"gouts" poems
Specimens of long pig struggle from their mound
Sky-splitting screams starkly resound
My veins circulate a steady stream of spite
For their mewling humbug has turned quite trite
It wasn’t too pleasant when the taunts started to singe
*When **** forced me into a balancing act across society’s fringe*
One by one, I separate my courses from the flock
Store their tender bits inside of Ma’s favored crock
I then engage in a vigorous process of toil
Lower frantic faces into water made to boil
Skin hastily detaches, tongues flop lopsided
Scalded fists clench and eyes bulge cross-sighted
I scurry on webs of scorn
Maim my prey with marks of malice
Eat torn hearts with mine retaining its layer of callous
These lesser swine are absorbed into my design
Their bodies gorged on with generous gouts of fine wine
“Oh, I do hope not to get too drunk”
-I think while chewing on an especially splendid chunk
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
and the planet bleeds from
a volcano of angst
and anger
refugees from the
black heart of fire
errupt on the scene
sending the ashes
skyward
in gouts
engulfing
Paris
like
Pompeii
wars errupt on the Main Streets
of Middle America
carrion for coyote
drug dealers
the PTSD
persuasion
has newly
vacant veteran's
tenement
bodies piling
like cordwood...
I hear the newscaster
announcing;
COULD WHAT HAPPENED IN
PARIS HAPPEN HERE?
WE ARE NOT PREPARED!
@ TEN!
duh.
in a country that
has forgotten its soul
we say goodbye to God
while Ol' Faithful waits...
soulsurvivor
11/19/2015
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
your heart is
(so way).
the way it is, so.
it is to part blood
(the filling of my lips)
with your lips.
and its body is so clean.
it is the to pierce
by beating madly
tattoo of carry me forward.
(through darkness carry me forward)
and lurch upon the flowering of its heat
(my heat)
to tumble steeply up
in comely gouts of daftness:
my heart.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Is it possible for a land to dream
Of Harakiri.
Gouts of screams and tears abound
Self-destruction is such a sweet sound
Particularly when told from afar
By those so clearly in the know.
But is that the truth, what we are told?
Does this land dream of a death all of its own?
Or perhaps tales of its expiry are greatly exaggerated
For profit and shock.
Could this be true, that they are lying to you?
Or does Peckham wish to fall on its sword?
Perhaps once, in the span of three days
Did this land wish to see itself burn,
To see itself consumed in the fires of greed,
Of hatred,
Of ignorance.
Tell me, is that all that this land has to offer?
Will it willingly trudge to such a dishonourable demise?
Or will it rise
And show those in the know
That in truth Peckham dreams of a fate more honourable than Harakiri.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
pink
that immured
betwixt chaste
cleats of girly leg
the hard ardor
of boyly prism
to wantonly beg
it by pale scythe
of membranous ***** reap
the clean growing
of all tall cane
where reason keep
the unsweet substance
of cool and pensive mind
(but by blood and hot lather
in stupid gouts of
scarlet
needing
bind ). . . . . .
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
Blood gouts onto the rags.
I wring them out...
... poetry.
Soul Survivor
2014
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
don't be afraid
to bleed brains on paper
to plead pains unwavered
string sounds slowly
string sounds quickly
do so daringly
rhyme no caringly
do not balk upon the blind eyed judge judging unwonted
spray inky gouts
dare defy doubt
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
Gratitude
So proud you never killed
anyone driving drunk as a lord
in my car on school nights
late on weekends after tossing
your filthy apron and clocking
out ripe and sloppy on wedding
screwdrivers gulped on the sly
engulfed in great gouts of steam
issued forth from the big Hobart
a purification ritual that rendered
you invisible until I could melt
away into the sober night
make good my escape yet again.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC