"raucously" poems
We lay on our backs, looking up to the sky, watching the clouds drift and dance across the indescribable expanse of summer blue. Shameless, we shout the first things that come to mind, whatever we think see floating above us.
Turtle. Sailboat. Dragon. Elephant. Chair. Fire truck.
And we laugh, because we know they’re just amorphous masses of water vapor, floating without reason or destination.
And the clouds, they lay on their stomachs. They look down with wonder, pointing and giggling. They tumble and roll across the sky, watching our lives below. Shameless, they whisper to each other the first thing that comes to mind, whatever they think they see below them.
Mother. Leader. Writer. Musician. Son. Lover.
And their laughter thunders across the sky, echoing raucously through the air because they know we’re just amorphous masses of water vapor, wandering across the earth without emotion or purpose.
Who do we think we are?
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
Clickbait dangles low
the fish gather raucously
always the victim
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
The music of life, at times, is a raucously *** concert
of ominously monotonous melodies sung sirenically
by voluptuously ugly monsters.
Curvaceous enough to flaunt the fact they’re actually ****
Which makes you feel like an *** but that’s just the way
it was meant to be.
Then the chorus bombs in, and the song starts to get sweeter
since the tune becomes a lot like Bob’s album: Street-Legal.
But as quick as you can nictitate, the ****** you anticipate
flicks away like a spark that was never gonna be lit-to-flame.
And so revert the monsters, their obnoxiously off-key verse,
somehow being, paradoxically, still acceptably heard.
And I almost forgot to mention how horrifyingly awkward
the gawking audience dances! Watching it is honestly
the most awful part of this non-senseness.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
Standing, waiting, my face blank, uncaring and staring
at the garish colors of their cheap and ill-fitting clothes.
Cramming in, fingers all greasy, raucously laughing,
jabbering ******** braying useless information, loudly.
Swarming, idly in hot little dark holes of rooms, making
a suffocating stench from ragged mouth-breathing.
Obnoxious.
******* disgusting, everyone.
Don't ******* touch me.
This is overwhelming.
"There's too many people in here."
You sidle up to me, saying what we're both thinking, and then we leave.
Both of us glaring at the ********* shuffling slowly, in the way,
unable to meet our height or eyes, they remain glued
to the tiny screens in their sweaty and hot little hands,
as their annoying children are screaming and running.
You.
You, with your shit-brown eyes.
Silent and stoic, with a hard-edged jaw. Are you ******** me?
Like not making eye contact with me is going to shame me,
stripping me of something that you never even bestowed?
You think I'm obscene?
Mister, look at you.
I am tired, but, I am okay. I am fine.
I don't care what you otherwise say.
Alive and sober, awake and dying.
I am improving, actively evolving.
I am not devalued or retrograding.
**** you.**
Don't not look at me, as though I were a freak.
Don't sneer and scoff, and judge me, as meat.
**** you.**
You think you know me better than me?
You think you could even convince me differently?
am I right, or am I right?
Go ahead, lock your jaw, frown and furrow your brow, you magnanimous hypocrite.
We're both autonomous, and rich, in Ameri-fucking-ca, with freedom out the *******
You're free to judge me.
I'm free to say **** you.
We both bleed red blood.
We both will do as we will,
loving, ******** fighting,
drinking, ******* coping,
hiding, hurting, smelling,
crying, begging, hating,
breathing, needing, eating,
sleeping, living, and dying
under the great majesty of
A *******
INDIFFERENT
UNIVERSE
where we both need to
stop thinking differently.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
.
I peek through the keyhole
and try to smell
freedom drifting on a steel breeze--
My window vibrates with distant echos of laughter
and the lone moan of a rusted lawn mower.
The cool, trickling creek is once again hidden
by the emerging tender leaf.
Silver quivering shards of light
come shooting faster than bullets and
raucously ricochet around my room.
Gravity works on the melting snow on the distant mountains,
little rivulets race to satiate the wild flowers in the valley.
--If you open my door, I will go there with you.
.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 9:53 PM UTC
God Awful Row!
The night sky.
Illuminated bright, almost daylight at nine.
Restful feel hovers in the air.
Until the moment when Apollo arrived.
Delivered his prophecy.
Peace may reign the Earth again.
A lunatic smiles.
Grinning,
Who are you trying to kid.
Chuckling raucously.
The huntress arrives.
Diana chases Apollo through sky at night.
God and Goddess hitting the heavens.
Having a family spat.
About the state of planet Earth.
Diana being Artemis.
The sister of Apollo.
United they threw the lunatic back to Earth.
To cause chaos once again.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
I’m going to dance on your grave.
I will hoot and holler and stomp up and down
Rattling your bones in that bag of loose flesh that’s slowly melting off .
I will scream into the ground that was savagely ripped up
And then squished back in around that shiny box.
I will lay on my belly and read my favorite books
And laugh raucously at all the best parts.
I will swear and kick the somber stone at your head
And howl when I bruise my foot.
I will sit crisscross-applesauce on the grass in August
And sing Christmas carols.
I will do whatever I feel like doing
With little concern for what you’d think.
Because it isn’t your grave.
It’s mine.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
And are you also frightened
Of the monsters with nighttime white faces
Of places lined ****** with traces
Of tiger-striped neighbors complacent
Are you all so frightened?
And are you also frightened
Of the German death-expert, that phantom
Of your mother turned raucously pantomime
Of a world-wide prisoners’ anthem
Are you all so frightened?
And are you also frightened
Of the nuclear holocaust schemers
Of the cannibals’ preying on dreamers
Of the new World
Are you all so frightened?
And are you also frightened
Of poetry written in free verse
Of burning alive you foolish young convert
Of the chorus of underground screams in the desert
Are you all so frightened?
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 9:06 PM UTC
Candlelight dancing off the rippling bathwater,
The steam rising off it with an aroma
So sweet,
From the herbs steeped in it,
I’m a goddess,
An empress,
And my nectar is the red wine
Chilled to my preference,
The delicate stem dangling from my fingertips
And I watch.
As the coolness drifts off the glass in lazy tendrils,
Dancing over the surface of the heated water.
I part my lips and exhale gently onto the curve of it
Until the twirling fingers of cold opposing the heat
Swirl desperately,
My breath is the master,
The air the puppet,
And I tilt my head at the first notes of a song that draws me back,
Back to a liason in the dark
With an exotic lover,
The French words slipping over my skin
As silkily as his lips did,
Each verse reminding me of how we celebrated those verses then,
Raucously
Remorselessly
Hedonistically,
Almost as I do now,
With my ambrosia and my rose petals dancing among sprigs of herbs on the water,
With an orchestra hailing my memory,
All by the light of countless,
Flickering
flames.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
Perpetually ****** peeved and put-out
Cocked my cans back to give them a clout
Surrounded by slithering serpents suffocating my shout
Asking angry ******** what their apathy is about
Longing for her luscious locks to be locked with a look
Burgeoning, bumbling, believing love's broken book
Tired of the teasing, I take what I've come to took
Nestling near, cradling only my pillow in my arm crook
********* ******* **** right you're going down
Fixing your ******* face into a freckled frown
Grouchy and greedy, I gasped seeing her gown
Hungry and ***** I can't leave the scent, like a hound
Where was 'we' written in the wedding
Roaring raucously, I rip off her ring
Zealous, jeaous, I zag away from my zig
Can't you cantankerous ***** see I want to be KING
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
THE RED DIGITAL CLOCK REMINDS ME I AM at 21,112 feet,
a palindrome at 6.06 in the morning,
drifting from sleep to wake,
back to dreams of reality.
The man in my dreams.
The man of my dreams.
Somewhere over the rainbow,
crows scream ****** at each other and the world turns.
Men at work.
6:16 says the flashing clock,
flashing to remind me,
flashing to forget.
The man in my dreams
The man of my dreams.
Pilots fly me onwards
to a knowing destination,
a truly murky crystal of logic and stupidity.
The Chelsea hotel reminds me
that love is not dead,
that it lives on in the hearts of the workers of song,
at least for those of them left.
Mountains of things,
rings,
wedding bells chime and time,
time slowly marches by,
races,
paces,
one way streets.
Time.
Castles the colour of ink,
landscapes of pink mountains.
Snap back to reality.
The sun kisses the distant horizon,
as planes tear holes in the sky below
and the old women weep for the days that will never shine again.
But the children laugh for the days that are yet to be born,
the days of promise and peace,
war and understanding.
A new era?
A new beginning?
A twist in time to take us to where it all began
and the beautiful moon watches raucously from above,
smiling on his children,
sending kisses to his cheating lover, who still wrestles with the horizon.
Colour floods.
Grey, grey, grey.
A dulux of colour.
Man made.
Your body searches for me.
My mind wanders to other things.
The heat of your stare envelopes every pore of my being
and I freeze,
immersed in a mountain stream,
drenched in the sweat of love.
Doors open,
archways scream
and silence is our only food.
And yet reality still twists you from me.
The man of my dreams.
The man in my dreams.
Crows cry and children sing.
Happy nightmares, wearing thin.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
means absolutely solitary
nearing midnight
turned the night stand light off
using an old TV show,
a Law & Order seen multiple times,
as a pseudo lover,
as a denial of my
absolitary status
which is only lonely
and
a) absolutely useless stupid cause
who doesn’t know the tv is a lousy lover
b) driving autocorrect insane,
she protesting,
she,
the female voice within me raucously denying that
I am definitely neither
absolitary
neither absolute nor solitary.
fine
instead I am only
absolutely ready
to give this poem away
and go off solitary
to meet my
lover muses
who are ready willing able
to be refreshed by
refreshing me
with nary a spoken word
but those visions, notions, potions
they plant within next to that female voice
are
absolitary wonderful
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
“To love is to tenderly dig into someone’s mind:
His or her heart and soul to forever find!
Care and carry compassionately in storms and in winds
To love is to find an eternal peace in the one that you lovingly abides
Love is to find a familiar ground that two forever binds!
Love is the joy shared by two that in this journey, true rides!
In love are routes rough, in love are ways tough, in love are rails-grids that grinds
Though, in love are determined souls that never part but remains set in strong stands”
A kiss is a stamp of love
To feel your breath warmth in mine
An emboss, an assurance of love
Our staring gaze, the stupors for each other’s sight
Is a language stronger than words-written or verbal
Understood only by two fools honestly hungry for each other
The beauty and peace of your voice
Candidly meaning your saying that you love me alone forever
Is an indelible engrave of our love
Music, a sweet sacred hymn to my soul
Like a piper’s pious pipe, it is a song to my ears
A solemn instrumental, sentimental to my heart
To hear the heart beat of your heart
In the strong embraces of your arms
It’s a stigmata to our love, there to be binding forever!
An umbilical cord strapping us together end-ever
To listen to the whispers of your soul in our feelings and flows
To feel the silences of your heart in our emotions and elations
Is to be entangled in eternal love, to be chained in forever love
You are mine, there is no way I will let you go!
I will fight for you, I will care for you!
I will love you forever and ever for our love is forever
I will love you beyond any Heaven's heights or Earth's extents
Now in its extant and ever even when we are lost extinct
We will watch the earth form and deform together
Nature, magnificently make and despondently delete together forever
Together we will quietly listen to the melodic music of the universe forever
When the sun sad burns, I will be your shade
When storms rage havoc, I will be your shelter
And when the rains pound, I will still be your umbrella
When lightening rudely strikes and thunders raucously scares
I will still be there besides to care, your scares to cure
When snows severely fall, I will be your oven, kiln warmth
When summer and springs sweet sings, I will be your mild melody
And when autumns dull comes, I will be the joy to raise your moistened moods
To who do you owe your heart to? To you I owe my heart
In my heart is my all-my soul, it that outlives me-dust!
Keep compassionate care of my spirit, until I returns-compost!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC
When the moonlight shines at its best,
where lightning and thunder roar raucously,
And heartbeats as fast as the speed of light,
I inform of the blood-curdling apparition!
Where flesh decay,
And when your hair rises,
I inform of the phantom's run!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Feel like the soldier boy who went away,
left his mom and dad and the family dog,
in the drive way,
left his friends, left his school, hair cut real
short, when long hair was cool, left his girl,
you all, know how that went
got a letter but it was to Dear John...
even though lips held kisses and promises
after she finished grade twelve too.
he left the mountains, he left the river,
if he was lazy, now, he would have to giver!
get his heels together,
and learn that respect was earned,
but
always
respect the
rank and uniform,
the man
needs to earn
the respect of the
troops,
he knew no quit, and he came home
when he could and sometimes he
travelled far,
sometimes when getting home
was not possible he lay on his bed,
and left the room and in his head,
he made it home,
for the weekend.
the dog died, his dad left,
chaos turned a world upside down,
but he still made it home,
much water has flowed down the Columbia since that day,
my life is still busy, left the army
not enough years to build a pension,
but I will rattle of verses from the
sublime to the perverse,
I will poke with words, to let you
know I feel, and some pieces I write
the tears will fill my eyes and
the sounds won't be right,
and my heart will pound,
I will walk down these all too
familiar roads, the 'sunsets' and
'love' verses all look familiar,
maybe each time I go away I
will try to stay longer, and
maybe one day, I will retire here
among the poems done and
antiquated, among the ones
rolling raucously in my mind,
waiting for those birth pangs.
waiting for their turn to be read aloud,
waiting to make my mom real proud,
waiting to publish
waiting for someone to say...Hello.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
the word "special"
can be used to mean
incredibly different things
when she was called special
after her first performance
while being handed a giant bouquet
of vibrant flowers and candy
her smile stretched from end to end
cheeks pink and blushing
and stood proud as the audience called for an encore
when he was called special
after fumbling the ball for ---
what, the fourth time in a row?---
his chest felt hollow
and he chuckled along anxiously
with the rest of his team
who were laughing raucously
when she was called special
after releasing her first album
the world was announcing her name
'The Next Big Thing'
she was used to it
flipped her hair
and wondered what
normal people were like
and pitied them
when he was called special
after being called in by his counselor
who added that
he wouldn't be able to graduate
his face fell
even though he was used to being
called special
as he walked out of the school
letter to his mother in hand
he wondered what normal people were like
and envied them
Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
I am an afterimage. I am a bisected heart fluttering in half-felt contractions, pinned down to a student’s desk. Somehow there is no blood, only light. Light, softly spilling from my aorta, gentle and insubstantial. You shake your head to dispel it as you turn back to your teacher’s lesson, but I am painted in the space behind your eyelids every time you blink. Your teacher speaks but isn’t really saying anything at all.
Sentiment is one hell of a drug, cradling me docile in the back of the classroom. The box-cutter used to saw open my ribs is abandoned on the floor beside me. They’ll come for my vertebrae next, I think. They’ve already skipped over my eyes in the curriculum, but I’m okay with that. If they had stuck to the class plan, I wouldn’t have the chance to see you cradle my split, sputtering heart in your hand while you trace the inside of my left ventricle with the lightest ghost of touch.
In the back corner seat three rows behind you is an angel. I ask them why their wings hang so low, and they reply, the weight of human expectation. Their feathers twitch when the teacher walks out of the room, flinching when one of the students laughs raucously and declares in a half-heard conversation’s fragment, well, God can fight me behind the Denny’s then. The angel’s face turns pained, blurry, and they whisper for my ears alone, God has no wish to fight you, child. You, three rows ahead and still playing with my heart, are oblivious to their sorrow.
The aftershocks under my skin are a memory. Be gentle, sweet child, be gentle. Only old bones truly sleep.
h.f.m.
Aug 21, 2020
Aug 21, 2020 at 1:15 PM UTC