"rasps" poems
Sometimes a jolt can stop you.
Like a phantom step that calls for you drive your heels to the ground,
Or a sentence in a book that yanks your gaze back to the beginning,
Heaving and lurching over.
Sometimes I stop,
To take in that I have stopped.
That it has been as few months that I could count on fingers,
The same that have scratched at my insides,
Heaving and lurching over.
Sometimes that same jolt can push you,
Like a static shock from a touch.
And that is why I do not claw, crave, beat or binge,
As I think of you most days, not out of love but as a warning.
For if the shock from your static unmoving self
Had not left me stung and stumbling,
Heaving and lurching,
I would not have ran forward.
*I have been cold inside and out.
I have been clawed and have grown talons in return.
And I was paler than my anaemic self,
Lacking in haemoglobin to burden with rasps of air,
Because my heart was weak and could not push blood to the surface.
But now that the colour has drained from my face,
I can blend into snow.
White, all but for red lipstick,
And apple in hand.
So I know when people have found me
They must have had to stop to look.*
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
In the sordid caste
of flowers, the wild
rise on their stems
for a name,
and rupture into light
through the copse of partridge berry
distances tumble over the wet colours,
like mauve tongues
along the thighs of an eventual sunrise,
that comes moaning free
of the unforgiving dark,
in the wet jazz soliloquies of light
and suddenly, through the lips
of Septembers lovely grind,
to bind the Summers cunning wounds,
your hands reach far into the blue hordes
of wildflower,
and redolent fevers, kindled
by some hummingbirds blurred
and exquisite agitation, you
are the body of my confession
and South
marks the same
unfathomable distance home,
over the prairie
that tonight grants calm,
in the balm of C minor,
a mute, sibilant liquid dream of rain
soothes, my voice grows hoarse
and stills, though from the hush of willows,
rasps the vast reservoir of wind,
as the jay, a blue throb in the holly, casts
my hue in lush cascades of desperate, abandoned braids
lift the fevers muslin depths
and these unaccompanied words, sing
a sonata
proverbs in petty sounds
spill from a cracked jaw
and a parched throat,
in the Sabbath of the heart
heaven never thought to map
this distance and its jubilee
over wildflowers, I bear
your name to stay the mauve hour
of devout crickets,
crouched in the rain,
dying in the thick falsetto of mist
and the sordid hum of birds, dim
in their hollow cote,
and sudden blue, sudden blue,
how I adore you....
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
She danced to the rumbles of the waves,
Her waist meandered to the roars of the waters,
She whistled to the sounds of sea gulls,
And nodded to the rasps of baby *****
She set her body loose,
On fire she rode her highs,
Came to a mind shattering rush,
Toe curling end,
As her spirit left her body,
And all reason left her mind.
©CathyDevan
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 11:59 AM UTC
Hard light and star struck breath
Pinched corners filled with stifled cries
Rash rushed hands in tangled hair
Heart fought racing growing frenzied
Flashing lips tapping tripping touching
Pulling tearing rough handled love
Frantic touches in lost time
Stolen fevered passion crushed together
Harsh rasps gasping in ears of flushed faces
Tight hot lives against the wall
Pitched cries smothered and lost
Falling hands bunched against lush hips
Running lights lingering on glistening cheeks
Sultry lingering brushing back errant hairs
Hands snaking out while looking both ways
Lost in the traffic of people flowing by
cc030711
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 2:09 PM UTC
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a breath of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Thoughts racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
Daniel?
A piggish snort. Crusted eyes crack open like the wings of a beetle. Ragged nails scrape against the red-worn desert of an adolescent jawbone. A fishlipped yawn.
Ugh. What?
What did you call that plant thing again?
Jesus, James. Waxwood. It's a reddish bark. Oozes this cloudy stuff if you crush it.
Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry.
**Ambient silence. Raindrops fill with rotting organic sediment and fall into the leaves around the
clapboard tollbooth. A zealous fist of ivy tightens its tattered fingers across rheumatic windowpanes.**
Dan?
Mm?
Why don't you like to talk about Clifftown?
Ambient silence. Raindrops. Ivy.
I’ll tell you why I don’t like to talk about Clifftown.
Go on.
Sigh.
I was born there. Before all this happened, it was this small village where onions grew. Not many people lived there. There was... Christ. A church, a chemist, a library and a few houses. The biggest house was this tall yellow clapboard place, which was on the cliff by the sea. This kid who lived there. He wasn’t -
A thud as a gesticulating knuckle rasps against splintered pine.
*-Ow, **** - didn’t look human. His head was big and soft like a berry, and his eyes were wide and wet and creepy, and he never spoke. It was like he was empty.*
What’d you say his name was again?
Never did.
A dusty rubbing noise as the fluid is forced out of a cheekbone.
Leviticus Croker. He died when he fell from a low salt cliff into the sea or something. Can’t remember.
**** I’m sorry.
Don’t be. I hated him.
A lump of pressed asphalt sends a clouded multitude of motes spinning and passes screaming through the glass pane of the sunwards window. A chuckle.
That was a year ago. They had to blame somebody.
Oh. Right.
An eyelid raised in revelation traps a mote against the skin stretched taut across a young skull.
Right. ****
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
Strings plucked by cold fingers on cold hands.
The hand-bone's connected to the heart-string....
Sinew rasps against brazen cords, etching orchestral symphonies on the stone in my chest.
Riding the waves of screams, cries, songs...time.
Upon that crest I ride, ever away from that distant shore;
Ever away from that distant hope.
Ever away.
Caught in the tide of cold spring air.
Cool air sifted through fiberglass filters. Menthol kissing lips, freezing the air across my teeth.
Welcome, Nicotine.
Welcome to my body; lift me on your crest, carry my inhibition.
Invoke your calm upon my weary mind and let me forget I am alone.
Alone? Or...alone...?
Faces will be forgotten.
Sand covers cracks...sand covers much....
Time covers much, but not all.
Who will you remember best? Whom will I never forget? Who won't I have to?
The sand will fill the gaps, but...my house is clean....
Clockwise from the front, right: chap stick, lighter, change; nothing; wallet, gang-ties; pump; phone's in the jacket.
This is my identity, always with me - my companions. But none are company.
None can give what I seek. None, it seems.
Desolation is a feeling. And feelings console.
At least you can be certain of their purpose, at least you know who they are.
Who are you?
How will I know?
When will I see that wry smile and be certain of it?
Give me that stone heart, that I may etch my symphony upon it.
Let my sinew warm those brazen strings.
Ride upon my crest.
Be my Nicotine, my sand...my certainty.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
It feels as if I've been lost in this flea market for years
Skimming over every item, dismissing each and every one for their slight imperfections
Once I happened upon a lovely little stool
It was quaint and simple and as I sat upon it I felt I must have it
I finally had my brilliant find, my wonderful little flea market triumph
But it wobbled under my weight I noticed a scratch on the surface
So I let out a sigh as lifted myself off the imperfect beauty, and I continued my search
It is only now that I have found it,
My perfect bargain item!
A porcelain figure so beautiful I can't imagine why it hasn't been snatched up
It seems to be glowing
Beckoning me to join it in its glass enclosure
I approach the wrinkled fellow who sits beside the case and inquire of the price
For that little figure whose beckoning has become impossible to ignore
He flashes a nearly toothless grin and bids me come closer with a trembling wrinkled finger
He smells of cigars and moth ***** and he rasps
"You know, young lady, the most beautiful of things are the hardest to hold on to
and the quickest to be lost."
He gestures to the glass enclosure where my figure
My perfect porcelain figure
Sits no more
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
The wind cried jasmine and “east,”
Past the muddied waters
Grande
And mass graves tortured
Tamaulipas;
Past the rasps, taunts, tortures,
And gasps bereaved,
So much so and so could I.
Set and to sail,
I could feel the tumbleweed
Sting my toes, with each and every
Bitter step; One more sojourn
And seeking the earliest unknown,
A celestial sort of gallant,
Faceless and opposed,
The awkward, “welcome home.”
Come earlier, come Mexico,
She’d scarred my stomach
With love, a newer sort of sear,
Notarized the scar I still carry
When I drown at five past four
With the deafening scent of
Mescal and torpor
Atop my tongue.
It’s upon hot nights,
Like this very one, that
I imagine the Melons of Reynosa,
Succulent, a summer night, with
Stars stained sorrow, strayed me,
Stayed you, and fled I did,
Taken to bamboo, and forever’d,
The newest resident, “away.”
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
Love poems
about a face just glimpsed
echoing in memory.
Singular dark eyes,
pooling the shadows
quick words, one handshake
and another for goodbye.
Impersonal
competitors
living hundreds of miles apart
unconnected
yet he draws me outside of myself.
I love not him,
this one I do not know,
but the metaphor -
what he is -
The sere winter wind
rasps my sleepless eyes.
Roads and roads away from home
across a snow-blinded parking lot
we are
missing one another
silently.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
a kid
with the throaty sound
of a tuned engine underfoot
cuts through my sleep
deprived eardrums
an almost tuneful exhaust note
rasps under acceleration
rippling night air outside
God I wish I was young again
when that sound alone
under my command
made me feel alive
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 5:47 PM UTC
(1)
In a moment
the adrenalin rush
courses through my veins;
a torrent of frustration.
Rational expression gives way to loss of all reason
as vitriol spurts forth from my lips;
a stream of abuse:
I want to goad you
I want to hurt you
I want to abuse you
The foul profanities are carefully aimed
sent hurtling from my mouth
in a barrage of spittle, all semblance of sanity gone,
and the air reeks with rankness from my verbal barrage.
A vein pulses at my temple
and the crescendo of my heartbeat
is a rhythmic chant that drives me on
to ever greater extremes.
And as this onslaught congeals and festers in an instant
inside my head, it forms into a clenched fist
that assumes control of its own existence
to strike out and feel the satisfaction as it makes contact
with your soft flesh and delicate bone.
My froth and spittle is flecked with your blood
but I am removed from the person flailing you,
punishing you,
and I have no control over him.
My eyes, if I could see them reflected in your fearful eyes,
are wide and wild,
my lips are curled back over my teeth,
my mouth opens widely as my screams of rage
are vomited at you,
my gasping breath rasps between rants,
my chest pistoning,
as you lie at my feet bloodied and subdued.
Now as I stand over you panting: an animal subjugating my ****
your eyes look furtively and fearfully into mine,
wide and frightened.
(2)
In a moment my wild triumph flees and such regret washes over me as I kneel, cradling your head in my hands, brushing away the sweat-bonded strands from your face.
I plant a soft kiss on your lips and our tears mingle saltily:
I lick my lips and taste that salt
But it only serves to heighten my guilt.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, and pull you close, letting your tremulous heartbeat calm me.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
Eyes of golden fields,
And hair of flaming sun,
Beauty of Aphrodite,
Voice of a siren.
Her sad gaze
Grasps you soul
And rasps your breath.
She's an unknowing temptress
Claiming lonesomeness
And strength of solidarity.
Dramatics fill her life
While tears penetrate her ducts
Only to be wiped dry
By her smooth white digits.
The opinions she illuminates
Are half always harsh
Half always right.
Yet in the gloom
She watches the man
She bows her song
And swallows the shine
Of that which she gazes upon.
She drinks softly
Falls to the cotton
Falls into self realization.
Her karma awaits
Sticking to her endo
Like fresh golden cream,
****** from the hive of greed.
She puts the unwanted to obscurity
And places her dreams in a bottle
To be carried from safety.
Her pain goes unnoticed
As she presses the glass
And downs its purity
To reach her haven.
I truly wish to save her,
For her beauty astounds me
And her love is secretive
Hidden to all those who seek it.
If only a door existed
For the key I posess.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
a new morning huddled
over the small stove set on snow
cold-numbed fingers
fumbled with matches
to light it
coughs punched at a dust rag sky,
the dull rasps
embarrassed near neighbors might hear
how the weak
body heaves, wracks
they'd smell kerosene on hands and clothes
if they came too close
the bent over figure
counts ashes afloat, relics
of fresh disasters wrought high,
loosing tally at one in hope it was the last;
restarts the reckoning -
it might be a tempest this time
fire fed by collections of poems,
old histories of things with no purpose,
expired quickly in overnight darkness
cold, gray their corpses still lay
beyond brushed bricks of the hearth
even a grocery list,
its page neatly erased under flakes,
chases after vapors escaped an empty fuel can,
hunger replaced by craving to be warm again
inside, behind the door
they bow heads and say grace at the table
praying over slices of light from a window
intoning with cotton puff voices
still
God gives tomorrow to continue the counting
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 10:22 AM UTC
Spit on me I care not
For shame upon the depths of soul
**** the light within me whole
I am always getting shot
Hide me away in your strong embrace
and keep me ever safe
Gently caress me with your eyes
let your hands slip over my body
and drench me in your breath
Drown me in your kiss
Hold me under in your love making
Calm my eager rasps
Eternally burning within me, I can feel you still
Hardly a glimpse top hold me
To comfort me, to shelter me
Will you heal me
Will you pick me up from my past
My fallen core a tattered mess
Will you fix me, and keep me
Evermore
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Somber rasps,
from neon flickers; cosmic elapse,
while late-workers drink the moon's wake,
subtly alive - blood-bolt captions on their weary eyes,
by feel-good bar lights,
solemnity; desecrating gemini,
grisly wonder germinates in vapour-shaken minds,
fissures - pigment-bleed from harsh-glare,
crystalline pecks - tension resolve,
absolution; static melt over slate
silhouette slink - frenzy cult,
blink- she swells into the night,
aluminum-thump - frigid airs send urban-rush,
past in whirring monotony,
hall-stretch labyrinth - she was home again,
rusted clink,
cogs whine again; like clockwork,
she hadn't touched the front door yet
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
Were indifference and suffering to go,
Where'd our sad tradition be?
Drugged to sleep in an asylum, or
Muttering mad at a last bit of breakfast.
It was simply illogical to ignore
As a child, the things it seemed grown-ups should know:
Evil-doing is easy
And sorrow's solution isn't vast.
Thinking of our sad tradition is
Like watching a janitor far past
Retiring age struggle to take out
An employer's trash. His
Chest rasps and his bent spine heaves; the boss begins to shout
"You need to hurry, ****** I wanna get drunk before
Too long, and I need to stop by the store."
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
i
tonight he
ard t
he
whole increasing
churn of asleep
moon light
profess
******* a pair
of giggling
gorgeous effluent
skinny skin
and peaked mounting
each lush pale
drop of flesh
a pinkest isle
dithered and
cooed a string
of pleasant
sharp rasps
of whitish
light
(the moon like
like honey drips
the whole sky fantastic
and carnal with
the imploding bulge
of her Winter
set ****
).
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
Everyday I tell myself I'm fine
The Night falls
I lose my mind
Its unkind the way
I twist and sway
It haunts me
It taunts me
Clawing and choking
Fire and smoking
My lungs collapse
My voice rasps
Til daylight comes
I feel numb
Repeat the same
Repeat the words
I'm okay
I'm okay
For today
Please behave
My mind
Please behave
Be kind
I set four alarms
In the night
Rem sleep gives me
Many frights
The ghost
The goblins
The treacherous
Moblins
Out to eat my flesh
Paralyze me
make me bleed
It's funny though
How they're not the worst
It's you
It's you
You come to my dreams
Like an angel of apologies
Full of heart
Full of love
Wanting forgiveness
Wanting hugs
We touch
We forgive
We laugh
We three dance with
The wind
With mighty loud grins
The past is dark
This is bright
No sadness in sight
I awaken with terror
Rem has caught me
In my most vulnerable
Gave me a plight
I cannot fight
I long for us
I long for friendship
Return to me
It's meant to be
The rem sleep lies
As I wake up to cry
Tears swallow me whole
I'm an empty bowl
Cold and alone
Sweating to the bone
Wash me away
Break my glass
Bleed from my edges
You made me sharp
And relentless
You having me
It's horrendous
Demons and ghouls
Are frightening
Yet dreaming of us
Falling in love again
It's tightening
In my chest
In my skin
It tightens my heart
Til I fall apart
You break me
The promise of peace
Of friendship
Of light and love
Of all of us
Again
Again
It'll never happen
that breaks me to pieces
More than any
Goblins or demons
You leave me bleeding
With hope
False hope
Dead hope
Tears of sorrow
Of a broken tomorrow
Stay out of me sleep
I don't wish to weep
I want one alarm
I want no harm
I want to sleep
With ease
And not bleed
_Please_
_Please_
_Please_
Let me sleep
So I can truly mean it when I say
I'm okay
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 11:54 AM UTC
Another night of nightmares
Another night of despair
Another night of tears sliding down my face
Another night in this dark empty space
Another night my sleeping mind shows me how I am confined
Another night my emotions are put to the grind
Another night my breath comes in rasps
Another night where sleep escapes my grasp
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
he was a painter once-
in the sense of a duck, waddling
augustly chin up mild fingers
engraved with acrylic rice paddy
mosaics
his deft strokes, steady against
barn yard hum dry ruby in
watery crevices, between the skullcap
and cerebellum, between ages of semantics
his cast net he stirs
the mud-clodded ponds and
rasps, cane cracking leather,
I clasp on the waterlogged eyes out the window
airborne for some lost jungle to
salvage some sliver of a canvas
he turns to me on the wooden planks
and hand in hand we plummet into an abyss of
our own creation
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
There he goes
scraping his last worn-out scars
gripping the tune of
his harsh breathing
could've been if he was
the brave man
he ever showed.
Harmonized with his rusty guitar
sang an unfamiliar lullaby
hummed in different tones,
as he silently uttered a profanity
and there goes him,
let out a clamor
no one will ever heed.
As his visions turned blurry,
the fussing rasps of his voice
can only be grasped
by the mist of death
and there he goes,
sang a weeping lullaby
beside him was the woman
who so abode with eternal chaos.
And then together, a wayfarer
amid the longing dawn,
the sun shall never rise again.
From the tune of the brave man,
he quieted the chattering misery of
the goddess of the night.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC
Your skin
Like the smell of rain
Within
Lights a window pane
Pink, grey
Blushing sparks jangle
Sink, sway
Touching, hearts tangle
Warm soft
Like sand to the foam
Aloft
Light hands to and fro
Listen
For gasps and breathing
Smitten
More rasps and creaking
Bitten
Salt, warm, sticky, sweet
Open
All worn and complete
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
There are many graves that I have dug, but refused to lie in them
There would be too many, as I’d keep digging
Until my breath would come in quick rasps, and my arms heavy trunks
Until my eyes would fade in and out of focus, and day would fade to dusk
Rows and rows and rows of holes, each one by the other’s side
For even ghosts and ghouls and wandering souls
Would soon become lonely
Even when the night came, in a falling heap would they continue to walk
And think of their actions, or their life in the past and why they couldn’t talk
Each of their words strangled and scrambled to the winds howling in stormy skies
Each of their tears turned to stone before it even reaches their eyes
From their heart that was once full of blood, is the empty which comes the ice cold
From there would be their story, locked in pages of black ink
Memories have long since faded, and the words shall all get jumbled on the paper
Twisting and turning, and melting off the book
To be carried in their hearts, and in their minds they carried the key
That remains to be forgotten, and so they shall walk lost
And for leaving your graves, row by row, unburied, is simply the cost.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 10:42 AM UTC