"guzzles" poems
They sit
like the curve of a parabola
facing in.
Though they do not see each other.
He sees only himself
amidst the gore and rot
which once passed as
a picnic lunch.
Pickled spines
and curried thought processes
to name but a few
of the delectables today.
In he reaches,
grabbing handfuls of cured flesh,
and not leaving any time
for chewing.
The yellow fog is syrup
and makes him
heavy-headed.
The trees are old men,
curved backs
and withered from living.
They only want a kind ear
to hear their untold stories of
life, love and death.
Glutton wants food.
he guzzles and guzzles
and never listens to those
who want him to listen.
So he eats,
they cry,
they die
and they are all alone together.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
King Rat gnawed at the piece of wood for to bite and dine!
God's pure name was inscribed upon the battered sign,
But King Rat continued to snack like it was the flesh of freshly caught cod,
What was this then, maybe Rat was God?
Aha, oh no, but along came slinky Mistress Cat!
So quick and nimble was she, up she snapped and gobbled up fat King Rat,
She licked her lips upon a fallen slab of greasy salty lard,
What was this then, maybe Mistress Cat was God?
Aha, oh no, but along came faithful Master Dog!
Away he chased crafty Mistress Cat into the swampy mired bog,
Hardworking Master Dog surveyed his domain and his tail stood up to attention like a rigid rod,
What was this then, maybe Master Dog was God?
Aha, oh no, but along came Chief Wolf!
He bites and shakes hard into the collar of Master Dog, the neck tears like fleecy wool,
Blood ran down Chief Wolf's chin and he smiled with victory as he sat down by the warm coal road,
What was this then, maybe Chief Wolf was God?
Aha, oh no, but along came the Queen of Fire!
Into Chief Wolf she passionately burns, into ashes was he burnt upon her sultry bed of burning pyre,
The gleaming Queen of Fire burned with glowing glory, there was red life yet in her pulsating bud,
What was this then, maybe the Queen of Fire was God?
Aha, oh no, but along came a river of Mighty Water!
The fiery Queen of Fire hisses and fizzles and soon she is nothing more than steam, all slaughtered,
Mighty Water flows vast and rampant, he rules his oceanic valley just like a pea in a pod,
What was then, maybe Mighty Water was God?
Aha, oh no, but along came a pure-hearted Man!
Very thirsty was he and so away he gulps and guzzles the Mighty Water in the glen,
He channels the Mighty Water to quench his dry farmlands, this was indeed a smart farming lad,
What was this then, maybe Man was God?
Aha, oh no, but along went the Man licking a ripe red cherry ****
Into the hallowed building of prayer he does go and gently picks up the Rat bitten name of God,
Down falls the Man upon his knees, he prays, he bows, he silently nods, he wishes his soul was resting in the blissful garden of his beloved God,
What was this then? Maybe...
*God
IS
God!*
©Rangzeb Hussain
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
Words ,
What do you make of it?
So saccharine
So chasmic
Yet
So raw
So excruciating.
That It guzzles your heart bit by bit
Words,
What do you make of it
When you see them caper
As you see your feet in rain
Or when you witness it
Spanking scorn on people’s mind
And forcing them to spend those sleepless night,
Why so confusing are them words?
Why the scent of them arouses a writer’s heart
And becomes a cause or,
An apocalypse.
What do you make of it?
When it pushes you to the apex
Or drags you down to the burning fiasco
And you think it Is fix
Words, that makes schadenfreude
Alive,
Death scary
And life so obsessing?
The base of hopes,
Wings of imagination
The eyes of love
A scent, of imagination
A magic
A poison
A tower so bright
Somewhere in horizon
Words,
So many yet so little
Things to say
But, words are them
What do you make of it?
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Captured there in orange
beneath the old street light
a cloud of breath exhaled
hangs heavy in the night.
Waiting on the 409
has never been this bleak
the fierce wind nips your ear lobe
and ice cold stings your cheek.
I watch you turn your collar up
your back against the bite
one hand on that coffee cup
the other out of sight.
Each morning
getting colder
the forecast is for snow
in fleece and wool you face the frost
and how I'll never know
I see you’re green
my blue faced friend
the green before the fall
you've never been about the perks
it's conscience above all.
The last thing on your mind just now
would be to get a Lynx
traffic is lame
road rage insane
And air pollution stinks.
Don't EVEN get you started
on the SUV
spews out nitrous oxide
and guzzles Texas tea.
Public parking,
another rare find
for what you get,
they rob you blind.
and what they miss
the vandal takes
leave you with migranes
the car alarm makes.
better for all
we all take the train
or one car per family
'stead of one car per brain.
Watching you stand there
with ice crystals forming
I despise all your stubborness
you NEED global warming!
I know you're no girly
my Ever-Ready mate
but my Duracel is waiting
and the 409 is late
I get out of my car
and approach you from the rear
my work cut out, without a doubt
the ice lymric is near
poetic license pending
I call for a herione's ending
like a frozen filet, without word or delay
I can lift you without even bending.
Once inside and thawing
you start in about the gas
I turn down the heat,
but turn up the seat
that's warming up your ****
I'm all for the planet, I tell ya
and doing whatever is best
but for mornings like these
with your jewels in deep freeze
come with and we'll heat up the Quest!
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
A part of her is being eradicated every night
Every time she goes to doze,
The darkness within her guzzles that part
Like a cloud casing the light of moon in the night
She woke up every morning longing for that part
A part of her vivid and memorable yesterday
That leisurely taken away from her
And gradually placing it with emptiness
A day came when darkness utterly frenzied
The diminutive radiance left in her
That day the old her was wholly vanished
Her exquisite self can be found nowhere
She’s alive but living without existence
Felt nothing but pain, emptiness, and loneliness
Those emotions used to be unknown to her
Yet became all she known after that tragic day
Light left her childlike eyes
Brimming with nothing but emptiness
Yet people seen her with overflowing love
Cause she lingered mysterious till the last beat of her heart
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
The pelican’s wings are so wide on the horizon,
He carries the sun on his back as if it were wind.
His big flat feet arch and land,
propped strong and confident on cool metal.
I see him around our little island,
A confident lone traveller.
Never have I seen someone so sure of themselves and their place.
He guzzles his fish, he splashes sapphire water down his feathers,
And every day he lands assuredly on his perch.
Maybe one day I will have my routine,
Land on my perch and enjoy my life.
Until then I’ll watch him,
A part of me burning for such simplicity,
The whole of me happy just to see him again.
May 4, 2024
May 4, 2024 at 1:12 AM UTC
It's a 6 hour
Youtube
Mozart mix
Yes I need my classical fix!
This life
Is some kind
Of tragedy I think
Once I ****** right
In the sink
Wandering here
Wandering there
And who really gives a care
Reading about Camu
And the absurd
I embrace the absurdity
Of it all
And from my Christian perspective
I believe man has had a great fall
From His purpose the Creator intended
So divine
This little light inside
(Im going to let it shine)
The problem is
I just don't care
About the American way
American dollars
Are ****** worthless
Okay!
And so I refuse to work
At some type of job
I think I will sit in my room
And sob
Life is a problem
Don't you know
Some softcore
Pornographic images
On the computer screen
Lustful indulgences
Fail to satisfy it seems
That woman I saw
In That old school 80's ****
What a *****
I wear the same
Sweatshirt
About everyday
Just forget fashion,
Okay?
Shelter, food and water
Is what I need
I am not filled with greed
I don't need the Mercedes SUV
That guzzles gas
Yes indeed, I think I will pass
A nation of consumers
Programmed to consume
We ruin our environment
This will be our doom
If it was up to me
I will drain those
Huge swimming pools
Of every friggin'
Celebrity
Those massive homes
In the Hollywood hills
Waste a ton of H20
California is in
An extreme drought
Don't you know?
And all that space
Is a waste too
Humans ruin their
Natural environment
And this makes me
Quite blue :(
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
In my dream I usually
make it to the bar,
it's a particular bar
an odd bar
It's at the end of the shopping mall
In my dream
just past the book store,
the bar front looks like some
kind of Irish pub
no sign
no windows
oak doors
rock walls
fine finish,
you walk in
your shoes so perfect
with it's fine carpet
of red silk,
to the left of the bar
sit the politicians
the lawyers
the bureaucrats,
they all laugh and spill their drinks
sloppy in corruption
smirks and disgust
powdered ******* noses
glass eyes,
to the right of the bar
is where I sit
and also
sits the average freaks
the 9 to 5's
the norms
the ones that still hold on to a dream
but work to survive,
a dream
for a dream is the only
hope left worth holding onto,
I drink and laugh
at the ******
staring next to me,
I blow cigarette smoke
In their face
"what the **** are you looking at, aha?!"
******* ******
they stare at me with their
blank dead eyes
and
their ******* sag
ripping out of their
musky ripped blouse
almost knocking over their drinks
in sorrow
and their *****
their ***** hang
over the bar stool
coming down like a quake
an avalanche,
the China man to
blows smoke in their face
and we both laugh
in cheers
and on any given Sunday
at any given moment
the little blue man escapes from
my heart,
the little blue man then guzzles
down what's left of my drink
and the China mans drink
then leaps across the bar,
the little blue man glides across
the silk red carpet
like some kind super human mutant freak,
the little blue man jumps and slaps the politicians
slaps the lawyers
and gnaws on the skulls of the bureaucrats
like the cannibal they had made him,
eating the flesh
as if it were his first taste of meat,
the hunger of a man trapped on an island for twenty five years,
a conscience that has been trapped in a soul for twenty five more,
in my dream I usually make
It to the bar,
It's a particular bar
an odd bar
and tonight I didn't,
maybe they were closed
maybe they weren't,
"tell me something little blue man,
is there a heaven in hell?"
"only for the saints." -Shane Book
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Captured there in orange
beneath the old street light
a cloud of breath exhaled
hangs heavy in the night.
Waiting on the 409
has never been this bleak
the fierce wind nips your ear lobe
and ice cold stings your cheek.
I watch you turn your collar up
your back against the bite
one hand on that coffee cup
the other out of sight.
Each morning
getting colder
the forecast is for snow
in fleece and wool you face the frost
and how I'll never know
I see you’re green
my blue faced friend
the green before the fall
you've never been about the perks
it's conscience above all.
The last thing on your mind just now
would be to get a Lynx
traffic is lame
road rage insane
And air pollution stinks.
Don't EVEN get you started
on the SUV
spews out nitrous oxide
and guzzles Texas tea.
Public parking,
another rare find
for what you get,
they rob you blind.
and what they miss
the vandal takes
leave you with migranes
the car alarm makes.
better for all
we all take the train
or one car per family
'stead of one car per brain.
Watching you stand there
with ice crystals forming
I despise all your stubborness
you NEED global warming!
I know you're no girly
my Ever-Ready mate
but my Duracel is waiting
and the 409 is late
I get out of my car
and approach you from the rear
my work cut out, without a doubt
the ice lymric is near
poetic license pending
I call for a herione's ending
like a frozen filet, without word or delay
I can lift you without even bending.
Once inside and thawing
you start in about the gas
I turn down the heat,
but turn up the seat
that's warming up your ****
I'm all for the planet, I tell ya
and doing whatever is best
but for mornings like these
with your jewels in deep freeze
come with and we'll heat up the Quest!
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
Captured there in orange
beneath the old street light
a cloud of breath exhaled
hangs heavy in the night.
Waiting on the 409
has never been this bleak
the fierce wind nips your ear lobe
and ice cold stings your cheek.
I watch you turn your collar up
your back against the bite
one hand on that coffee cup
the other out of sight.
Each morning
getting colder
the forecast is for snow
in fleece and wool you face the frost
and how I'll never know
I see you’re green
my blue faced friend
the green before the fall
you've never been about the perks
it's conscience above all.
The last thing on your mind just now
would be to get a Lynx
traffic is lame
road rage insane
And air pollution stinks.
Don't EVEN get you started
on the SUV
spews out nitrous oxide
and guzzles Texas tea.
Public parking,
another rare find
for what you get,
they rob you blind.
and what they miss
the vandal takes
leave you with migranes
the car alarm makes.
better for all
we all take the train
or one car per family
'stead of one car per brain.
Watching you stand there
with ice crystals forming
I despise all your stubborness
you NEED global warming!
I know you're no girly
my Ever-Ready mate
but my Duracel is waiting
and the 409 is late
I get out of my car
and approach you from the rear
my work cut out, without a doubt
the ice lymric is near
poetic license pending
I call for a herione's ending
like a frozen filet, without word or delay
I can lift you without even bending.
Once inside and thawing
you start in about the gas
I turn down the heat,
but turn up the seat
that's warming up your ****
I'm all for the planet, I tell ya
and doing whatever is best
but for mornings like these
with your jewels in deep freeze
come with and we'll heat up the Quest!
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Night slinking in
blues switch from pale
to menacing navy
spiked silhouettes
in the distance
like children’s book monsters
a globe of white
here and over there
but not yet
not yet
for fuchsia streams
punctuate the sky
like a million raspberries
sailing away
before darkness
guzzles them all
before every light dissolves
just like any day
to another day
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
Fish Child make a wish Child upon a falling pig. He's got short fluffy fur and comes from the starry south and like a wild Bolivian boar has a truffle sniffing snout.
He's got six golden trotters
and possesses a squiggly tail he
relishes red meat and guzzles down all American ale.
He answers to the name Burrito's and grumple's in his sleep
and he often dreams of visiting the Earths deepest deep.
So, Fish Child make a wish Child upon a falling pig.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 4:47 AM UTC
When I drive by your house
So white its striking
How can you paint over me like I'm a stain when your eyes used to give me the round glossy sympathy of a scared little bird
Do you still think about me when you vacuum your carpets?
Or when you drive you car that guzzles gas as fast as I can guzzle enough liquor to chase away what we used to talk about on Fridays
Now you can get away from me as fast as you can scroll your mouse away from my friend request
You told me you would do whatever you could
And it kills me to think that offer only lasted until I threw my cap
You were gone before I caught it
I dream about you so much
I'm forgetting the sound of your voice
And the shape of your nose
But no matter how hard I try I can't forget the way you ran your fingers through your silky hair
Bride of Frankenstein,
I see you changing eyes
Do you remember anything about me?
Or was it all my laboratory invention
Dressed in amniotic fluids, laced with sparks of electricity
Brought to life in my dreams that will never be reciprocated
I'll follow you to the land of ice and snow just to ignite myself to ashes that will freeze under your feet
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
The height of the ledge granted miles of visibility, from which I perceived a landscape so barren that decay itself had littered the earth with writings of its famine.
Fixed overhead, the harsh sun exhausted every part of my being as my eyes pooled with gratitude—for I could not imagine the state of my vision had the ground been more solid and hoary.
Abandoning hope of amelioration, I watched as the stone below binged upon the light—reflecting only that which met it between guzzles.
From this binge, a subsequent purge of radiant heat ensued, seemingly serving as a form of remittance to the air through which the energy had initially been permitted to pass.
Tracing the cliff's face, the newly heated air rose in gusts to the point at which it met mine—further immersing me in a growing sum of vertigo.
Overwhelmed, I took a step back and—despite my efforts—still somehow managed to collide with everything existing outside of my posterior. The view of the desert displayed itself to me in full; I saw a place unapologetically indifferent to acknowledgement or understanding.
Haunted by permanence, the thought of the city struck me—and I became overwhelmed by the disparity; I felt myself choke on the recollection of its nourishless bounty—an ever-expanding sea of stimulation, perpetually begging for attention: damning us to be pruned by its abundance while starving in its own growth.
For centuries, a desire for more has given reason to manufacture new means for innovation; and in its wake, it has left nothingness itself—the true logical default—to now stand as one of the few remaining novelties.
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 2:42 PM UTC