"rasp" poems
She lays awake,
Trembling in the dark
Whispers echoing around,
Cracking the glass
Shiny liquids fall slowly
From eyelids to floor
Hopelessly awaiting
For a knock on the door
The darkness surrounds
Each and every soul
The girl's heart melting
For it couldn't bear breaking
As the light made its way
Through the cracked glass
The tiny fetal form
Breathed in a rasp
Soon the weak heart
Slowed the last beat
The cracked window opened
Spreading the heat
But the darkened eyes
Light had no more
The soul had wandered
To the deadly shore
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Save me.
Save me from the
place inside of me that Loathes my
existence.
help, it is pulling me
down.
Dragging me deeper into to this
dark
cold place
full of everything i hate. like
you, and me.
i hate You more than anything on the face of this planet, well
except for me.
i hate me hate me more than a mother hates the murderer of Her
own Child.
this Calamitous pit inside me
like a Rabbit's hole i can
Never escape, no matter how i
scratch at the sides until my
fingers
bleed.
there is a lot of blood
in this place.
It's the poison inside of me, the reason
why i breathe in short, wispy breaths. It's got to be
the answer. i've got to get the poison
out.
i dig and dig.
dig, dig, dig, dig
and not once do i cry
of pain.
i dig and dig. deeper
and deeper.
the Hot Malicious wine of my pain flows all around me and the world turns grey as my head begins to spin. i hear You. i know how much You hate me.
LEAVE ME ALONE GOD ******
the only colour i see now is the deep red of a rose as i clench my hands tighter around the thorns and then
Drip.
Drip.
The sound of my own breath
shocks me. i lay at the bottom of the bottomless cistern inside of my soul.
the air in my lungs hissing, as i lay there broken. Vulnerable.
in a pool of my own sorrow, thick and dark. You have left me
to die.
You were the only one i let into this place
You pushed me down. You killed me
please Someone help before the rasp in my chest completely fades.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
writhe and
gape of tortured
perspective
rasp and graze of splintered
normality
crackle and
sag
of planes clamors of
collision
collapse As
peacefully,
lifted
into the awful beauty
of sunset
the young city
putting off dimension with a blush
enters
the becoming garden of her agony
10.9k
His fingers wrapped tightly
Around the little hand
Of the sleeping child in his arms.
His eyes traced the silhouette
Of pursed lips to fattened cheeks
And he thought to himself,
"How does something so wonderful exist?"
He listened to the gentle rasp of breath
And watched the slight rise and fall of chest.
His eye soaked up the sight
Of the bundle of unconditional love he held.
And soon dreams of future adventures
And tales and fables and stories
And daily life monotony
Played like a movie before him,
Drawing a single tear of hope from his eye.
All too soon the child stirred and woke
And jumped up and shouted with glee.
And he returned from sentiment to reality
And made breakfast with a cup of tea
Wishing for more moments like these
Because he finally understood his father's word:
Time passes too quickly when it comes to love.
And when his hand paused over the kettle
And his eyes glazed over with this vague thought,
A small hand touched his arm with "Papa?"
Little eyes took in the strength of character
That towered as a model for a future life;
Little eyes that never strayed too long from
Watching and learning all the things Papa did;
Little eyes that now began to see
There's always another side to every thing,
For with great abruptness
Papa looked into those little eyes
And said, "Go wash up, your hands are *****
But the glint in his eyes said,
"I love you, always."
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
As I lash out like a wave crashing upon the sand,
destroying the castles built by hand,
destroying moral like a warlord on a killing spree,
a nuclear explosion which no one can flee.
For nothing escapes my grasp,
as I am the infection which spreads so far,
choking your voice until it is merely a rasp.
Please remove me from your life,
as I am here only to cause strife,
like a cancer in your heart,
you can't quiet get out,
always wondering "when did it start?",
what caused this drought?
But do not fear,
for it is not your fault,
let me be clear,
I am like this by default.
So love me or leave me,
it is up to you,
but you can not change me,
for I am evil through and through.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
─illustrations on the ceiling
i love the way
the sunlight ripples along his skin
with no complaints
"messiah" the shadow talks
"of course he is" i reply
and i resume to orchestrating my love
─little phobias
i wander aimlessly along his windows,
his eyes;
they are gates to afterlives unloved;
they are oceanic shrapnel
sky imprisoned infinities
a lapis point of view-
that i treasure
his heart is drenched
in my soul-
in a sweeter sickness-
in the liquid measure of my steps-
he mentions i'm contagious
i tell him he is my favorite way
to bleed
"september prodigy" the shadow babbles
"why?" i rasp
**"sun at long last
kisses away
all the ghosts
harvesting from
the heart of the moon"**
and i broke out into stars
─my serendipity
i love the raw
music of our conversations,
and how his voice
undresses me
and my monsters
so delicately
in fabrics of the dark
i love how his laugh
makes all the other planets
look dull;
how his smile
is the first step
to curing the blind
so the blind may know
what i know
"the symphony of seams"
i love how he is the shocking
philosophy
of turning suicide notes
into paper cranes
of picking fights with death
so i may remain
i love the phoenix tucked in his soul
how it defines-
the altitudes-
the limits-
our existence he describes to me
"reincarnation?" the shadow asks
"every morning he wonders" i answer
and the fever invests it's time in me
"what is he to you?" the shadow murmurs
"*besides broken flowers,
and ink blots shaped like rain
he is my favorite stairway to heaven.*"
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
One glance started it all.
Everything faded in the background.
You stood out amongst all souls
I think I have finally been found.
The next day you said hello
I was speechless. I just smiled.
I walk past you with a skip on my toes
My heart just soared a thousand miles.
The next week we were going out
Two souls dancing in the crowd
It was almost, almost a fairy tale
Oh! My heart was beating so loud.
The next month I finally said yes
When you asked if I could be your girl
I was wearing this pretty red dress
Under the night sky, we kissed and twirled.
The months to follow were eternal bliss
Every single moment I wouldn't miss
You are a knight that swept me off my feet
For me, you'll launch a thousand fleets.
A year and two, time just flew.
To jump a cliff, I'll do it for you
But then I saw with my own eyes you kissing another
and finally, I knew.
Hurt and betrayed, I couldn't grasp
How my love could shatter my everything
Swollen eyes, red nose, voice so rasp
I was left empty. It hurts! It stings!
An eternity went by and still helplessly trapped
A lost soul that has met it downfall
Yearning to turn back time and stop
the one glance that started it all.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
I once slept
with a few sophisticated rats,
5 to be exact,
on a pull-out couch
from a garage sale
in corona, queens
they had ivy league IQs;
double majors in
evasion and skullduggery,
and a crush on my left thumb....
*the one you ****** on as a kid...,*
posited dr diaz,
my shrink with an md
from the lesser antilles
like freaks,
they came out at night,
in indian file...
as the raging moon dipped
below my cracked glass window,
and a cimmerian shroud
swallowed its receding light,
and I snored...
on the couch,
left thumb hanging loose
near the floor
where a heavily highlighted
textbook lay wide open...
cued by the dipping moon
or the rhythmic rasp
ripping through the room
like a stihl chain saw,
the curious 5 whisked
over the persian rug,
or was it soiled chinese?
like I said
they had ivy league IQs....
thus my heavily cheesed
wire traps
remained engaged
but cheese-less...
as the curious 5 converged
around the couch
for dessert...
~
I skipped mgmt 301 at 10
and dr diaz gave me
a rabies shot:
4 doses ig,
a sterile bandage
for my shredded left thumb,
and a referral
to his realtor...
~ P (Pablo)
(8/8/2013)
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Tear me down.
Push me low and watch me drown.
Amusement as you watch me struggle and gasp.
Your enjoyment is on full display, topped off with your evil rasp.
Once all is done and your ownership is re-certified. You kiss me softly, your gestures now tender.
Each time I'm still terrified but, hearing those two words is reason enough to surrender.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
i dreamt of you
you warmed me in
your callused hands
and sighed as if
i were a hummingbird
out your gran'pa's cabin
lovely an' quick
but i wailed until
my throat was grit
your eyes had turnt'
to green
and the hummingbirds
flew south
to be warmed by
more faithful things
than the rasp of your callused flesh
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
hearing feet pound the cement sidewalk,
seeing cars and drivers pass by talk-
ing on cell phones, silhouettes, shaped
by street lights lit as darkness drapes,
at the feet below these aging knees
the shadow moves ahead and is chased
down, falls behind as the body and face-
less shape with feet that slap the ground
not as a delicate dancer, because they pound
the run into submission,
at times the breath would better,
if it were louder, and with a rasp
then it would be easy to grasp
why this impossible implausible delight
seems so pure, in the dark and in the night,
I invite one, I invite all, drop by
any night and we see our foot falls
and hear who steps could crack
where they land and whose breathing
would be better if banned,
for disturbing the peace
legs with muscle straining from the training,
not getting the enough rest to prepare for the raining
and the run, the stuff that tests, a rare human quality,
can you finish what you start,
arteries clear and how is the heart,
do you know pace, do you know no quit
can you find peace, can you give a squirt
of water in your mouth without out choking and having to stop,
do you know the joy that a child knows as they run
can you find that place where activity was and is fun
hard sidewalks, hard life lessons to learn
heavy steps, heavy heart, hear the sorrow
shadows, follow the mind multiplies and borrows fear from the shelf
breathing in, hoping to be at ease,
breathing out, hoping to release
All
The
Tension
Handily
Exacting
Every
Nerve
Damaged
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
My grandmother likes salami, God, and bougainvilleas
I like to think she likes tenuous pink things-
but then there’s the salami.
One day she taught her daughters to string neck-
laces from bougainvillea petals
like-ponies-in-a-junkyard
I think I chewed too much bubblegum in mass
because I picture God pink
an ethereal globe of a poppable pale pink.
And for some reason, I like to think Brother
Charles saw that too
I bet my lungs are somewhat pink:
more pink than my berry red blood
but less pink, sweet and/or hairy
than a cotton candy poodle.
I forget if they were strawberries or rasp-
berries too
There are things that are pink
but then there are things that are pink
and shadowless.
Like subterranean lungs,
God, the future, and
the smell of flamingos in the dark
The future is still pink and
somewhat fruity
like a lukewarm strawberry milkshake blushing,
or was it maybe just the taste
of my pepto-bismol stained lips.
One of those ponies was my mom
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
Hours past midnight, the tranquility is prince
I can almost hear a rasp whisper, the moon to the Sun,
"Breakfast is nigh, dear friend. . ."
Gazing beyond the circular window, on this bed
as if resting on a glistening stretch of sand,
Stars in my eyes,
I recall her Beauty, her Strength
her Love, her All.
At rise, my joie de vivre
will wake to the medley of sun-bathed robins,
and with familiar tenderness upon my face
An eternal vow,
Propose in mellifluous whisper -
"Let's have breakfast together, sweetheart."
Sealed by a kiss.
I smile as my hand takes hers.
I lay enamoured,
As a prince prevailing
'Til death do us part.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
Dad spoke of his father today.
I listened with Friday
Beer breath and keen
Ears, as he said:
*I hope to God your brother
And you won't remember
Me as a ****
Fool when I'm gone,*
Then coughed that gurgle-rasp
That promises significant
Changes in a son's
Life within
Not too distant a
Future.
Those **** cigarettes.
Half a lung gone, surgery
Scar a part of that back
That I remember I thought
Would carry me
Forever.
We never spoke too emotionally.
He does it more and
More, and all I can do is
Prepare,
And to speak such truths as:
*Dad. You've impressed our
Friends, charmed our women,
Driven us through snow storms
And late nights
To get us to -or home from- either.
Fed us, chopped wood through
Summers to keep us warm through
Winters.
Taught us languages and carpentry,
History and poetry,
Classical wrestling and chivalry.
You've made us laugh since
Before we knew how to.
I think of you whenever I smell
Sawdust, new guitar strings, and smoke*
(Only minutes old, his cough
Was the first sound I reacted to...)
*Your memory is safe.
Whenever your time comes
To leave us to the strength of our
Own arms and souls,
Trust that your rest is well earned.*
He laughed a little,
Eyes wet from coughing
And whatever.
I could die content tomorrow,
Having told him.
Some giants don't fall.
They just lie down.
Not to wither away and die.
But to retire,
The way oak trees,
Mountains, revolutionary ideas
And gods
Retire.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
There are sounds
I truly hate:
One hand clapping,
Derisive laughing,
Babies crying,
The rasp of dying.
For us, these sounds
Raise sympathy,
For the hard of hearing,
A symphony.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
Some are cast in metal
others chipped from stone
yet more are shaped by hand in clay
what you sculpt, you own.
When your arms wrapped around me
I felt a process start
to render me defenceless
'gainst your sacred art.
I yielded to your motion
gave my skin up to the blade
had no cause to resist
the image you had made.
My essence pooled in trickles
flooding indents as you pressed
your fingertips into my flesh
there in rapture, I was blessed.
I yearned to feel the chisel
every scrape an evolution
each fetter of the holy rasp
my growing absolution.
I stand in gleaming marble
posed by you alone
forever on this pedestal
inert upon my throne.
In fatal love I slumber
and wishes are for fools
in luminescent, aching stone
naked of your tools.
Each tapping point a petal,
the slamming maul of lust
where once caressed by chisels
now I gather dust.
I dream of you approaching
to polish me anew
so I may shine in constant thanks
at being made by you.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Impatient fosters stand,
Awaiting for their boy turned man.
Their face an oasis of emotion,
His the same-
Simply gilded in rock facade, no notion.
Implanted in societal grasp,
No care today, could barely rasp.
Thoughtful vernacular struck me quite,
Made me realize,
What I'm doing is right.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
These are my knees
Lord
Cracked in a daily attempt to win your affection
These are my hands
Dear Jesus
Callused by one another in an oft futile longing for an answer
This is my throat
All Mighty God
Made rasp and torn from a constant calling of your praises
This is my neck
Oh Holiest of Holies
Strained in a forever upward gaze searching nightly for a sign
And these are my eyes
Son of God
Charged with searching for you in the stars
With directing my feet towards the purpose you have given me
Oh Lord
These are my eyes thought blinded after years of failing to find my path in the constellations
But blind these eyes are not
Oh Sacred Lamb
For these eyes
Creator of all that is good
See the bunions on these feet from a lifetime of walking atop your great magnificent earth
In an effort to survive
And these knuckles Carpenter of Nazareth
Are bloodied by the labors of man, for men, for the service of man's world
And this tongue, not of Satan, but of your creation
Oh Lord
Is twisted in a defense of my undying devotion to your love and to your empathy
And this back
Oh Heavenly Father
Has been made *******
Not from the weight of your cross in an attempt to share the burden of your sacrifice
No Lord
This back is broken from the weight of being a father to man
From the burden of society
And from the weight of the home I keep
Though I would never
Lord
Son of God
Question your ways
As mysterious as they seem
As they are your ways
Creator
Guiding Light of Man
Nor would I have the gal to belittle the accomplishments of our Savior the Lord Jesus Christ
I must ask with my knees planted firmly in the earth
My hands clasped
And my gaze towards you
Oh Lord
Son of God
Holy Shepherd
What good are the golden streets of heaven if my feet can not walk them
And what of the beauty in the pearly gates if my back can not afford the strength to open them
And lord how could I ever face you if my knees
The knees from which I pray
Oh Holiest of Holies
Creator of the moon and the stars the heavens and the earth
How could I ever face you if my knees can no longer kneel before the feet of my King
I could never
I would rather stand in the face of Lucifer himself
Than fail to kneel before the will of my God
For that I could never do
And what then
Lord
What would you have of me then
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
There are too many days..... I cant do this many days. Too many days where darkness wins. Fate laughs endlessly. I am Fate's comedic performer and he laughs without end. Like a donkey behind a carrot I am led and with the rasp of a donkey's bray Fate's laughter rings in my ears.
I don't think I can do this. Where joy is substituted by despair and happiness succumbs to death.... and the symphony of laughter is the tune. The strings on this puppet are frayed and worn but the puppeteer is relentless. How do you fix the strings of a puppet in motion? Who will catch the puppet if he falls? I can hear no answers above the laughter that rings in my ears and so this puppet on tattered strings dances on to the tune that Fate maintains. How long is a piece of string? It matters not if the string can carry no weight.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC
The mountain did not move for me,
now I pound on a graying chest,
and clutch at my fluid skin,
the last blanket that will cover me.
The rasp at my throat closes,
as does the sphere of visibility,
it shrinks.
What chores will life bring,
when I have ceased to beat,
at the rhythm the heart has set.
As I decay into the realm of what is unseen,
I know I will be forgotten.
The burial plot will be a monument,
that only knows the company of other monuments.
No matter...
I lived as surely as your tears trickle at my demise,
and the beginning of darkness to me,
is welcomed by your sunrise.
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
I'd like it if your orange were more blue.
If your red more green
and your eyes more less than moons
that break waves against me.
I glue glaciers to sun
to cool your Spring's mischief
and never am i happy to remove
from my stillness
between Us.
I am unjoyed
in the twine of our lost joy.
Made unkind in the rasp
of our sour glee.
I glue glaciers to the sun
to cool the misadventures
of our dire hope.
I noose the rope and sing
as you go beautiful
away
from me.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
His senses held him prisoner
Overwhelmed and alone
Walls were his burden
The light too much to bear
The soaked linen of yesterday's news
Stained of fear from battles before
He needs to be cradled
Yet no one comforts him
He rocks back and forth
Rhythmic on the floor
Anemic screams suffocate
Silence fills the void
That breaks with a rasp
Sirens in the distance
They did not come for him
Noise bleeds through gaps
Like it did before
He weeps
Jan 28, 2024
Jan 28, 2024 at 7:02 PM UTC
My body is not
a wonderland.
there is nothing
sultry about
A Cold.
'Come hither' with a
red nose?
Oh Baby...
Commentary on
Modern Music,
nearly halted by
an almost snot rocket...
Authority tempered
with a rasp.
"Did you know you could
DIE if you hold in a sneeze?"
9 year old anecdotal prophet's
looming outline, right up close to
my face.
messy half-dreams under the
futile winter-hat Reality Shield in the
backseat of Homeward bound
Economy Wheel Gathering.
**** Man Voice to
telemarketers.
No sir, that's Mrs. White.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC