"gutteral" poems
I attempted skinny dipping once. I was on a beautiful beach, with a former lover. I had a concoction of colourful cocktails coursing through me, too many that I couldn’t have completed that sentence, at the time, if I had tried!
I felt good, amazing even! I giggled and skipped, I breathed in the warm air, I glided towards the sea, I could smell the air getting saltier by the second, I could taste the ocean.
As I pulled at them, my clothes left me, They fell away with grace and floated off into the night. I am so feminine so free I thought! I almost felt as if when I reached the shore line my legs would leave me, a beautiful tail would form!
I would be a mermaid, I would dive in and it would be magic, I would splash and laugh, the moonlight would dance on the water, making my hair sparkle! I would glance back at the land and at my love, he would be raw with emotion, sad for my leaving, wonderment for the sensual, ****** siren I had become!!
Instead.
On the way to the water, I kicked a small rock, fell to the floor like a sack of bricks and let out a noise I can only describe as a deep and gutteral mechanical whine.
As I lay there, disheveled and naked on the sand I could hear in the distance, the heavy laughter of my lover.
I gained some bruising, I lost a toenail and my dignity.
I havent attempted skinny dipping since.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
A whippoorwill &
some mourning doves,
the gutteral croak
of the wood stork,
chasing squirrels,
a dying cricket or two.
Who knew
the splendid call
of a hawk circling above
could be such a sweet sound,
part of the greatest symphony
ever composed
& played for us
by the master,
conducting
beautiful harmonies
from the pulpit
above.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
You are the weather of my soul
My fingers are trembling ships racing
Trying to reach an island
Where the seabirds play
In the light of a never ending sunset
Why now,
Are the storms raging silent?!
That I can see the tumultuous lightning
And feel the rain as it pounds onto my skin
But the gutteral growl of thunder
The instinct imparted from the crackling sky does die
And my ears listen to the sound of the beginning
My greatest fear
Silence
When there was nothing at all
And nothing again
In the end
You are the weather of my soul
The way a humid ninety-degree day invites the rain
And my fingers are song birds flying
Trying to reach the nest
A place to call home
My songbird fingers
Your skin
I can feel your pain
Still
I can't hear your voice
Silence is my greatest fear
Oh, my jaded love
My sunshine day
My storm
Encompassing me
My flood
Silence is my greatest fear
So talk to me!
Even if what is said
Is nothing I want to hear
You are nothing more than everything
The weather of my soul
My love
And even if its raining stinging drops of violent pain
Where you are
I want to hear it
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
I forgot part of the question
what was it?
Learning history your
she was too young, so was I
need a good grade...am at the coffee shop...drank the coffee....ate the cookie
wasted time on FB the question WAS
It pulls on me and someone puts on Death Metal and there's this gutteral gravely synthesized voice
and (what was the que--)
being pulled, resisting, but it's too strong
and I'm in
floating in memory....the question
to answer I have to slit my chest open and let some of the contents run free
as I ... it wasn't all books and pencils and how dare you ask such a question
my life wasn't a hallmark card
she was only 10 and she was my best friend so that means I was only 10
My learning history--how can I even think...we had a psychic bond we did a test
and it showed and she was a little chubby with golden skin and
her father was creepy and he left out his copies of Hustler for me to see and
told me beauty was in the eye of the beholder
but to **** a ten year old that is vile
I remember...a day or so later, going over to her house where she showed me
what she brought home from the hospital
(chalk and teachers, and winning jelly beans for knowing state capitals)
and she had coca cola in her fridge and all the latest appliances from Sears because
her father worked there, like a push button phone and a washer/dryer with a digital display
and clocks, too, like that and when she told me what happened it was like
being electrocuted painlessly for about three hours and I had to leave
because...books. drawing things and teacher don't give a **** about anyone
and today, children are much more protected and people talk about things
but then
(my learning history? I remember desks, and boards and being nervous)
and how can a grown man take a ten year old he knows and tell her
they were going to find someone and instead
stop the van, just looked like her father's van
(today we are doing long division)
demand she goes into the back of the van and take off her pants
and stick his tongue in her mouth
and then kick her out
bleeding so she ran to a vet and they called the ambulance
(and she never came back to school)
and I started piling on more clothes, layers.
You can't show those ... what is happening to you
and my learning history
I can first give you this
caked in blood and no, it's no longer bleeding, thought it was
I have unearthed something
there was something in the way and
that's why I couldn't answer the question
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
settled in a glass grown vineyard,
the sleep-addled living room
door with gutteral hinges, making friends
with pall mall smoke rings
and let ghost blood spill all over
on couches and our moncler's
wake up to the sound of you crying
on the staircase feeling the scratchy carpet
through blankets on the bed
like my heart is teething, hurting again
he picked me up and lay me there
like you once did except you've been dead
for five years
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
I'm perfectly fine
spewing my gutteral English,
but guys can dream.
How I'd love to speak nasally,
pronunciate just a bit
of high-Francaise.
Bonjour.
******
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
.
In mid airs, dimly,
The ****** birds cluck,
Only flutter useless wings
For they are grounded,
Nor are they beautiful,
O how they feign singing,
Gutteral cluckings only fit
For predators to stalk,
Lame ugly birds prefer
The company of other
Lame, ugly, groundy birds,
With no things, ever, to sing,
Only to preen and beak
For scraps under trees,
Where winged songbirds
Lit by the flighty sun
Do truly sing.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Restless
Wounded
Weary
Wild
Working
Waisting
Wasteful
Vile
Hunting
Hurting
Hungry
Guile
Soothing
Smothered
Sinful
Tried
Wouldn't
Willful
Could
Repeat
Shouldn't
Wouldn't
Revel
Met
Wonder
Wander
Meddled
Spawned
Common
Shuttered
Humble
Harmed
Careful
Calculated
Course
Drawing
Waiting
Last
Recourse
Homage
Engorge
Gutteral
Gainful
Grieving
menial
Spew
Dispatched
Dispassionate
Great
Aloof
Merry
Spoof
Wander
Willing
Youth
Cancer
Crevasse
Comfort
Pain
Cuckold
Credit
***
Steward
Swear
Sally
Forth
Slither
Sully
Glum
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Banshee screams echo in the icy, crackling gloom
Warm, freshly pumped blood spatters a pale moon
reflected in dilated pupils
whose freeze-frame focus seems fixed on steam
from that memorable last breath
slowly dissipating
Menacing, gutteral snarls
Tarmac demoniac sniffs her ****
snaps drooling fangs
at a scythe wielding spectre
snatching stunned
souls from twitching corpses
Now she packs them in pecking order
Splintered crystals of falling glass
mournfully ****** ****** the last post
Distraught, upended armco barriers
hold their freeze-frame salute
and Babylon thrums a bit louder
May I see your license please
Sep 28, 2009
Sep 28, 2009 at 11:32 AM UTC
Prolificus
standing on the altar
of mankind
his words ran like a fountain
professing his knowledge of nothing
but he could not stop the flow
on anything and everything
was it the sounds of his gutteral voice
even though he rarely spoke
above a whisper
that attracted the crowd
or the fact that they could not
understand his illogical logic
of rhymes and reasons
that kept them in a trance
of mystical embrace
the unification of spurious doubt
crossed their faces
and he danced and twirled
and flung forth proverbial adverbs
of dubious distinction
battered by the chatter
his lips flapping in the breeze
of what is and
what should never be
unending
would you please
Gomer LePoet....
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
A soft touch
Slides across the skin
Chill bumps rise
As belly quivers within
Expert hands used perfectly
Heighten desire
Every touch more exciting than the last
Body heats up like a fire
Lips press to the silken flesh
Velvet tongue delves out
Washing the skin almost
A moan escapes loudly
Teeth nip at skin
Nails scrape the surface
Buds tighten to a sensitive nub
Lips find and kiss
******* deeply
Knocking the wind from the lungs
Back arching
Hands cling to the head
Gasping as body grows hotter
Cries grow louder
Hands move faster
Lips meet lips
Moves grow demanding
Flesh to bare flesh
Growls mix with moans
Bodies entwine
Tension Grows tighter
Movements get faster
Heat engulfs them
Volcanic force surrounds
Electricty surrounds
Crackling and hissing
Shrill voice piercing the ears
Gutteral moans vibrate ear hairs
Finally shaft enters well
Nectar surrounds it delicately
Muscles squeeze and release
Steel hits harder and deeper
Friction increases
Sweat beads on surface
Honey flows against the tight rosebud
Fingers twist and release the plesaure spot
Perfect rhythm
Increases to a frantic dance
Changing position
Depth unhead of obtained
Whimpers, Whines then Cries
Moans, ahhs, and Groans
Squishing slaps heard repeately
Mouth mash and bite
Timing almost right
It is on its way
Winding tighter
Growing hotter
Suddenly it comes
Body hammers quick and hard
Then pauses and and slams again
Milky white meets clear and thick
Panting cries reach high pitch
Waves of passion overcome all
Collapsing together
Entwined forever
Lovers thats what they are
Now and forever
Never very far from the other
Love You See
Passion
Bliss
Love the best of them All
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 12:34 AM UTC
just close your eyes sweetie
take a breath to remember
for you will never open them again
take in the smell of the grass
the color of the sky
but ignore the mushroom cloud penetrating nearby
forget the mask on your face
forget your hazy gaze
but remember the lone flowers swaying sickly
awaiting for thier end to come
remember your tree
whose leaves are falling
as if it was fall
yet it is spring
remember your dog, not knowing the impending doom
who still sits by your side and waggs his tail
looking up to you
remember the smiles on your mothers face
the laughter from her throat
but forget the solemn look on her face
as she gazes into the distance
seeing the wave of destruction approach
remember your father as the man he was
not the coward who fled
you can only remember the best my love
for if you dont
you will not live on in your head
remember only the good things about you dear
your wide hips
slender curves
well fed cheeks
not the scars that reach across your skin
scratching to get out from inside
remember the smiles you had on your face
not the tears gliding down with little grace
remember your gutteral laughter as a beautiful thing
not something to be ashamed of my love
think not of your younger sibling
still an infant in your mothers arms
for lost children are to be mourned
think not of what they could have done
just think of thier cute cheeks
think of them as now, not could be, not could have been
time is running out my love
walk, calm and slow to your bed
looking back at the place you call home
and take your teddy
clutched in your tight grip
and lay in the bed with your mother
tuck the covers up to your chin
and close your eyes
for now you may allow your tears to fall
and to curl into your mother
your infant sibling between you two
remember now as just a nap
a nap forever
to never wake up from
close your eyes my dear
do not let the cloud moving at incredible speeds scare you
for it is just a dense, deadly fog
your eyes close
as the grip on teddy tightens
your mothers grip on the two of you become desperate
and as your teardrop hits the pillow
you descintigrate
into the unknown
but my dear
you can always hold my hand
and remember
i will guide you through oblivion
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
there's a pain in this heart -
it won't let me sleep,
it won't let me weep,
and it's so ******* deep
that all the insides still creep
each time i see you,
with my eyes
or my mind...
and when it does let me cry,
there's a moan in that throat -
it's a gutteral growl
it's a wail from within
it's the yowl of all wolves;
it's the deepest of wounds...
but you'll never know that;
so i do hope, at least;
but if you want to be safe -
just a hundred per cent -
don't look into these eyes;
they are never my allies...
(c)kRu, 17.10.-09.11.11
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
Suffocating in this state of mind
Like a grain of soil
On the wall of a
perpetually filling
Bottomless pit.
All stale
and collapsing mud.
I can’t breathe
And it is dark in here
In this silence
In this wet and stifling
***** blanket
Of thin smiles
That veil
filth and dirt.
Gritty, I can taste discontent
( restlessness stirred, agitated, weeping)
Like a thorn in the side
Of this torn and invisibly stitched mouth.
My fingers bleed
And doubt seeds
Vicious weeds inside
An already
sick and nauseated mind.
There is hurt in here
And pain
And the bittersweet unspoken
refrain
Of one lost in their
Own directionless
Domain.
These walls I built, alone.
That stare back careless
And greet me daily with their
Cold embrace.
In this darkness, alone,
I, us, we,
cry.
Small children,
Whimpering in this feeling
of self chafed friction.
Whining,
each whine followed by
Gutteral, viscous, primal mutterings
These madman
Me, myself and i
Locked in a tunnel
Without light
It is cold and we want so badly
To relight the fire
I
claw at the fortification
I have erected
Around myself
Then bleed some more
Until the walls in front of me turn from
la mort noire to
rouge de sang
Sitting here
In this
Abyss.
Blinded by the inability to see
The incapacity to feel
Anything but the feeling of failure.
This powerlessness to heal,
All sealed up and drowning
in my private pool of mud.
Still it is dark in here,
And wet,
And bloodied
And brooding.
The cold walls are soothing
And the veil still acts
To conceal
The extent of filth
Scourging up the walls
Of this inaudible and bidding cave.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
Crying,
deep, gutteral, gnarled crying,
ugly and cracked,
broken and chaotic,
forced up by my heart [sense of betrayal],
lodges itself in my throat.
Left so unjustly done,
stood up and abandoned,
because it was hung from a rope and left to rot.
For twenty three hours and forty five minutes.
Taunted.
And yet,
it feels
nothing.
My paper heart can feel Nothing at all.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
On the day of worship the Temple filled.
It had been three years since the Messiah left, and nobody had forgotten.
The Priests of Tek dawned their red robes
and Father John Misty took his place at the altar, his heart heavy yet full of chagrin.
He clears his throat,
*my fellow children of yonder Year,
my sisters of Sand,
my brothers of Dust,
my lovers of Greed,
here now what I say,
for I speaketh not.*
*for now speaks The Shrike,
for now speaks The Lord of Atonement,
your God of Pain,
your mystifying Excellence of Death.*
Father Misty reached into his black robe and drew forth a small child.
What life may have been left in the infant was destroyed when Father John Misty stuck the unmoving body onto the red spike protruding from the altar, the spike entering the body through the **** and reaching an inch from the soft skull.
Father John Misty's voice took on a lower town, yet softer, not forgiving, yet all knowing.
*This child has a name.
This child is Jesus Christ.
This child will grow as if alive.*
And before the rough congregations eyes the child began to grow on the spire. The limbs first lengthened, than filled out. The child's chest expanded and the head grew bigger. Father Misty then hoisted him off of the spire, and set him, bleeding, before the congregation. The body began to shift, jerky movements before the skin appeared to bubble. A low gutteral sound began to emanate from now full grown man. He lifted his torso and head up and looked at each member of The Temple of Ten individually.
He spoke
*I am your savior,
I am unfruitful death,
I am unwarranted pain,
I am money being cheated from the desperate man,
I am the brains taken from a lobotomite,
I am the destruction of a hurricane,
I am as dead as the gasoline you **** for,
I am as dead as you are.*
*I am Jesus Christ,
this is not the first time you've seen me,
this will not be the last.
You are allowed to die now.*
And they did.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
I don't know why
you say these platitudes of goodness
Simply repeating the same thing
over and over
broken, scratching records
skipping needles
and hearts
You're not coming from a place of a pure soul and a beautiful spirit
I don't know what it is
if it's indifference,
jealousy, envy...
wishful thinking?
Well our boat is sinking
A perfect cliche
"say what you mean and mean what you say"
I can't do ambiguous
I hope you find peace with your demons
angry, gutteral enemies
dragging you to hell
at night
not kicking and screaming
you cannot find the light
from a place of selfish
egotistical narcissism and intentions to only help yourself
Good luck Chuck.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
What kind of Sin dares Usher in
A devious man to lick his lips, gutteral gasping beneath his Breath
The Wonton Musing oozes a delicious Decay,
The Poured Out drooling, his Power Pulsing, A Foaming Fantasy Power Tripping
~to Control the Spiritual World
at his Will & Command?
Here's what he imagined:
Biblical Bribery.
Blasphemous Forgery
Who ever has the money or an Unbridled hand can piecemeal a Story for premeditated Zeal,
To make for a more attractive Appeal
Why need such profiled Idoltry?
To be Present
at the Moment of such a Powerful Man's Revelation, Spoken for and too You
To be blessed
with ears to hear Him
To worship
At the Alter of Salt
A pillar miraculous,
To Worship Within, in Him, beside Him.
A Scribe Sweats
To write furiously away
for later reference, Thus
Attention is spared and the Sermon Deemed for Organic Lackluster
**"Scratch That
Oops
Edit
Kindly Repeat
Didn't quite catch That
Delete
Revise
Rephrase
Two or One spaced per Sheet?
The strain hurts my Eyes
When can We Break for Feast?
Are We Done for the Day?"**
Can this be a possiblity
Can a misdirected, Unsupervised
Scrupulous Individual
Not quietly Misquote
The Word trianguled from Mouth to Pen to Paper?
The Words We have come to Believe In??
You Tell Me.....
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
i've created me a monster
i built him and i set him free
i've made a man-like monster
i breathed electrical breaths into his body
i've created me a monster
and he hates me for it so...
now, my creature- he is lost
wild and decaying out there
only by my mark on his skin
can you know that he is mine
and his strange gutteral sounds
they desparingly resound
from walls all around
in my head abound....
what have i done?
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
Aimless in wander brain chases feet
a path this never was before
Break all the borders slave of the street
tonight you sail the boat ashore
Fortune is written ye who believe
may find it in a light dessert
Bakers of cookies aim to deceive
tonight you stick your head in dirt
****** in practice gutteral mind
to take the queen of clubs to bed
Or else just wander what can you find
in the recesses of road head
Cruise ship grounded the ticket lied
never got to Georgia strait
In missed encounters potential trips
some company with to vacate
Break all the borders slave of the street
or sit alone and count the days
Aimless in wander brain chases feet
silence kills in many ways
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Let them spill their worth
Of beloved righteousness
Let them soak the soil of such vanity
Let their hollow hearts decry the stars
Where death devours this very breath
Let loose the whaling of hidden drums
And the trumpets that sound from depths above
Let agony free through the fires that burn our air and drink our waters dry
Let them cry at the feet of nothing
Cry of nothinnnng
Noth
innng
As it drains them dry
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
my chest is as smoke, the atoms
are too far apart
from
each
other, and otherwise
like a half-knit-yarn-scarf
fingers dug in and pulled, and
pulled
until the knots all
hung loose
rattling, rattling
there was a nothing there
and i was nothing for
more than a moment.
her voice on the line
was the fog that seeped
around my mind
still seeps up from
the grating now
I am flat, crumbling
stone
loosely in the ground now
pelted by rain and cold
I am cold fever chill
I am the hollow, drifting
gutteral and weakened howl
of the wind, whipping
now languidly, now violently at
my father's tombstone.
His name is carved out
the open grating between my shoulders
he left this world, woken
in the dead of night
in the pain of death
fading to confusion
to the loss of voluntary
and involuntary function
he raised his arms
opened his mouth soundlessly
and wept wide-eyed
into the frozen-form.
the scene of my absence
is the broken record
the image that haunts
I can picture vividly
the sofa he laid on, the burgundy carpet
the bad-body smells
of death, and incontenance
the flashing lights
of a too-late ambulance
the echoes and shadows and smells
clung to and possessed the walls, the floor
for months after
the echo of his open mouth
and open eyes, animal
it is a home again now, I think
but
I am a shade of
his fear, his reduction, his
soundlessness.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Harness the sun.
-
I have in my holster
A ball of light
Hold it tightly!
Burn every soul
All are cold,
The world is night.
-
With the power of might
The sun at my side,
(Fearful fearful.)
-
Infinite energy
I have in my holster
The sun of all light
The sun is stinging: I with it's might.
The power I weild is the power of light.
-
It cries for revenge
But I'll not let it go further
I am the matter, the sun in my holster.
-
Scream! Gutteral roar!
The cry of the nations!
The sun in my holster.
Power is power-
My frame unshaken!
In my holster- the infinite sun
The infinite God,
The sun of all suns.
Defense isn't needed
With the sun in my holster
The God I've succeeded, the sun will not smolder
The God I succeed:
The sun in my holster.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
It's ******* humid again outside.
The sweat is dripping,
streaming down my back,
it feels like slippery ants,
powderpuff.
There was a time
when you couldn't wait
to taste my brine.
You'd rip my pants off,
delicately.
You had *****
bigger than most guys,
I loved them
swinging
between your milky thighs.
The gutteral sounds you made
told me you were sunk,
so smitten,
in a dream state.
And when
I tasted our elixir,
you became lost
in another dimension.
Do you hear my calling?
It's ******* humid again outside.
I want to swallow us
whole,
you beautiful holy child
with wicked
sienna eyes.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC