"gurgled" poems
30
Adrift! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?
So Sailors say—on yesterday—
Just as the dusk was brown
One little boat gave up its strife
And gurgled down and down.
So angels say—on yesterday—
Just as the dawn was red
One little boat—o’erspent with gales—
Retrimmed its masts—redecked its sails—
And shot—exultant on!
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What is a wet cat called?
"Stupid"
That's what the fish gurgled
That's what they laughed,
There bubbles of ridicule
Burst on my submerged ****
I'm glad none took a bite, they
Were meant as lunch, but a wash
Was all I had.For they were but a snack,
A meal to be had, but I was the
Last laugh, as cats and water don't
Mix like fish and dry land.
I'm glad there memory fades, and
Doesn't last, for how could I keep
This a secret, that a cat out played
By fish in a bowl who got the last laugh.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
(Early Mornings)
It is 4:10 AM
Here i am, facing you...
Haven't showered...haven't brushed...haven't gurgled
Too early to look...but, i could not resist seeing
This person with disheveled hair
Eyes are not too willing to open
Avoiding the uncertainty surfacing...slowly but surely
Making itself known, this morning so early...
An empty shell, is what i could see
A looming nonentity...
No coffee yet, but, the eyes already speak
You don't answer, your looks are so bleak
That is how you tell me i am stubborn
But i've been this way since birth...so torn
You tell me, i am just in denial
In front of you, it is like, i am on trial
But, i am just a mortal
Maybe we are both tired
How can we ever go back to being inspired?
Maybe you'd rather shatter into pieces...like i would,
I'd carefully gather your shards...would you gather mine, if you could?
Now, later, tonight, tomorrow...we always face each other
There are days, when i look at you, you make me smile, i feel better!
But, most times, i hate the reflections, they make me glare
And i so despise the thoughts that ensue...i counter your stare
..... I close my eyes, with a plea,
A blink could not erase, the images that i see..
I have never wanted separation
And yet, Fate brought me here, in isolation
You're my silent pal...my silent witness
You say nothing when i become senseless
I leave you in the morning
I come home from work in the evening
And i find you still here... on this wall
Welcoming me home...where i just sit, or stall
Faint jazzy sounds comfort me
A few hours rest...late at night...i sleep...i am free
Then, again, the alarm ruins the stillness of the moment
Robs the dawn of its precious silence
And i rise...to drown anew in despondency...in self pity,
Or is this lunacy?
All i see is gray...and black
Be it dawn...or dusk.
If ever i surrender
I'd be swamped with the stark truth, the reflections you offer
...this can't be a facade,
...in front of you, it's just too bad
I am
U n m a s k e d...
....I am weak, powerless...i crawl
Over and over, i struggle not to fall,
Over and over, i look at you... but, just the same..i fall.
(January 22, 2015)
Sally
Copyright May 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
another
smothered lover
in the Hollywood hills
unbag the bottle
crack the seal
oh the appeal
of intake
for the sake
of intoxication
so meek and unique
in gurgled screams
a pixie in the hand of a king
compelled
to discretely
capture the beauty
in eternity
expelled
i just felt
i had to nest a shell
and befell
clearing her residual
flirtatious signals
even in the squirms
and even in the squeals
even though i know
she yearns
to be hooked by her gills
dragged through landfills
in a projected field
where she would yield
and kiss me.
i'm gonna pretend
to love her
as i tenderly
shove her
in the river
of our love
take her under
my loving thunder
and plunder her
when drugged
dazed in her wonder
i hold her under
from above
if only for a moment
we locked eyes in love
she fit me like glove
remnants
disposed of
in a rug
posed so beautifully
for the smack
hack and rip
one pretty *****
dumped
in an irrigation ditch
triumphed
our wordless
relationship
its over *****
move on with it
in the mouths
of varmints
oh
charming
as im clicking *****
on key chains
sticking misfits
with loose lips
usually homeless
decoys
here to destroy
nothing
in my twisted ploy
to employ
maximum points
conjoint
my addictive anger
to something a little stranger
im going to dangle
her entrails
in front of her eyes
while i'm bangin her
shes looking so surprised
from every camera angle
the mangled piece of ****
what a lamo
hypnotized
in the passing of life
in the
blood
the ***
the ****
and the knife
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
*Fished the mild sun from the pond
In waters soothing let my legs float
The ripples gurgled
Soaking slowly the air tender
Floating phrases I sent with rays and ripples,
Sending away boats of sorrows
Bringing back harmony in days that dribble
When fished the mild sun
From the pond*
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Thick dirt matted fur, A warning snarl from between razor sharp teeth, Head lowered to the forest floor, littered with brown leaves, and fallen branches, eyes glowing with a beckoning challenge, hair raised, ears perked, senses alert,
This wolf will not back down, a threat obvious,
As the hunter points the gun at the snarling snapping wolf, hiding behind his man made power, but tonight this hunter will fall, and will not rise again, from behind, the wolfs mate emerges from the foliage, teeth exposed and a determined sway in her pursuit, with a hurried lunge, the hunter swirls, a bang in the nights air,
A gurgled scream, a agony filled howl,
The wolfs mate lay twitching, holding onto her last few breaths, muzzle to muzzle, they lay together,
An alpha and his dying female,
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and ***** and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To *** they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!
I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
2.2k
Everyone,
To begin.
We have no choices,
Depending on gurgled voices
Recognized in utero.
Trust radar's not activated,
Despite the life experiences
Of our carriers.
White collars
Dig for gold
Wearing masks and gloves;
So we rely on eyes
Despite the hunger
Behind the disguise.
We are tied to swivel chairs
In block buildings
And asked to trust
As they notice the dirt
Beneath our nails
Ripe-red for pulling.
They want the correct answer,
Not the right one.
Love partnerships
Are unstable vessels
At best.
We secure trust
In disposable
Jilted pirate chests
Waiting for discovery
In teary depths.
We find refuge
In our children,
Though we notice
Eyes roll and shift
As we age and drift.
In whom do we trust?
In the unborn
Who will
Live by our words,
And define the world
We leave in trust.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
A white star born in the evening glow
Looked to the round green world below,
And saw a pool in a wooded place
That held like a jewel her mirrored face.
She said to the pool: “Oh, wondrous deep,
I love you, I give you my light to keep.
Oh, more profound than the moving sea
That never has shown myself to me!
Oh, fathomless as the sky is far,
Hold forever your tremulous star!”
But out of the woods as night grew cool
A brown pig came to the little pool;
It grunted and splashed and waded in
And the deepest place but reached its chin.
The water gurgled with tender glee
And the mud churned up in it turbidly.
The star grew pale and hid her face
In a bit of floating cloud like lace.
1.6k
they stole it!
mama cried.
it was a gift from Lolo.
we tried to comfort her
with our rough touch and
awkward hugs but
the tears rolled
and mama lay still.
then the baby came in
Lolo, Lolo,
he gurgled.
you want to see Lolo?
let's go visit Lolo,
mama said.
the baby will never see Lolo.
i cried.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
Watching you these days
Is like watching a snake bite victim
As his bulging eyes glaze
First a general malaise, then no hope of being saved.
The serpent's fangs injected venom
Deep into your veins and then the fear set in,
The anger penetrated your consciousness,
Pulse forcing poison, cutting off oxygen.
Higher and higher, your heart rate
Makes the venom strangle sooner,
Squeezing your heart in its burning hand,
This is the serpent's last revenge for you not being her man.
She sneers as she strangles
Surreptitiously from the inside of your chest.
Soon your lungs have deflated,
And your struggling heart is compressed.
All I know now is that I need to find,
A new heart for you, so I offer up mine.
I cut open my chest as my lungs begin seizing,
Extract my last gift and place it in your hands, bleeding.
But little did I know, I was a moment too late,
Because then in your eyes I saw you had accepted your fate.
You gasped your last breath, and I gurgled out mine.
The serpent has won. This is not the first time.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 3:34 PM UTC
Our thoughts of time travel
burnt-up when Junior
sang The Blues.
Foreign creature.
***** voodoo muppet.
His spaniel’s moan,
a call to mud,
digging deep like
“woo-woo-woo”
Smacking the past in the chin,
he dipped a laden lead melon
in a barrel of black molasses.
A slow lowering,
tender sinew slackened.
Unclawed-
the orb traversed his finger tips
nicking his nails on the way earthward.
The black drink parts then
floods back where it once was,
coating the cold round load
as it sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.
Junior gurgled in slow-mo
dipped his Gibson
and stirred the stew,
made the black brew dribble over
the barrel’s shoulders
and puddle in the thick sticky
corners and cracks of
the Juke’s oak planks.
He fished it out then
-bladaplowplow-
-WHAP!!-
split that melon in half,
no knife, they used the trap,
then Junior took his break
to take a nap
in Baton Rouge.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
RECORD: 2 + 2 = 5
FROGMAN: RaiDIhO HEAD
***** Wonka: ... There's no Hearthly way of knowing
Which way they are growing.
There's no knowing where they're toe-ing.
Mr. Salt: [weakly echoing] Toe-ing...
***** Wonka: Or which way thought streams'a'flowin.
Is it braining, is it storming?
Is a braining-storm a'blowin'?
[sharp rasp] ***** Wonka: Not a speck of light is showing
So the anger must be growing
Are the fires of passion a'glowing?
Is the grimsly leader mowing?
Yes! The anger must be growing
'Cause the toe-ers keep on throwing
[practically stcreaming] ***** Wonka: And they're certainly not showing
Any sign that they are slowing!
[lets out a high-pitched, almost unHearthly stcream]
Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen: Throw!... the Hearth Switch!
eyeGore: [shocked] Not the Hearth Switch!
And, while sparks flew across the slab,
The Number 5, with lies and tame,
Came whiffling through the Tulgey Lab,
And burbled as it came!"
-- Lewis Carroll
Suzy's: It halted,
and it gurgled The QCuloween's Trademark Seal,
"I'm just Around 5 foot 9, and weigh a buck ninety-fine!"
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Inbetween addresses
Inbetween floors
And hospitality
And no mailbox - can I use yours?
The cellphone is dead
Prospects unknown and yet retired
Extra people dot the landscape
Fierce and unfuckable
They wander like nomads
Free and untouchable.
By commerce or City Hall
People *******
Breeding with no decline.
Swallow words while laughing at it
The System strokes and dies in gurgled spit
All these people laughing
While Earth dies in the midst of it.
The tolerance of trash has gone
They're getting awfully serious now
Choose your planet and stick with it
Your life is a whimsy with ants on it.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
*i found a home
in his hollow heart
the walls creaked
while i slept
i found a home
in his narrow neck
the air ducts gurgled
while i slept
the air whirled
and the noises got louder
while i slept in
my hollow home*
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Reverberation hit's the auditorium
Wailing notes and key's, guitar, piano
Chord's splash sound to the crowd
Leaving traces of burnt trails
Like the neighborhood crematorium.
Girdle, gurgled amplified effect's
Some do it for the love, other's for a check,
Fifty musician's. One stage to be the attention
Microphone's and xylophone tones rock out
To jam overtaking, to rock and blues ripping.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Twin babies were talking
Snuggled up in the womb
Heads bumping, legs tangling
‘You’re taking my room’;
‘Uh-uh,’ said the other
‘It is you in my space;
Hey, do you buy into
Life after this place?’
‘Of course,’ said his brother.
‘There is life after birth!
Right now we’re preparing
To live out on earth!’
‘No way,’ said the younger.
‘You will have to agree,
There’s nothing more after--
For what…could it be?’
‘Perhaps,’ said his roomie
‘There is leeway and light;
In here, you’ll admit
It is dark and it’s tight!
And maybe, just maybe
We will walk on our feet;
For all that we know
We will drink and we’ll eat!’
The doubting one chuckled;
‘That’s the utmost absurd,
Nonsensical notion
I ever have heard!
This is all that there is;
This is all that we need!
We’re too wobbly to walk
And the cord gives our feed!’
Then shaking his head
With a thumb-sucking snort
‘There’s no life after birth;
The cord is too short!’
His big brother held fast
With a kick to his rear;
‘I think there is something
That’s diff’rent from here!’
‘Fat chance,’ said the younger
‘There’s no more than this sac.
And what proof do you have?
No one’s ever come back!’
‘Perhaps they don’t want to.’
Responded his brother.
‘Perhaps, they’re caressed in
The arms of their mother!
Perhaps she is singing
A lullaby tune
In a soft rocking chair
‘By a big harvest moon!’
The younger twin gurgled
And wrinkled his brow
‘If there is a mother,
Then where is she now?
A mother’s a folk tale,
A legend of lore
Please read my lips brother
This is it, nothing more!’
The big brother scolded,
‘Stop making a fuss!
If there was no mother,
There wouldn’t be us!
She’s all around us
It’s in her that we be;
I’m sure there’s a next life,
And mother’s the key!
She’ll tend to our hunger
Our tears and our thirst.
I already love her
And speak to go first!’
The younger one let out
A tantrum boohoo
‘You always go first;
I’m telling mother on you!’
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
Incense smoke billows into the rays of fading sunlight
from the nostrils of the stone Buddha head
sitting on the wooden bookcase
which sits in front of the only downstairs window
that looks into the cul-de-sac
I stand in the spreading fog
listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers
over the radio static
on knock-off studio headphones.
My cousins are outside, breaking up dirt to be shoveled in the morning
and I can hear the dull thudding
of the *** against the large rocks
above both the calm silence of the house
and the semi-gurgled music playing in my left ear.
I turn around to look at the kitchen;
the counters are clean
so are the dishes
and a small plate of freshly baked cookies
is sitting in the middle of the island.
I walk from the carpet of the living room
to the warm tile of the kitchen
and the scents around me change;
The overpowering smell of the swirling mist
being overpowered by chocolate chip cookies
fresh baked bread
and homemade spaghetti sauce.
I smile as I stand in the middle of the house
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
I mentioned Monty Hall
In what I thought was casual conversation.
Maybe I interjected,
...yeah, like Monty Hall.
But still,
A woman taking a drink of ***** gurgled,
A fella rolling a spliff snickered;
Even the dart thrower stopped;
They chorused in unison, Who?
**** Monty Fecking Hall.
Door #'s 1, 2, 3?*
The few listening were confused.
Maybe it was the tone I used.
One face had a glimmer,
Almost a gesture of recognition
Tracing his pierced eyebrow.
*Really!
Monty Fecking Hall.*
One day, in the not too distant future,
They'll hear,
What's a Fecking Jedi?
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
Sweet, sterile, smooth, smothering
Epithelial aerobics abound
Cells curl and desiccate like tips of leaves past their prime -
Just give me one second.
I now live authentically, I say to myself
My heart is in the mountains
Despite words gurgled from my sweaty face in the swirling splendid solitude of darkness –
“Help!” is what I mean to say, but as I break the barrier between liquid and atmosphere
It is the air that chokes my breath -
Just one moment.
Bacterial bile bubbles up
At the sight of
Dirt – contamination – fear
Everywhere.
In pores
Out of pores
Under nails –
No, no more nails now –
Stuck deep inside my skin –
That no brush’s bristles can ever scrub away
Still, I try – God knows I try! –
Skin raw and red and deserving.
They’re in my wounds, too –
Salts and chemicals I choose to douse
But it only eats deeper
There is a ragged red hole in my skin now -
Just give me one second.
Jaw tight, teeth ache, head pounds
Hands dry despite the fatiguing humidity
So it helps to see the crimson creeping up the flag of my disposition
I like this proof of biological clarity,
Like rainwater gliding up the capillaries of a plant
In reverse -
So just hold on one moment.
There was a time when I felt truly free,
I know it in my heart of hearts.
I was free once
Certainly, I was free
I was free
I was truly free -
So just give me one second.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
"Everyone feels their emotions in a different way"
my mother had tried to explain this to me on many occasions but I never got it
It wasn't until I started loving you that I realized it wasn't so much a way, but a place
I feel everything in my chest
Like when I first knew I liked you
We were doing our chemistry homework and the smell of your skin blocked me from thinking
You told me, "I'm glad we met."
I felt an overwhelming sensation of
joy, excitement, nerves , potential, trepidation, wonder, and hope
I felt it rise to the bottom of my throat and gurgled like a stream right after the rains in May
Finally it overflowed into the eloquent and graceful words of
"oh ya.....shit"
Or the first time you told me you loved me
I swallowed the words down into my chest where they bounced off each rib like a xylophone
Until I spat out the melody of
"Holy Crap, I love you too."
Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still feel them ringing
Or the last time we talked
When you said you didn't think you could give me the time you thought I deserved,
When I knew you were saying you didn't love me anymore
When you grabbed my ego by her black hair and slit her throat
Her blood dripped down my trachea and into my lungs
And I stood there drowning in my own murdered self confidence
Until I spewed out the blood soaked works **** you" onto your memory
And every night since then
I can feel my ribs caving in on themselves, puncturing my insides
The same ribs that were once the waterbed for my stream of emotion
The same ribs that used to be the keys of a xylophone
And I lie there and can breathe out nothing but the absence of you
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Now for too long drunk in your past,
dunked in your past
and you know I can't swim,
thrashing like an epileptic puppet
as each wave gurgled over me.
I guess you were a magnet,
hurling me toward you like
a cricket ball in the air,
except I was never caught,
the shiny maroon sphere
nowhere near your fingers.
Had to go and ruin it,
spoil it, but there wasn't an 'it',
a malleable object
for us to **** and poke
into our chosen shape.
You can't swim back either I suppose,
for the city screams
at you like an ambulance
and my head bobs above the surface,
I see silhouettes
move no nearer, no further.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
New Notices
of the others like me
Us;
continuously reincarnated creeps
The Whiskey woman
w/ nothing
but a bourbon banshee scream
the sufferer
of love
her death
an ****** odor
The thin blond man
He can't see in the dark
He sees forever
him
the image:
death of the old world
Oh how it aged
its bone turning grey
as it began to decay
Myself
The rugged beast
lithe and light
lingering on the edge
of transition
yearning
to bring them
to the new age
inviting them through
healing the social
feminized dysfunction
w/ my smoke gurgled breath
The hypnotized flower
w/ wide dark pupils
so feminine
so beautiful
the master of harmony
reaching for the cosmos
and they are content
to let her tune them in
to Gods radio
We've gathered
just like in the past
when Uranus chills with Pluto
We will realize our goal
w/ scholarly
perfect precision
We bring you wisdom
w/ our tragic vision
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
being insulted by someone
of a trans-
status quo
classification
will never be enough
to mind, had i the pairing
to a higher tier of socialite endeavour -
to be debased with a fragrance of
a misuse of language
on a level of comprehension will
always place me steadied with placards
of 'hello, my name is Samauel'
well hello Samuel..
boiled herrings pan-fried readied for
a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7,
boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 -
an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees'
worth of gurgled laughter -
readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut -
and we're too the readied ones
annex to the molars that might be considered
the chewing apparatus should
we not have juiced with bites as if a load's
worth of hammering was taken place:
chewing as if hammering, imagine
the cranium gush extract - it would be
like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea!
flaky shit-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to;
well, there was the leather chair to mind
in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing
a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment -
mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary,
I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon
vocabulary to suppress the populace
of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known
as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained
as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow,
an extension of England, even with parliament
it was a Basildon of northern Essex...
scots among the multitude of accents usurped from
pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC