying to stay free of any and all forms of tyranny.
Expectations and assumptions beat me down.
I am being crammed into a glass box 5 sizes too small for my body,
Being crushed on all sides as the walls close in around me,
Banging fists of fury as I seek a fault in its corners.
I cannot find a single one.
I cannot recall the time or place when it all began,
The words came slowly at first, trickling in.
Soon they were cascading into my mind.
I knew if I didn't break free I'd drown.
I can hear the voice,
But my screams are shut out by society-plugged ears.
Words shackling me to these transparent walls,
Throat burning as screams yield to croaks,
Lungs bursting from the foreign atmosphere filling them,
Mind shattering in the way i wish glass did,
Thoughts breaking as words come crashing in.
No escape,
No release,
I am society.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC