"gums" poems
The stomach pain is horrendous
The taste of dessert coming back
The look of disaster
stab me, choke me, **** me
The disapproval upon the faces
The miserable sounds in the background
The insecurity peaking out
save me, help me, rescue me
The choke before the gag
The spit before the rest
The death in my stomach
take me, be me, please
The blood in my gums
The ache in my throat
It's over–
I'm alright again.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
nobody gets the cancer twice.
(a blues guitar riff)
blood in the stool
ain’t nobody’s fool,
whent to high school
did not graduate,
but know it wasn’t no thing I ate
scale greets me friendly like,
long lost buddy from yesterday morn,
‘let get right down to it,
let’s see how much less of you borne
leftover alive from the prior day’
spirit spit blood from my gums,
got me a woman, she’s way over town,
woman said I’m brushing with
too hard a brush, alright, alright,
make no fuss, she’s good to me
nobody’s fool whent to school,
though I did not graduate,
a mean riff is better than a
slow moving woman blues cry,
got the strings to do my screaming
doctor is a fan, name is Jimmy,
played music like last time round,
Jimmy-jamming, dancing in the waiting room,
“that cancer got kick, it’s gonna get ya,
think I told ya that about hunner times before”
‘nobody gets the cancer twice,’
an old wives tale for unlucky po’ somofabitches,
do you some tests, tell ya the specifics,
right now, lay, lay down them new tracks,
no quitting time less the good lord comes a-calling’
blues guitar makes a man
cry shiver scream and shake,
progressions licks and tricks,
so you can’t tell what’s making
a grownup man cry and laugh louder
bring me my medicine
bring me my guitar
all I know is how it makes me feel,
oh baby once a night it’s true,
nobody gets the cancer twice
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
So young, He engraved the Law in your fledgling heart,
Covering your mind with the depth of His wisdom.
Why, no language exists that could translate its art!
Hopeless to assess its perfect scale and freedom.
The Law is His breast milk you sip fervently,
Howl in agony; your stomach digest it not.
Fathom submission, son of depravity,
To merely **** is short; apply what has been taught.
Sets of teeth sprouted in your gums like white pebbles,
Overdose with confidence, sleep without a sword.
Stars in the woods they seem, Alas! Wild, wild eyes of wolves!
Fight the fine fight of faith, shine light on the world.
A state of armed conflict, His Law against your Flaw,
Just a streak of insanity in the family.
Epitome of crossed swords, yet who will win in awe?
Glitch in your body, vow in its supremacy."
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
he interrupted me
in the middle of
an earth shatteringly
pointless story
to tell me i had
a cute laugh,
in a smoke-filled
garage infront of
all of our friends.
i said,
*"alright dude
**** off"*
that night
i slept in the fetal
position with four blankets
and craved his skin so
bad i didn't even notice
that i bit my lip
until the pool of blood
collecting inside the deep ditch
of my gums, began to taste
of hot metal
today he texted me
while i was at work
and asked if he could
bring me a coffee
i looked at myself
in the bathroom mirror,
sighed and told him
we were busy
then i bought a
coffee for myself,
let the bitter sweet
warm liquid
linger on my tongue
and pretended
it was his lips
alone is a state of being
and i have never been alone,
lonely is a state of mind
and i have never been anything but
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
He awoke.
His eyes opened slowly with a purposeful slowness; an action that for most people is the beginning of their life was, for him, a procrastination.
He arose.
The floor felt cold, unwelcoming as he stumbled reluctantly to the sink. The bristles rasped against his teeth, gums bleeding out of spite.
He entered.
Breakfast—a lonely egg, boring toast—entered his body; each bite was scooped with the utilitarian vigor of one who is no longer enchanted by food, yet the relationship must continue: a compulsory marriage without option for divorce. This discomfort washed down with lemon-water.
He contemplated.
Thoughts, those musings that are feared, condemned by most and yet became the greatest of comforts for him, reminded him that one day it all would end and he would be free.
He wasted.
He stretched out his hands, offering up his life force in the daily sacrifice to the eager god that, in return, lit up with the brightness of a thousand stars that blinded him from all that he wished not to see.
He showered.
Cold water ran down his soul, icing the most superficial inflammations while taunting the deepest wounds; no matter how long he remained behind the curtain, there would be no true respite.
He returned.
The blackness beckoned. He entered willingly, surrendering himself to the dark embrace of that demonic respite, his beloved above all others.
He died, once again.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
When I woke for work this morning
I wish I'd stayed in bed
But, I perservered and showered
I could sleep more when I'm dead
Another ache, another pain
My eyes were sore and red
But, I had to keep on moving
I could sleep more when I'm dead
Age is creeping up on me
In fact, I know it's here
It lets me know it's present
It gets louder every year
I can not do the things I did
I can't see what once was
I know it's not technology
I know age...yes, age is the main cause
I have to sit to tie my shoes
Even that takes all my breath
I cough most times I do them up
It scares my wife to death
I used to go out for a run
Each day when I got home
But, now I like the company
I can't go outside alone
Age is creeping up on me
In fact, I know it's here
It lets me know it's present
It gets louder every year
I can not do the things I did
I can't see what once was
I know it's not technology
I know age...yes, age is the main cause
My hair, is grey with brown highlights
At least, where it still lies
It's growing like a **** field
Above both of my eyes
I have more types of medicine
Than most people half my age
My glasses are now trifocal
So I can see what's on the page
Age is creeping up on me
In fact, I know it's here
It lets me know it's present
It gets louder every year
I can not do the things I did
I can't see what once was
I know it's not technology
I know age...yes, age is the main cause
I hear as well as I once did
As long as all is quiet
I didn't think you'd believe that one
But, I thought,....oh hell, let's try it
Spicy foods, don't start me off
My stomach they just turn
I have a little purple pill
To help with the heart burn
Age is creeping up on me
In fact, I know it's here
It lets me know it's present
It gets louder every year
I can not do the things I did
I can't see what once was
I know it's not technology
I know age...yes, age is the main cause
*** now there's a topic
I would rather watch tv
My wife still wants to have it
All that's missing's ...me
I talk just like my grandpa did
About the good old days
How we had to walk uphill to school
And how it was uphill...both ways
Age is creeping up on me
In fact, I know it's here
It lets me know it's present
It gets louder every year
I can not do the things I did
I can't see what once was
I know it's not technology
I know age...yes, age is the main cause
Age....it is a nasty thing
You don't see it, but it comes
All my body is receding
My hair, my brain, my gums
I know I'll never beat it
I'll learn to live with it instead
so, for now...I'll just go along
I'll get my rest when I am dead.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
“what are your special skills?”
well—
lately i have mastered the art
of silent tears
and wordless crying,
shuddering breaths
instead of wracking sobs.
my eyes don’t even get red.
if i do it right,
i have the exclusive ability
to break down in a full room
without anyone noticing.
also,
i can brush my weak gums in front of the mirror
and watch blood drip onto my uneven teeth
without flinching.
last,
i can give the best i have
every time
and still my brain can convince me—
worthless.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
The song is gone; the dance
is secret with the dancers in the earth,
the ritual useless, and the tribal story
lost in an alien tale.
Only the grass stands up
to mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gums
posture and mime a past corroboree,
murmur a broken chant.
The hunter is gone; the spear
is splintered underground; the painted bodies
a dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot.
The nomad feet are still.
Only the rider's heart
halts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid word
that fastens in the blood of the ancient curse,
the fear as old as Cain.
6.8k
There’s a certain disharmony in the way of things,
and how it turns humans into monsters. I saw a monster turn a girl
into a woman with her clothes on the floor,
and he carved ‘liar’ on her chapped lips. I reached out when
she stood before me, holding a razor in one hand and whiskey
in the other. She had dashed lines on her wrists
and shattered glass at her feet. I feel like screaming, but my gums bleed
from a mouth full of broken metal wire.
I cannot tell you the story that sits on my shoulders like a child,
too young to understand the weight of himself.
Now my eyelids have been peeled from my face and
I cannot look away from the girl when she comes home after school
and asks me for help with her homework
because the least I can do is solve a few math problems.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
** ** Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
6.6k
Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******
Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 7:13 PM UTC
I tried
Slashing the wrists of poverty
With an EBT swipe
But he isn’t merely food stamps
He is needle
He is malt
Licker of oppressed ********
****** dreams
Fellatio’d by sored gums
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
That's not what I meant to say.
I know my words glide through your flesh like a hot knife through soft butter,
But we both know that muscle only bows to a master outside...
That demon that lies sleeping beneath a cavern of insecurity inside my skull
Pledges loyalty to only one master
And you know I don't like to talk about him.
I speak for redemption.
I can't live my life knowing that everyone knows what I am.
Vindicate me so that I can get a moment of sleep and maybe then I won't hate you so much.
Sure, I'd like to crush your teeth out of your head,
But what would that do but send you into swirling fits,
Speaking blasphemous truths through your gums, beating?
Say you forgive me.
I deserve it.
I need it and you know you need it.
Quid pro quo.
Let me hurt you so you can forgive me.
Vindicate me.
You need to forgive like I need forgiveness.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
He belches verses of prayer
from the acidity of his gut,
staggering upright
on two toddler feet,
he trails drunkenly
to the fridge,
scarce with only a few dented beers,
a bucketful of ice to feed him,
till the next scroungers pay-check is due.
Cracking open a frozen one,
it hisses a warrior's cry,
loud in the stillness
then dies swiftly,
as he raises the carcass to his split lip
swilling alcoholic entrails
round him gums.
Wincing slightly,
the beer half-empty in his hand,
he twitches a pink eye
in pain
as something rolls
around his jaw,
the made-of-man pinball stage
has begun a game
without him.
Gathering his saliva
into a hard bullet,
he spits the foreign object
onto splintered floorboards,
where his last tooth lands,
a final casualty
of his handsome youth.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
long ago,
I could tame a lion with the click of a pen,
watch the teeth burn to ashes in his jaw,
and his gums bleed, dripping with every word.
drip, drop.
funny how lions are a symbol of God.
funny how, I used to glance into the
cold black irises of my strongest demon,
and tell myself I loved him.
every boy I've ever written for
seems to vanish before the novel ends,
before the sun sets, before they think-
maybe,
"it's safe to leave her before she falls in love"
little do they know that love was my oxygen,
love was my unused journal
from a lost friend,
love was nothing until I met you.
you cannot be another night
without razor sharp stars in the sky.
you cannot be the hundreds of songs
I can no longer ******* listen to.
you cannot be another Willow Springs-
another road I think I've traveled,
I've seen children pray on the corners of Italy;
I've seen mountains breathe
and thought it would be my last time
kissing their snowy tops.
I've seen straight into the
amber eyes of the lion
as I lay under fluorescent lights
with sixteen pills rattling in my stomach,
thinking maybe,
the King of the Jungle will release me
with His jaws of life.
but the truth is,
you are the only god I believe in.
you are my savior,
you are the King of the Jungle
and the closest thing to heaven
I will ever know.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the initials 'F T' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
There are differences
in the weight of our bones
in the curve of our jaw lines
in the pattern of the skin’s stretch marks.
Rule: Everyone will laugh at your differences.
There are differences in how badly your gums bleed
and how they ricochet teeth ‘round the mouth.
between swallowing your tongue
and choking on it.
Rule: Differences are descendants of pain.
There are differences
in the heart’s traffic patterns
the way all your blood looks at a stand still
and how the flow can be a pile up
on Fridays at 5.
Rule: Differences can only be explained through **** metaphors.
There are differences
your hair stacks in one way, and gravity says you go you left
And that’s that.
Your feet and legs will be too scared to disobey
So they don’t.
Rule: Do not mistake differences for instinct.
There are differences
between a shoulder
and a knife.
One is a knife and
the other is a stab wound.
Rule: I didn’t say the differences would be labeled.
There are differences
between a feeling
feeling the feeling
and the feeling of feeling a feeling
And every single one that you have is wrong.
Rule: You should be ashamed of all your differences.
There are differences
that you think are unique and cute
But differences will make you
different
And everyone on the earth or in the ground is
different.
So everyone on the earth or in the ground is not
different.
Rule: Differences make no difference.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:36 AM UTC
I love the way you eat me,
treat yourself to my tasty *****
The feel of your tongue,
as they lather my lips,
your ***** rubbing,
my gums against your lips
My head; dips.
your eyes; solar eclipse.
my fingers; tingling as I
tighten my grip.
with each slippery lick.
you lips start to stick --
tingle my nips --
both hard as bricks.
Using our thump,
********* my slit,
while ******* my ****
your warm lips,
making me flip --
the suction,
your rhythm,
thick- long tongue,
beating it like a drum.
The finish - a perfect fit.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
Coke on my gums makes the whiskey go down like water
And so I feel nothing
I'll destroy myself alone so nothing can hold me back
So no one says "Enough."
I won't blame you for not saying something
I won't blame you for not "saving me"
How I can't be happy that you're happy
My ancestors are all angels up way too high and probably disappointed in what and who've I become
But still I don't care, they're all dead
Those lucky *****
Daylight breaks and the dawn has come
So I guess I've been up all night
These words are the very breath of my demons
And I haven't heard from an angel in ages
Through the eyes of the beast in me
I've become friends with the abyss
And it has politely invited me in
So another for the writer
Another bottle all by myself
To soak my soul
And drench any dream or hope of a happy life
I might have had left
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
Purple patches coving your completely swollen cheeks.
Gums conquering your teeth.
Bruises all over you arms.
You walk into class, and all goes quiet.
Then comes the incessant laughter.
After they calm, and you sit down, embarrassed completely.
The whispers, the giggles, the pointing, you cannot handle it.
You run out of the room and dash out of the school.
You run all the way home,
and as soon as you reach your bedroom, you drop to the floor,
screams and sobs flooding your household.
Of course, the kids would laugh. I'm ugly, I'm different, I'm disgusting.
And I've been cursed with Leukemia.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
;fear
We felt it, with our hands pressed tightly against our child-chests.
Boom
Boom
Boom.
It sounded nothing like a heartbeat,
But explosions being let off in the distance.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt like sweat and dried ***** caked onto torn pajama pants.
We grew to know the insides of our mouths,
with our soft gums clutched between our teeth -
We learned that our voices were safer kept stowed away there.
We picked at their hands like we picked at our scabs,
Because pulling off healing skin,
felt like pulling off a rooted burn,
And prying off desperate fingers from off our bones,
Meant prying off something that terrified us.
This was our strength;
This was our paralysis.
We felt it, with our ears pushed against the door,
Please
Please
Please
It sounded nothing like a pleading mother
But warm air, creeping through vents with a sudden force.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt of fresh blood, kissing the lips of a weeping woman.
We worshipped knives like they worshiped our baby-soft skin,
Because cutting open ourselves meant cutting out what they left inside,
And watching the filth flee
down our wrists, down our knees,
Felt like draining water
Out of a clogged tub.
It felt nothing life fear
It smelt nothing like decay
It was a continual clutch of the knife against their throats
This one's for you, daddy
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill.
The sun and mood shed one white light.
From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.
The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.
The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh,
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.
And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.
I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.
One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave **** the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave **** to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
4.2k
I laugh a lot.
I laugh at myself because I am hard stuck to find the beauty in the poetry
but somehow to others words flow like vicious currents rip through ugly ducklings never to be grown to beautiful swans down the river Delta,
the Nile,
we call it emotion, this the true beauty of the words is always flowing page to mouth to mouth to ear,
honey water to be digested by the soul and mind
and some breast stroke some and some do the butterfly and some just fuckin' drown...
so you could say to some poetry is no laughing matter...
yet here I titter like a child because I cant help but wonder if Daniel's saying penance or just stuttering the word *****
So I laugh
I laugh and laugh and laugh I laugh at myself I definitely laugh at you people
I ha ha ha my course thoughts, outwards reflecting anger passion, turning it away
with the yip yawing of jaws and gums flapping in celestial proportions of denial
snorts and giggles push back emotion drowning out any semblance of fear or hate
because who's to say I can handle it,
call it sociopathic tenancies but I'll make it make belief because we just cant handle the fairy tale we live in
we cant handle that there might be no happily ever afters and we cant handle that we dont have a Prince charming to take care of us
but instead the crown is Crown Royal and you love it, love the burn down your throat,
something to keep you alive something to keep you awake but aren’t the two just one of the same anyway?
What is each day but a dream if automation takes you over rides you out like a machine and pushes 100110101.
So I ask you,
I ask you to listen to the words and the voice,
swim down the river any way you want just get your feet wet because living on dry land is living in fear
But more importantly I ask me
I ask me to do what I asked you to do, but how can I trust me to do what I told you to do when I hardly connect the concept of we and have used it but once in my work, though I am no different than you!
Because what are we if not all the same?
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
.
Tapioca sky,
feel the knife curve
like a Moon-hook,
wrenching a tourmaline ****
into hallucinating gums,
ritualised in immortal agony.
Lemon clouds,
see the portrait smile
like a nightmare,
feasting on famine entrails,
of sacrificed words,
scything off the tongue.
© Pagan Paul (2017)
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC