"gruffly" poems
Let us paint our canvasses on WOMEN!!
Curious I stand to unravel your perception of a woman
Would you weigh her as a piece of wonder or a gruffly aggressive thunder?
She is extraordinary, gorgeously efficient, solely independent!
The love she embraces is wider than the infinite heaven and deeper than the fathomless sea.
The shallow world with its profound hypocrisy,
Banters with a judgemental frown.
The world has changed, and so has she.
It has known the beautiful rose, tarnished by its prickly thorns,
Only the delicate rose, the world, with its abysmal critics, abides by to adorn.
She knows her paths, truly determined to achieve her goals,
Her patience deserves a salute, her tremendous sacrifice only to satisfy our souls.
Dare never to shred the lovely red petals, not knowing her darings!
For also the thorns in her are perilous, to blemish a wound till your last.
With her chin up and a gaze so ferocious, ocean of wisdom she is vast.
She rises, she grows, taking a free flight, venturing to claim new heights,
She is benevolent, a ray of sanguine sunshine to your forlorn nights.
Walking proud, believing in who she is, glimmering like a star!
Born strong she is, refuses to be judged by her scars.
She is the teller of her tale, over fears and worries she will prevail.
A miracle of God, with a sweet lingering fragrance she leaves a trail,
Of patience, commitment, empathy, and unfaltering fortitude !!
by ~Mihika Rohatgi
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 10:50 PM UTC
the isle meets us gruffly,
ferry over rough seas, meaner winds,
bay size puddling lakes
a/k/a local flooding,
roads littered with tree debris,
all saying an uncoded message:
"see humans, you come to stay only with my forbearance"
But I know that familiar voice, disguised as nature,
a first derivative of the alpha of that god who comes,
torturing me with requests for forgiveness
I am nature too, I am human nature,
and I too,
am not in a forgiving mood, and one-word reply:
Barcelona
ashamed,
the ugly skies ease off and
next morn,
an August beauty provided
but I am neither assuaged, bought off, forgetting,
address the hiding-in-disguise master of the universe:
"*you trifle with us as if we could not count, keep tabs,
and weary be at the newest sabbath carnage never ending
give me storms, keep your glories,
fell trees, drown us, if it pleases,
we are neither perfect nor innocent
but take impotent responsibility
set us not one against the other,
there, here, Charlottesville,
keep your false free choice that
always comes with a wink and nod,
a little nudge, and exclaims of humans doing your work*"
I light a candle
not to you,
but for you
and be terrified
when I no longer do
<•>
Aug. 19, 2017
12:14 pm
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
morning
the city is gruffly petted with heat
buildings quiver in the primeval whither
wide mouthed and whiskered
the catfish thrive in the sewers
taking aggression to the air and fixing to the trees
the insects speed into vigorous breeding
in the populated afternoon city is sternly scored
pressed down on its wilted fur pushed from back to front
each itchy person is its own greasy hair
salt beads from brows and stinging eyes are blinded
scolded and bonded the witless humans slow
natures patient pace is not kin to their will
antsy
ticking noises and electric whines whittle the air
discomfort makes life immediate
a deal to be flustered with
every enduring breath is consciously felt
alive and in suffering
i crouch my form in shelter
a jilted couch to lean against bordering a grown over lot
watching the foxes patrol in sweltering sun
what expected prey brought them into the light ?
i release my hurt understanding (it patrols also)
my hurt snakes through the long tough grass and tacky broken glass
it moves further raised in a mirage hover
over welting heat from the melting tarmac
this way i please my way into nurture
this way i ease my suffering
hum with the wires
and smile at a good day putrefying
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 6:24 PM UTC
*Ramirez waits on the couch
patiently
for the date of his life*
1.
fidgety-fidgety boy
there's no call for nervous-smiles
her daddy gruffly placed you
on the couch
now, you wait and wait and wait
2.
you decide to use some bonus-airtime you received
but who to call?
the one you'd like to spend that time on .. is with your Maker
but you're too shy to talk to God
your Momma told you God's one busy-light
and he ain't got no time for a slow-coach like you
who can barely spell two words
3.
yes, I can spell my name.. leave me alone!
hey man, who says God won't talk to me?
why, I did Him a favour here.. I'm takin' out this here girl
who's never been out before
18 years old and her pappy been watching her so
she can barely make two sentences before her complexion vies with beet
*it came to him in a dream.. take her out.. take out.. take her out..
and so, tonight.. he will*
4.
Lord behold, where is our boy?
****** why did you not watch him?
what... and you believed him??
goodness, go out and find him....NOW!
he didn't take his stuff
5.
she descends slowly, as on a cloud
and smiles in awkward-bunches
oh, if only her father had let her go out before.. like everyone else
she may have been able to see..............................................................
*this is the date
and he
took her out*
S T - 2 dec 13
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
SHOWING SOME ENTERPRISE DURING
DOUBLE MATHS CLASS IN 1969
"Look, Kirk..!" I stab at the map
"Yes, the Barzan Wormhole is unstable but~
it's our only hope!"
Kirk's face blanches
Spock tries to show no emotion
"Highly illogical, yet. . ?"
Now, 70,000 light years away
"My God, Capt. Dempsey.."" Kirk smirks
"...it worked...it...worked. . !"
"Worked...of course it worked!"
I bluff and bluster
Spock's tight lipped smile
"Ahhh...Mr. Dempsey..."
Sir's voice gruffly Klingon
beaming me back up to Reality
"...seems to be in
another universe entirely..."
snickers as he reaches for the cane
"So..." Kirk smiles
"The square on the hypotenuse is equal to...
"Shut it Kirk..!" I snap "...just shut it!"
I watch the parabola of the cane
"Warp Factor 9...now...quick!"
I order Mr. Sulu
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
Tobias.
A handsome, broad-shouldered man with soft earth-brown eyes, that lived in 18th century England, who then came to America with his mother and father plus his eight brothers.
He would die of fever at the age of 23.
After he died, he did not move on to the afterlife, instead he was chosen by a group of elders called The Guard.
As a Guardian, he was tasked a keeper of human lives selected by The Guards' standards as 'changers,' or humans that change the course of history.
Tobias rejected his forced calling and attempted to abandon his task.
The oldest of The Guard, Helten, a man thousands of years old (only looking 40), approached him and asked a simple question, "Why do you want to truly die?"
Tobias was silent, until Helton added,
"There is a Shift after your changer."
Shifters, or Shifts, are the enemies of the Guardians and their mission is to destroy all changers so that Shifts can take their place and change the world to their liking.
Tobias added gruffly, "Which one?"
"Daniel."
Tobias' hand squeezed into a fist. He hated Daniel ever since the 1920's. He wanted a rematch since that idiot tried to **** his charge for a cigarette.
Tobias wanted to punch him. Hard.
His eyes flashed crimson, and his fists turned blue flame.
"Where is he?!" Daniel growled.
Helton smirked,
"Pennslyvania."
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch
I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...
In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...
Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...
A true warrior!
Will you salute me?
I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.
Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines
May 31, 2021
May 31, 2021 at 2:26 AM UTC
I knocked
on Lydia's front door
and waited
the morning sun
was coming
into the Square
Lydia's old man
opened the door
and stared at me
with bloodshot eyes
what do you want?
he said
is Lydia
coming out?
I asked
who wants to know?
I do
why?
wondered if she'd like
to see the trains
I said
why would she
want to see trains?
he said gruffly
she likes trains
I said
he looked beyond me
at the block of flats behind
who said
she likes trains?
she did
I said
I work
with fecking trains
all day
she's never said
about trains before
he said
looking at me again
his eyes trying
to focus
we often
go see trains
I said
we went to Waterloo
train station
the other week
he closed his eyes
rubbed
his hairy chin
and breathed out
a beery flavour
LYDIA
he bellowed suddenly
I stepped off
the front door step
and stood
gaping at him
LYDIA
he called again
he opened his eyes
and stared at me
I detected life
behind the mask
Lydia came
to the door
and peeped under
her old man's arm
this kid wants to know
if you want go see
fecking trains
he said gently
his voice silky
do you?
she nodded her head
yes
can I?
she asked
he looked at me
as if I’d just
stolen his wallet
trains?
he said
steam trains
I said
yes steam trains
she said
we like watching them
he raised his eyebrows
and looked down at her
under his arm
resting on the door jamb
ok ok
if you want go see trains
go see trains
he said
and wandered off
inside
leaving Lydia and me
looking at each other
Waterloo again?
I asked
what about Victoria station?
she said
ok sure
I replied
and she turned
around
to go get
her shoes inside.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
This fighting is killing me, and its its splitting me just like a dead tree, i tripped and fell and messed up my knee, baby can't you see that you and me were just meant to be? I don't understand why you went and set me free, I don't get why you acted so cruelly baby, i feel like a groupie because every time you talk to me you act so gruffly, i know I'm being greedy trying to keep you all the me but baby I know it might sound cheeky but for you girl I'd grow a goatee I know that makes no sense but again, can't you see that what ya do to me, makes it so I can barely, think or even use my mind, what I mean to say girl is that you've got me stymie-d
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
Miss Schinzer do not undress
they said but she did and so
they locked her in the side
room alone and she heard the
key turn in the lock and that
was that she heard them walk
away along the passage heard
the footsteps getting soft and
softer then silence the silence
of that abbey she went to some
years back as a child and the nun
with her beady eyes said here
one must absorb the silence here
silence is our food and drink and
she remembered the way the nun
empathised the word silence
the way her lips moulded the word
as if it were brand new and not to
be damaged or spoilt but that was
then as a child before the voices
began before the orders were laid
out for her to obey do not undress
Miss Schinzer they had said but her
voices inside said undress take off
garment by garment and as you do
so think of Christ and how he was
disrobed and hammered to the wood
and she did hearing as she undressed
the hammer on nails the jacket and
then the blouse and then the brassiere
and she felt the chill about her *******
how they stiffened she thought waiting
to remove more cloth waiting for the
voice to say undress more of the clothes
and she recalled how Mr Dimpledone had
said the same thing but she was a child
then a girl in the choir but she didn’t ask
why she just undressed and he just stared
at her and said what are you doing child?
but you said so she said no no he said gruffly
be silent unless you want to leave the choir
but she didn’t remember him saying that not
then but couldn’t be sure and the voices said
take off the lower garments and so she removed
her skirt the black one the one that made her
look like a nun she took it off and then removed
her slip and underwear and sat on the floor quite
bare remembering the hanging Christ the hands
curled like ***** nailed to the cross beam his
naked flesh the wounds the blood and she lay
down flat and put out her arms forming a cross
and her legs tight together one foot touching
the other and over in the corner knitting and
humming some Schubert her bossed eyed mother.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
She spat out
a string
of four letter
abuse words
followed by American *****
you stood at the bar
at the base camp
outside Stockholm
sipping a beer
Moira stood beside you
in grumpy mood
her Glaswegian tones
still in the air
others in the bar
gazed your way
amused
some giving
a small titter
if have to share a tent
with her one more night
I’ll suffocate her
with my sleeping bag
over her head
she said
you girls
don’t get on then?
you said
more expletives followed
after which she sipped
from her glass
of white wine
you lit a cigarette
all the time
watching her
listening to her
talking about
the American girl
the tour guide and driver
had picked up
in Hamburg
how she spent ages
in the shower
at base camps
across northern Europe
how she got her man
whom she slept with
and what she did
and leather
said Moira
her and her ****** leather
I know her sort
she added
you studied her
as she spoke
her short stature
her wild blazing eyes
her hair tight curled
her small ****
pressing against
her tee shirt
then she was silent
and leaned on the bar
sipping the wine
grimacing
staring at the mirror
behind the bar
maybe we could swap tents
you said
you share
with the Australian bore
and I with the Yank girl
that’s a case
from the frying pan
into he fire
Moira said gruffly
I’d rather share my tent
with a shaggy dog
with fleas
she said
I guess
you thought
taking in her tight ***
some
are hard to please.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
The Stubborn man refused to budge
or listen to complaints
he always wore a frown they said
while standing at the gate
on rainy days he might stay in
on sunny days stay late
but there was not a day went by
when he wouldn't wait
Exactly what he waited for
no one could ever say
the local folks just wandered by
wishing him a pleasant day
he would gruffly wave them off
and mutter to himself
while keeping up his vigil
and keeping to himself
Curiosity finally gripped me
I had to find out for my self
so cautiously I approached the man
and this is what I asked
why do you stand here every day
peering into the wind
a lonely endless vigil
seemingly without end
He smiled at me as best he could
and slowly shook his head
"I am waiting for somebody
who wants to be a friend".
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
WAKE UP
I want to
GET UP
But the weight holds its
Thick arm
Across my shoulders and it
Yells gruffly, "You do not deserve this day!"
We wrestle for a while, this arm and I,
And some days it tries to
Strangle me
But I
Always
Win
A weight is just a
Weight, no matter how
Heavy.
The arm is just an
Arm with no body, unless you give it
Yours.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
"bring another bottle," you tell me, leaning
against the bricks
hunched
in the rain -
your eyes, they glitter, out
your coattails are long, lavish, and filthy
and your hat
is pulled low
i can see the care in you
from time to time
i feel it.
"you ain't gonna leave me, nance?" you say,
and i hear the fear
the uncertainty,
and then i go to you.
filthy london, it's brought you down
and me down
with you.
the little boys, the old man, they have questions in their eyes
when they see me let you, lead me, away,
but they don't see
that under the grime of your crimes
and the filth of your sins,
there is a heart, black, patched, and wounded
but beating.
for this i love you.
your hands on me, my man
can be a thing frightening
a thing thrilling
when you beat me like a dog
when you kiss me like a lover.
your violence, my man, is a curse
because you would have better for me
if you could give it.
and your bitterness, my man, is deserved
for the low-life life
you've been given.
and i feel you,
how you whisper in the nighttime, "nance."
and i quiver, just to hear it
"nancy," you whisper, gruffly, after the alcohol's worn off, the ***
"i didn't mean none of it, nance. not a thing of it, eh?"
you whisper, roughly, bowing your head to my shoulder.
"you're a good girl
for not leavin' me, then.
and i ain't never deserved you
a day in my life."
and i pretend to sleep
to hear it.
you'll be the death of me, my man.
they tell me so,
and i know it's so.
but first
i will be the life of you.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 5:29 PM UTC
if a came summer
(over the beaches
sweat
in ribbons
or rivulets
binding the sand
with *******
and ****
improbably
fleshy rumples
)
i'd be gladly giddy in its shall on me
its lazy hands on me
to draw me to it in
to it drawn a manacled surly
bead of magic
burning ***
on loose footing
the unreasonable grains
of sloughing seconds
I
came a summer
to
livid unmanageable moments
where myself and myself
used our stuff of soft and pink
to drizzle drugged blatant
skin on a beach somewhere i have been with you in the fall but then it was not so
like the hot testing nerve (the bar of crimson branding light) instead a pale and
frail limpet gruffly muscular light was all over it and it was cold and i pulled you
really in my arms stabbing the youth of you slender able promise of corded
elation hotly sudored morsels of.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC
"Look, Kirk..!" I stab at the map
"Yes, the Barzan Wormhole is unstable but~
it's our only hope!"
Kirk's face blanches
Spock tries to show no emotion
"Highly illogical, yet. . ?"
Now, 70,000 light years away
"My God, Capn. Dempsey.."" Kirk smirks
"...it worked...it...worked. . !"
"Worked...of course it worked!"
I bluff and bluster
Spock's tight lipped smile
"Ahhh...Mr. Dempsey..."
Sir's voice gruffly Klingon
beaming me back up to Reality
"...seems to be in
another universe entirely..."
snickers as he reaches for the cane
"So..." Kirk smiles
"The square on the hypotenuse is equal to...
"Shut it Kirk..!" I snap "...just shut it!"
I watch the parabola of the cane
"Warp Factor 9...now...quick!"
I order Mr. Sulu
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
Head aching
Thunderous throbbing throng
Smacking back and forth
Round and round this skull
Water, water God! please
Heal my sickness
Thud slowly, carefully down the stairs
Kitchen? Light switch?
Water water where's the water
Fumbling hazeiness
A hand in the blind reaches out,
Gruffly silhouetted standing leaned
Against the Darkness
A military slouch in shadow
He spoke with a bellow
“Look, you drink too much, it’s not good for health”
**** off you old ****
“Trust me don't touch the poison,
Look after yourself!”
With the mighty declarative of this sort
He rose from the casual to a grumpy trot
Past the light revealing old sad Ernest
He's one to ******* talk.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
by the hours' split (and half of that) the wasted marble (her head) discharged, of her oblong thrusting voice, to shamble quickly silence fingers gruffly wringing all the necks of loud and it was also. it was blithe
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 1:51 PM UTC
The phone had only been on a day
When the cranky calls began,
‘Nobody knows we’re on,’ I said,
When at first the **** thing rang.
I had to run up the passageway
To catch it before it stopped,
Then there was just an awesome hush
Like a tree before it’s lopped.
The line dropped out at the first ‘hello’
As if they would wait for me
To run the length of the passageway,
Expend all that energy,
I’m sure they laughed as they cut me off
Though of course, I couldn’t hear,
‘It’s dead again,’ I would rage and froth
‘Though it must be someone near.’
‘It better not be your stupid friend,’
I said to my wife, Diane,
‘The one that’s such a comedienne
Who annoys me when she can.’
‘It isn’t her,’ was Diane’s reply
In her testy, haughty tone,
‘She wouldn’t ring when she knows I’m here,
But wait till you’re home alone.’
But the phone rang every evening,
At the high point of our show,
Just as they named the villain, and
I nodded to her to go.
‘You go,’ she’d say, ‘I’ve worked all day,
And it really is your phone,’
I’d grit my teeth up the passageway
And rage at it on my own.
I finally let it ring and ring
And refused to pick it up,
‘I’ll teach them never to mess with me,’
As I drank a second cup,
A truck arrived in the morning and
It dumped a ton of twine
Blocking all of the driveway while
Some clown said it was mine!
‘I never ordered this blasted twine,
You should have come to the door,
Confirmed the order you say you had,
What would I want it for?’
‘We got the order over the phone
So we rang, with no reply,
Somebody said you don’t pick up
You’re such an eccentric guy.’
I always answered it after that,
And after the pig dung treat,
Fifteen tons, and the smell had hung
The length of our angry street,
We tried to tell them it wasn’t us
We said it must be the phone,
I know that I would have picked it up
If only I had been home.
We never did get a proper call,
One where somebody spoke,
I don’t think anyone likes me, and
That phone’s a pig in a poke,
I went outside and I cut the cord
To the world who scorned our line,
Then went inside where the blasted phone
Still rang, one final time.
I picked it up and I snapped, ‘Who’s that!’
And a voice came on the line,
It wasn’t a voice I knew, it spat
And it gruffly asked the time,
‘You’ve cut us off from the Internet,
I hope you’re feeling spry,
We live in your rhododendrons, and
You’ve made the fairies cry!’
David Lewis Paget
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
a short america is gruffly and shouting with the britain who's is owns the metal caffeine *** dull and shiny they suckle about and like to rambling about the weather and the whethers and they clump to safely dryness by the wall at the little under of the eave plunking out the serious angle of its chin walloping the rain and makes a pleasant patch. they 2, the america and the britain, spitting at each others ears their voices they like to hear
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 2:35 PM UTC
do corpses ever(inboxesdeeply )
long for smelling roses
or the wiggling light of
saturday afternoons
when their lover came
early a bit unexpectedly
fantastically finding them
nothing doing and took
their body in softly hands
shaking perfectly the morsels
of their flesh on top of the
kitchen counter gruffly
gentle
?
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 11:43 AM UTC
Magdalene sits opposite
her father at the dining table,
her mother is in the kitchen
dishing up the food.
Your ma says
that Maguire girl was here?
Her father says.
Magdalene looks
at him for a while.
What was she
doing here?
He says.
Listening to records,
and talking,
she replies.
But why was she here?
The reports from school
from the nuns
are not good, he says.
What mine?
Magdalene says.
No hers,
they've almost
given up on her,
he says.
Shame on them,
she says.
He stares at her,
no lip from you
or you'll feel my hand,
he says gruffly,
stay away from her,
she'll bring you no good.
Magdalene looks away
from him, looks
at the Scared Heart of Jesus
picture on the wall.
Her da goes on,
she listens to the music
in her head,
that Billy Fury song,
thinking of her and Mary
in the bed, kissing
and touching.
Her ma comes in
with two plates of stew
and puts them down
in front of them both,
then goes out again.
Her da still yaks,
Billy Fury still sings.
Her ma comes in
with her own plate of stew,
and sits down at the table.
I've told her to stay away
from the Maguire girl,
the father says
to the mother.
Make sure you do,
her ma says.
Magdalene gazes
at her mother.
Billy stops singing;
her ma's voice has
driven him away.
I will,
Magdalene says,
beginning to fork
in the dumpling.
Make sure you do,
I don't want her
round here again,
her da says.
Billy Fury sings once more,
Mary's hand touches her,
brings her to a seventh heaven,
and then she kisses neck,
and shoulder.
We'll run away,
Mary said,
when we get older.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
SHOWING SOME ENTERPRISE DURING
DOUBLE MATHS CLASS IN 1969
"Look, Kirk..!" I stab at the map
"Yes, the Barzan Wormhole is unstable but~
it's our only hope!"
Kirk's face blanches
Spock tries to show no emotion
"Highly illogical, yet. . ?"
Now, 70,000 light years away
"My God, Capt. Dempsey.."" Kirk smirks
"...it worked...it...worked. . !"
"Worked...of course it worked!"
I bluff and bluster
Spock's tight lipped smile
"Ahhh...Mr. Dempsey..."
Sir's voice gruffly Klingon
beaming me back up to Reality
"...seems to be in
another universe entirely..."
snickers as he reaches for the cane
"So..." Kirk smiles
"The square on the hypotenuse is equal to...
"Shut it Kirk..!" I snap "...just shut it!"
I watch the parabola of the cane
"Warp Factor 9...now...quick!"
I order Mr. Sulu
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC