"nozzle" poems
I remember marble that wanted heels,
clip-clop echo of women who belonged.
I wore slip-ons with socks,
easier for those of us who come to scrub
other people’s lives.
The elevator was a box of mirrors,
infinite versions of me-
I bent my head to escape them.
His office door ajar,
his voice stretched thin across a phone.
The girlfriend cooks,
spicy food,
_place a ******** he said.
I had seen much worse-
houses where mold clung to the ceiling,
where grief leaked through the wallpaper.
The vacuum hummed its G-note spiritual.
I worked the nozzle into the skirting boards,
let my mind braid song and ritual,
a drop of lavender for closets,
labels straightened like soldiers on parade.
No one asked for these offerings-
I gave them anyway.
But he winked at me
while telling her _love you, babe,_
mouth syrupy with lies.
A twenty left on the hall table-
a tip that branded my palm.
Later, the bin bag tore,
Madras red bleeding into cream carpet,
pears bruised soft in their sweating wrap.
The stain spread like a hand
that gripped too long,
that would not release.
I cursed the ceiling,
the word **** echoing like prayer.
was only twenty,
scrubbing strangers’ luxury
to keep myself alive.
That day I left more than lavender-
a fragment of myself,
pressed into the carpet,
silent as the stain.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
There's a fire hose:
You drink it.
Well, you try to drink it.
You playfully examine it
For a few moments, then
You wrap your lips around the nozzle,
And pump up the pressure:
It blows you back
And pins you to a wall.
The spray stings your eyes,
But if it brings tears to them,
They are washed away by the flow,
Before you, or anyone else,
Can be sure they were there.
Your limbs ache,
You think that if only
You could rest them,
You could hold them stronger
But the time for rest rarely comes.
Some people, washed in despair
Or simply sanity, step out of the way
Never to look back and never to regret.
Some collapse or simply drown.
Others stand the force.
The mass of the waters accelerates,
But still they stand strong.
Wavering at times,
But never giving up.
And one day the flow slows
To a stream, to a trickle, to a drip
Then it stops.
You stand there:
Sudden and Sullen,
Dripping and Deflated,
Percolated, but Proud,
Wet, but Wise.
And you reach out,
Brass Rat rusted to your knuckle:
You grab a beaker and into it
You wring the waters of knowledge
From the clothes of your experience.
You take this drought and distill it.
You bottle it, you market it, or you give it away,
But, with luck, it takes the world by storm.
From the fire hose flow rises the rarefied results
Filtered through your hands,
Tested in your trials, Fortified in your failures,
Vivified in your victories.
You look back with mixed emotions:
Wondering if it was all really worth it.
Your prospective my grow,
It may never be clear,
But the fire hose flows on...
~D.B. Guy (March 6-12, 2010)
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Cascades were dripping outside of this moving vehicle
White noise, patternless and arrhythmic
like magnified sounds of nails on a concrete wall,
made by souls desperate to cleave their way to dryness
This public utility vehicle holds spirits successful in finding this temporary heaven
Weathered, soaked and almost drowned
like panting dogs that managed to swim ashore from a shipwreck
caused by the iceberg that is the eye of the storm
This safe haven holds champions in a world of misshapen men
A woman clutches tightly on a bag of lime and her ever waning youth
Tired, but not eager to face Death
still closing her windows to his cat burglars
that come faster than the downpour of Typhon's tears
A homeless child comfortably sleeps on the far end of this ride
His innocence tested by fate
Too experienced for someone his age
instead of just playing in the streets he calls home
The jeepney driver has eyes on the road painted by Van Gogh
Unabashed, industrious and assiduous
determined to serve,
provide for a family whose stomachs hunger not but they hunger for his return
This other dimension nurtures alien thoughts and parallel thinking among beat down men
I do not know them but I can hear the cries of their emotions,
their longing to be felt and empathized with
Their voiceless cries are guns with a silenced nozzle
shooting at anyone ignorant who curiously stare at this minefield of a passenger jeep
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
Vast and grey, the sky
is a simulacrum
to all but him whose days
and vast and grey, and—
In the tall, dried grasses
a goat stirs
with nozzle searching the ground.
—my head is in the air
but who am I . . ?
And amazed my heart leaps
at the thought of love
vast and grey
yearning silently over me.
3.4k
The
Decider-in-Chief
made
another
hard
decision,
rebebilitatin
a debilitating
Gaddafi.
The
Agog
Decider
sleekly
peeked
into the
bleak
soul
of the
master
Bedouin.
The
Pious
Decider
peered
pretty
deeply,
so its
hard to tell
what his
arcane
rebelations
revealed.
Some say
The
Jaundiced
Decider,
saw the
desert
bleeding
deliciously
malicious
sweet crude
onto the
scabby
tongues
of
Halliburton
Executives
while
Big Time
Vice
Dickey Boy
******
a petrol
nozzle
dry,
licking
the dripped
drops
that
drizzled
from the
shoot
hole,
so as
not to waste
a precious drop
to satiate
the black
viscous
goo
coursing
through
the ebony
veins of his
chingling
heart.
Others
say
The
Condoning
Decider
sized up
the man
and saw
a brother-in-arms
in the fight
against
The Evil Doers;
yet failed to
see the
revolting
obscenities
his new
comrade-in-arms
inflicted
upon his
own body
politic.
The
Forgetful
Decider,
blessed
with amnesia
forgot
Lockerbie and
applauded
BP's royal
court of
justice
for
pardoning
all perps.
The
Oblivious
Decider's
near
sightedness
failed to
foresee
a brewing
blow-back
amassing
in the
desert
winging
its way
home
on the
blasting
sands of
a blistering
Saharan
sirocco.
The
Pollyannish
Decider
envisioned
grand
spectacles,
only happy
visions of
Beyonce,
JZ, Usher
and the
Def Jam
Buddha
Russell
Simmons
yodeling
filthy
lucre
tunes,
sending
giggling
tweets
while
partying
down
with
Muammar's
posse
of martinets
and
way cool
far out
crazy
execs
drunk
with the
power
that blinds
the eye to
all discernment.
The Decider
decides.
Music Selection:
Lady Ga Ga
Beyonce,
Telephone
Oakland
3/3/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
Insecticide.
Does anyone know where I can get some insecticide?
I need it, the sensation of that cold, sleek nozzle pushing inside me
My belly button will be heavens gate- inside are those **** butterflies...
Butterflies that tremble and quiver whenever you walk by.
That fragility is my enemy.
The only solace I can ever hope for, is in the desolation of such weakness.
My heart, it would often seem, is on a suicide mission.
So eager to climb up my throat and plunge into your twin pools of blue.
Those dastardly insects are fighting like hell,
Their wings the color of your lips-
The beat of their wings, a mockery of my own heartbeat.
I guess no one told them, their wings flutter for no one but me now
And I have had far enough of their nonsense.
Desires of a lonely heart are fantastical at best.
But nothing can argue with the cold steel of that nozzle
Wedged firmly inside, its mission realized.
And finally it's a feeling that I want to feel, not any of this involuntary ******** "falling in love".
Because I really can't help falling in love with you.
I'd stop it if I could. I'd throw the train from its rails, toss the plane from the sky, sink the ship out at sea.
To forget I ever loved you.
The flowers of June no longer hold that same color.
The bitter taste of the pest control will be the only taste on my tongue.
Not yours any longer, my dear.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
I am the fire hose,
spraying with full intensity
at the flames of my current obsession.
Sometimes I can hold myself,
until a meager trickle flows in another direction.
With my free hand, I throw a match.
It's only a matter of time before
the nozzle snaps like a magnet to the new blaze.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 10:32 AM UTC
You forgotten color you
no real word rhymes with you so
you’re only rhymed with slang
sign of autumn
complexion of jack o lanterns
patterned with black you are the color scheme of a holi-
well horror day
you are
the color of the sky when
moon relieves sun
you look good with stone washed blue jeans
sun dresses of your hue please the eye
elmer’s glue nozzle tip
you are the good OJ
no gloves or lame *** raps
most important you are my mother’s favorite color
for her to love such a weird tint
just marks the seed of a weirdness that I now embrace
orange
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
blood now is the accoutrement.
night's tenure is the morning's
leasing: what will continue to
light like a beacon in this
vicissitude is the flash
of a snuff-nosed nozzle.
no sound is heard.
no bones were felt
trembling.
all the voices were muffled,
thrown into a makeshift exodus.
the pains will be etched away
like moss unraveling the secret
of wall upon wounds like old scarves.
but the ground,
which has girdled this resounding feat, will never forget:
death's squadron enters. harbingers.
what has hidden them in the lull
has now sung severances:
a distance closed
by a fusillade
of bullets.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Thoughts and beliefs bubbling in my head
Yet when the nozzle opens
The water remains stagnant
The chute blocked by a language barrier
An English lad and a French Claire
Both hearts galloped in stampede
The two magnets draw in spontaneously
But does love exist from the front cover alone?
The vast terra firma
Perforated in years time
Earth plates sever the one masterpiece into pieces
The scraps bounded by a shimmering blue frame
Engineering, Psychology, and Humanities
All in uniform language
But still segregated
Even with a paint degree
Does the artist know what note the musician is playing?
A gallant soldier
Survived the war of “learn how to speak German”
Two languages under the belt, but 6,498 to go
Illustrious pride stifled into humility
Will there ever be a language compromise?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
You cant have it, you live it.
You cant find it, you grow it.
You cant take it, its endless.
You cant give it, its given.
No valve, no damper to slow the flow,
Open with the strength of a fire hose with no nozzle to aim,
It floods everything.
Drown in the expansiveness of love,
The most sweet surrender.
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 11:13 PM UTC
Brittle, crumbling, falling apart,
Piecing together, mending a heart,
Frustration, a manifestation of agitation,
Ponder, wonder, lost in thought,
Finding a riddle, unsolved,
Break into losing wits, yet you still sought,
An unorganized, horrible mess,
nozzle your love, flaws you caress,
Don't do this darling, on shaking knees,
Insanity is all I could feed,
I am not the saving grace that you need
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 9:04 AM UTC
dismay is felt when opening the newspaper
to read Athena's astral charts
on many occasions her predictions are well out
which tend to make the readers doubt
to-day she stated that all Geminis
were in for an adventure
but she failed to also mention
the possibility of a misadventure
Taurus individuals supposedly
are going to win a truck load of cash
they'll be disappointed
should they not collect a stash
she said all Virgos
would be bidding their time
but how would she know
as few of them can march to a rhyme
this pronouncement she had written large
which told of a Capricorn who'd fly to Mars
yet this person hasn't got a rocket
which can propel him to Mars
here was one that reeled me in
she spoke of a Pisces eating a dog
her info was well out of kilter
we all know that all fishes prefer a frog
Athena was glowing in her outlook
for those Cancer folk saying they'd find a bloke
though none of them are in the market
for finding a bloke
she put in a good line for Scorpios
to be careful whilst using the hose
as they might get the nozzle
stuck to their nose
Libras were given an Athena heads up
not to take their dreams too far
why would she say that
when we all know that a Libra dreamer always makes par
she stated that Sagittarius ladies
needed to buy a spring party dress
though they've all got wardrobes
full of lovely floral brightness
what do you think of her
Leo chart for November and December
during these months
will they have a holiday to remember
she made mention of Aquarius souls
by way of Rock and Roll
few of those sixties baby bombers
have the legs to now Rock and Roll
finally her is what she telegraphed
for our Aries cousins in Perth
they'd all be reborn on planet Earth
yet none are seeking a rebirth
Athena's predictive Astrology page
is one we'll all need to thoroughly gauge
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
why do i have to be a dog for my cats?
the male one is teasing my
neighbour's dog...
the dog starts barking,
doesn't stop...
so i start barking...
a dismembered word
rough with a range of
neared onomatopoeias...
i hate barking, it never sounds
like a dog... more like a
dinosaur... Ra! (a name for a roar),
a tongue's trill at the bookie's in-between...
i hate barking...
or like at the chemists, an old man and me,
i had the seat, asked if he wanted it,
he said no,
we were both waiting for a prescription...
'well, if you're not taking it
i'll stand with you in show of solidarity'
my arms folded like a pigeon or a crow
strutting... well, if he ain't going to sit
i'm not going to sit either....
there you go, solidarity, **** Wałensa...
mushy mushy overgrown moustache nozzle...
brr brr... do the motorboat of oral ***
like you're expressing shrivelling watching
the northern lights! yep, got you...
selfie taken... now make a pose for
Lactose Falls of the waterfalls from your
eyeing ******* yep... that's a happy couple...
take two! no, you ******* go off and wait
in the tourists' queue
like the other 100 ******* did politely.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm crying!”
Jumping in the rocking chair
“Baby, sit down, stop your whining.”
Tearing a stranger’s underwear
“Mommy! Mommy! I feel sick!”
Sharp words spoken through *****
“Sweetie, would you stop your joking?”
A freshly rolled joint made for smoking
“Mommy! Mommy! I can't breathe!”
Hysteria from the panic
“Dearest, just take some pills, please.”
On the drugs from the attic
“Mommy! Mommy! My chest hurts!”
Rapid pounding through the shirt
“Honey, shut up, drink your bottle.”
Alcohol straight from the nozzle
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm choking!”
Falling into a seizure
“Darling, would you quit your moaning?”
A midnight ***** all too eager
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm bleeding!”
The sound of terrified weeping
“Sweetheart, all you need is some sleep.”
Gone too high on amphetamines
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm dying!”
Skin starting to change color
“Baby, lay down, stop your whining.”
Forgetting to be a mother.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
— and a young horse with a green bed-quilt
on his withers shaking his head:
bared teeth and nozzle high in the air!
1.5k
Once a month in the ghost restaurant
we bring wine,
we light candles.
Alan (veterinarian) recites a rowdy lyric
about the cloacae
of waterfowl.
Dennis (percussionist, oldies band)
recites from his bar stool about a pretty lass
courted by men at a dance, it’s his daughter,
she saves the last dance for him.
Lynette (social worker) tells how her big brother
tricked her into looking down
the nozzle of a hose.
Bob (physical therapist) sings about fishing
in Canada, then selling all the fish
to Japan.
Joyce (office manager) reads a poem she wrote
about music,
so I (contractor, retired) tell about singing
la la la
to my grandson
who needs constant holding.
We all agree holding is a good thing
but hugging among men is an acquired skill
not taught in Ohio.
Terry (maintenance man) reads a poem
about the secret meanings
of words.
Denise (nobody knows what she does) tells a story
about hitchhiking in France
where trapped in a truck
in the remote alps
with a man’s hand on her thigh
she thwarts the tough guy
by singing songs from The Sound of Music.
Bob washes the wine glasses;
Terry returns the key to its hiding place.
We hug, some of us anyway.
Our little town, once a month.
Literature, home-grown.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
we topple down like droplets from the nozzle
into cold stainless steel sinks slipping into drains
surging though claustrophobic copper pipes
to only escape our confinement in earthly graves
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
So I'm drinking the red wine
I had those cut-up peaches
Soaking, fermenting in for 3 days.
A nice summer evening buzz,
Just back from my evening walk
Within the gates of my over-55
Lunatic Asylum.
On my rear porch in Hemetucky,
I chaise lounge the hours,
Listening to the mourning dove
Nesting in the bottlebrush bush.
I know she's there, having
Fired thru my duck blind,
My latest weapon of choice,
My new-fangled Flex Hose,
It expands when turned on.
Which got me thinking that the
Flex Hose inventor guy must have
Whacked off a lot as a teenager.
An Alex Portnoy protege, perhaps,
If familiar with Roth's book.
Portnoy's Complaint:
Most of us read it;
Some of us lived it.
It is pointless to speculate.
12 ft. Flexible Water Hose with
Nozzle-flxh-25 (4-00268...Home Depot
www.homedepot.com/p/12-ft-Flexible...
Hose-with.../204818892/The Home Depot
Rating: 1.8 - 14 reviews - $19.97 - In stock
"The Flexible hose automatically expands with water flow and contracts back to its original shape for storage. Lightweight and durable. The Flexible Hose will ..."
(That's right, a commercial right in the
Middle of the ******* poem.
This Poet refusing to die in the gutter,
Having finally figured out how to
MAKE POETRY PAY.)
But I digress.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
Oh My! Donald Trump
You sure are a ****** nozzle
Please jump off a cliff
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Calibrated Hearts are seldom free to love
No Pump: No Nozzle, No Beat; No Impulse
Sometimes used as center points
Other times as alternatives to main points
Yeah! we love them for all they can do
Calibrated in their limitations
Love aint got limitations
We need to calibrate our mind and heart by God' s reliable standards
uncalibrated, but at a heart rate of say 10 beats min"1, each cycle of .
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
March, 1934, Fort Worth, Texas.
Late, nighttime, when dad pulled into the gas station shortly before it closed. Another car was there as well. A nice looking young man with dark suit and tie, was standing at another pump. In the passenger side, sat a pretty young lady, both he and she appeared to be in their mid-twenties. They exchanged greetings as folks usually do, then dad proceeded to reset his pump( had a crank to turn to reset those pumps to zero, and a metered glass bulb filled with gasoline sat atop the pump. The level, of course, would decrease to show how much fuel was being purchased.)
The young gent completed his task, hooked the pump nozzle back to its base and walked into the office to pay for his purchase. Dad, standing at his car smiled at the young lady, who patiently waited for her boyfriend, or husband, to return. They made small conversation, "nice night isn't it", she said, "yes maam, it is", dad replied. About that time the young man and the station manager came out of the store and walked together, to their car. As the young man opened the door to take his place behind the wheel, he turned to the station manager, "Everett, give us about twenty minutes then call the police and tell'em I was here, I don't want you getting into any trouble." "Will do, Clyde" the old man replied. As they slowly pulled away, the pair gave dad a short smile and a wave. It wasn't until they drove out of the station and disappeared when dad realized with whom he had just spoken, "face to face."
On May 23, 1934, Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were ambushed and slain near the Texas-Louisiana state line by a posse of law enforcement officers, ending one of the most publicized crime sprees in U S history.
As my father said, "You never know who you're talking to! Just another 'guy', filling up his car."
(No, dad didn't wait around for the arrival of the police)
r riddle: March 26,2016
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
When we were five,
maybe six
I heard an engine settle
out by the back gate.
Summer's affable grass
and bees swarming.
We were preoccupied
with the garden hose,
the plastic tub, our kitten,
Smokey,
I ran to the back gate though
left the nozzle behind me
"This is only temporary."
Then he left, and it seemed,
in such a hurry his ride did arrive,
while we were preoccupied
when we were six,
maybe five.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
strong is the still that
reverberates
over old space,
the cold
drought of petal dreams
I chalked
on the garden hose
nozzle,
the mask
just one string
away
away…
the night we touched
was like
** *
* *
* * *
* * *
*
** * *
**
*
*
(stars)
those daddy-rolled feelings
on my back as
you licked
my spine.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:20 AM UTC