"squelch" poems
Close my eyes tonight
In hopes of happiness and peace
Using my determination as a light
To scare away the darkness and the monsters that comes with
Its hard to manage when you don't mind the dark some days
Don't mind walking in the dark
Prefer it most days
But that’s in this world
Not the world of my head
In the world of my head I have to shine this light around
And push it all away
So I can keep pushing forward
So that I can explore the new part of my mind
That is attempting to take over my world as we speak
I've already decided it can't have it
I won't let it squelch the things I've worked so hard for
Determination it shall fear
And I shall not fear it
No matter how hard it pushes
I may have to step back
But I refuse to stand at the bottom of this mountain
And pretend everything is ok.
I've already attempted that
I've already looked for the answer at the bottom of a bottle
The answer isn't there
The answer is in Determination and patience
Forgiveness of myself.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the ***** sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining **** among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a *****
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no ***** to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
6.6k
When you're around
Someone slips down the thermostat
Plays it like a violin
Drifting a decent toward
The most poignant Minor cord.
I feel lost within myself
Like an island watching a beautiful ship
Sail by without stopping.
And yet-
You leave and it aches;
Hurts like the thud of pulse
Behind a ripening bruise...
Feels as though my heart is about to
Rend my ribs and squelch
Painfully though the cracks
To slither away in your general direction.
In your absence
I realize that simple things
Can grow into necessity.
Tiny seedlings who take root
Can somehow cross time to become
A redwood with roots so deep
The foundation of the earth is never the same
When it falls.
Air is everywhere
And yet when its gone
Beneath tidal waves
It's more precious than gold;
Riches mean nothing when you're drowning.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Many people worry about their weight
In case it stops them ever getting a date
But gaining a few odd pounds is nothing
Just the result of a few days' greedy scoffing.
It's when you gain a couple of stones+,
And oozing fat smothers all your aching bones,
When your butts squelch against each other
Then you know you are a big fat mother.
But the cure for this is but a simple job:
You wire a padlock o'er your greedy gob.
Take daily laxatives and have no fear:
All will be relieved by constant diarrhoea.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
They've both had you in ways
That I could only ever dream of having you
They've felt your hands on every inch of their bodies
And have felt the bliss of your lips
They've exchanged all levels of pleasure with you
They've gotten your attention
They've been your favorites
And encompassed your dreams, asleep and awake
As i have to hack and squeeze my way
Just to approach the horizon of your vision
Jealousy isn't the word to describe
The desperate hunger I can't squelch
And the heaviness of my limbs
Being filled with the feeling of insufficiency
As I face the fact that I'll never be what you want
Not nearly enough
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
By the run of wine, by Champagne's flow,
Swine did dine and watch the show,
'tween Squelch and Squeal, they Screamed, "Bravo!"
As merry went, did jolly go,
They drink their drinks, they oinked along,
To cabarets enchanting song,
So hypnotized, it won't be long,
'til Something goes horribly wrong....
For how were the jolly hogs to know
That butchers sat in the fifth row?
As blades grew sharp, their haste did grow,
Impatient to get on the go,
The sows were deafened by the tune,
The boars blinded by drunkards view,
But tact is what the butchers do,
But time at hand is profit due...
So nice the price of pork these days,
And chops and ribs are all the craze,
A roast in beer with honey glaze...
Makes fortunes for the butchers blades.
Had the swine been wise, for moments thought,
To greed they are cash to caught,
They could have run, they could have fought
And not been swine to the onslaught,
But they danced and sang, stupid and heavy
As butchers killed the swine of many,
That now sit in pieces, at a deli,
Their wage in wallet, meat in belly.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:36 AM UTC
Aye, though ye may have the spark within,
thou needn'st be a **** about it:
for, it is that very spark that you may squelch,
and if thou findst joy in that inhumane act,
thou art of the very Evil
we strive to overcome
as artists
and Humans.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
a gentle patter of rain
tapping politely
at the window
not tempestuously
but imposing enough
in its constancy
a passive aggressive reminder
from the heavens
of our ultimate
lack of control
such a minor obstacle
and yet it tips
the scales of
what was planned
or hoped for
to something perhaps
unforeseen
not yet considered
i thought i had
no intention of
leaving the house
but find myself
rolling my eyes
with huff and sigh
cursing the grey
for ruining
that potential
by lunchtime
windscreens glisten with
newly welcomed sunlight
reflected blindingly
from droplets that linger
despite the fresh warmth
carried in the convective air
it no longer appears
to be "coat weather"
though the ground
is still puddled
to squelch or
splash underfoot
perhaps i could venture
outside after all
with a motivation
fuelled by this
latest change
but for all the blue
stretching the sky
there is still that
darkened mass of cloud
hanging heavy in the distance
unable to tell if it has
been weathered already
or is another downpour
yet to come
Apr 18, 2023
Apr 18, 2023 at 9:43 AM UTC
it wasn’t till night that I realized what had been bothering me all day and when I saw it at last I was sad, in the way I do, when the bothering is so easily-remedied-a-thing, once seen, or in this case, felt, as it was the longing of my feet to be without shoes, sans socks too, no winter, **** concrete, sidewalk, home every encased thing. It was night in a park with the children wahooing when I got quiet enough to listen to the feet, who’d been fed up all day, and when I slipped out of the sturdy hiking shoes and pressed my feet, which by this time had nearly given up hope of ever getting what they need, onto the cool spring grass my silly knees nearly buckled. And I was greedy for the different surfaces, to give them to the feet, who longed to walk and slide over them, to hold pebbes in toes, to crunch twigs and acorn caps, to squelch cold blades of grass together. I got a text then, from a friend, “I want to run naked through a feild of cilantro” and then my whole body started its caterwauling and boo hooing, and I felt as if I’d maybe started something I couldn’t contain, having given into the feet.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:59 AM UTC
Blue wind encapsulates
in the midst of this ephemeral
autumn madness,
and my hands shake
as I try to forget.
I am just a human,
small and faulted,
trying like hell to squelch
the siren songs
of these maniac thoughts
buzzing like bees
through the empty spaces
within my skull.
I am just a silent body
and grey matter processing
words and colors
that feel truer
than any cheap emotions.
Cold light illuminates
and sparks nostalgia
and I am just
two eyes
retreating
into the mist.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
Squelch into the deepest puddles where sadness echoes her silent heart across physiological plateaus of numbness.
Can I have permission to permeate your being whilst plantations convey their sorceries beyond seeming sophistication?
We must interact beyond the realms of that which is anticipated.
I am sincerely grateful for those broken hemispheres of discrimination,
because we are lost within the parameters of being found.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
My crunching across this frozen field
wakes sleeping sheep, due to lamb.
The nearby turlough ripples brush across
Moon’s fragmented image,
a lone swan pirouettes–
half a Claddagh Ring.
I welcome the fog
though it snuffs out the moon.
It is still so bright.
No sign of any lamb.
Days later I walk the same field
with a squelch. Incessant rain
has drowned the moon.
Still no lamb.
My watch flashes:
midnight.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:35 AM UTC
Today, I ashed my cigarette
on the ground, but it kept
burning, and there was an
ant
when I went to squelch the embers
with the heel of my boot.
As my foot passed over it
like God's hand over man,
I had a distinct impulse
to **** it.
--but nothing else, no reason;
so I didn't. In fact,
it would have been just
as justified, just as
reasonable to have said
Good morning
and just as nonsensical.
And though he likely isn't
a listener of music, and
though he is not
likely to spend his days
studying the works
of Yeats or Whitman,
or to ponder spirituality
or philosophy, as men do,
I think he may have even
more of the Lord's favor upon him
than I.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 12:36 PM UTC
Drum and bass - the engine revs,
Tyres grind and squelch into the hardpan.
The cab rises with a squall of angry breath,
Lurches forward with a shudder.
Wrought iron gates heaved shut
Hinges squeal like a pig, they are a pig.
Slamming metal resonates
In secure embrace.
Ugly black rubber stains the concrete -
Mascara on a cheap *****
If the rumbling cages are food for the beast
Then I am stood in its bowels.
The sour smell of rotting food
Mixed with washing powder and bleach pollute.
Greasy plastic, rancid fat
Makes me recoil and retch.
In a gap in the tar she grows.
Raising her head to the sun in oblivious defiance
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
For once in my life I want to be happy
happy and hopeful and confident
I want to not beat myself down before anything can happen
Or repeatedly remind myself that it's "probably nothing"
I want to go to bed and not worry that I said the wrong thing
or that I'm thinking too much
Or not enough.
I want to not feel like my feelings
(or my heart)
are too much
I want to not have to feel like I need
to squelch my wants and my hopes and my dreams
because if I dare to reach for them I am going to get smacked for thinking that any of that is something I could ever have.
I want to not feel scared of letting myself love.
I want to not feel scared to be authentic in my current existence.
I want to be allowed to shout who I am and how I feel
from where ever I want.
But that's not the world we live in.
I can't.
I can't fly up too high or too close to the sun.
People who fly too close to the sun get burned and fall to their deaths.
The sun doesn't let things hug it.
It doesn't want a friend.
Not even another sun.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Destroy me
You phantom of a frostbit branch
The window thin as ice but
Thick enough to shut you out, I'd say
To throw a cold shoulder
But you hold the thermostat in your palm
To bade our blades much colder
It falls so softly, induces
Coughing, ravaged throats
Coated in mucus and eucalyptus
And dry as toast
Your accumulation stings.
Builds around my every-thing
Traps me, while you sag on limbs
Sapping at the sight of heat, you
Squelch beneath studded rubber
Soles, and unsuspecting stockings
We react to you in opposites
Sway a daydream tropical
In stiff and childish ways of yours, you drop your toys
Ground to numbing dust
So it falls among the rest of us just waiting
For your twin's return
It's not your choice, to have remains
That soak the grains of greater plains
That lavish in the wreck of your rule.
But to keep the warmth, from coming on
Long after silver bells are gone
Are cold and jealous actions of a fool.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
In the sea of aged descension,
debauchery of tortoises and sea horses,
afloat bottoms up.
With fleeting corals,
wilted they wane,
a familiar millet stops by.
Seeping ashes I breathe in,
treacherous flames I shan’t squelch,
left nothing but void to differ the abyss
from an unfathomable surface.
Tidal deluge washes away.
Deprive me of thy momentum,
for I no longer swim.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
It was his birthday, his fourtyninth year,
sat at his computer, he hadn't a clue.
Our son placed her on his chest without fear,
but, his big hands, didn't know what to do.
She looked up at him, with eyes dark and clear.
He fumbled to hold her, his discomfort grew.
She gave a big yawn, then gave a small belch.
I could see, that his smile, he tried to squelch.
He turned his attention then to our son,
who pointed at me, trying to shift blame.
Said, "Maybe you'll tell me just what you've done!"
"Happy Birthday" we cried, playing the game.
She then licked his thumb, with her pink tongue,
He tried to look stern, but his heart she did tame.
With her tiny black nose, she gave a shove
and just like that, he was in puppy love.
**Authors note: This little 1/2 pound Chihuahua
melted his heart and let him love
a dog once more. Not since our Siberian Husky
died over 8 years ago, had he even looked
at another dog. "Precious" allowed him to love anew
without fear of a broken heart once again.
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
Sometimes-- I'm illness
-Breeding pores,
And 'yes' I can feel them.
When I cut through skin-
Searching for inner beauty
--as I've lost mine-
These fingers,
Squelch over weaving's and wraps
Inside-
It's warm red here,
Almost mulled wine evenings--
There's suppression on
Your blink-less face
In tearing lips,
Yet--
You smile.
As you feel my hands rummaging,
Through-broken-ribs in
'Hopes' of stroking lungs-
Only--breathless-slow-motion
Memories occur.
And instead I stab
That precious heart with
Unwarranted lonely,
I'm breeding-on-the-mess
I've made--
Staring-at-the-pieces,
I'd been drinking--
A carcass of iridescent beauty.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
it starts with a chug
a push of steam leaning into the next chug
more resolved even desperate
building momentum with each turn
three thoughtless words
leave the station blowing spiral exhaust
picking up sentences along the way
passengers climb aboard destination cars
riding click clack click clack lyric tracks
as they squelch an urge to peer ahead
for the blind belly-gripping corners
hiding morbid thoughts of finding themselves
somewhere in an ominous tunnel
with a villain from chapter 3
but they come anyway
paying good fare
with cash and unbartered time
reserved for such a season as this
infinite itineraries through
countrysides and comedies
mountains and mysteries
prairies and poetry
highlight endless whistle stop fantasies
predestined by curious minds
throwing line by line hypnotic leisure
into the rhythm of the wheels
beauty is revealed
through the picture windows of books
yet
in the midst of gorgeous landscapes
undreamt dismantling jumps
hardened steel guides in these words:
*...I would have been referred to religion,
the cemetery where questions of faith are answered....*
the pleasant journey
comes derailed on the slip switch
possessed of both genius and sadness
for cemeteries are only death if
they are the end of the vision
tombstones create blind men
of brilliant skeptics
when
Lazarus lives
the tomb is empty
and the end isn't
faith puts the train upright
setting the switches to forever
bypassing graveyards
and riding to the unquenchable light.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
the taste of nicotine, infecting the young
the deep breath in, corroding my lungs
the squelch of a flame beneath my boot
the extinguished warmth between me and you.
inhale quick, forget as i try
leaving room for sickness to grow
blaming the numbness on the high
i still feel nothing when i'm low.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
They have tried to conceal our love,
they've thrown up roadblocks, and smokescreens
to keep us from finding each other again,
but yet we always do. Our love has its own radar.
I can sense your heart beating, like an angelic drum
through the haze, and I know you can always hear the love
in my voice, even through the harsh foul static.
Even when you cannot respond, I know you know
my love is always glowing, like a lighthouse in the night.
Guiding you back to my harbor of eternal affection,
where my lips never tire of sounding the horn of our happiness.
I have stumbled for women before, like a blind man descending stairs.
But I never fell, until I tumbled head first into the bottomless pool
of your beauty. The only waters in which I would gladly drown,
have drowned, only to be rescued and resuscitated by your kisses.
Those who do not speak the language of our love, point their antennas our way,
they intercept our transmissions, but their code books are missing the pages
that explain how such emotion can be decoded. They only catch the grand communique,
always missing the short, but ever so loving messages, that come in daily
over the teletype of passion. Feverishly at this very moment, they wrack their brains
wondering at the deeper context of our words, but their is no hidden meaning,
behind the expression of affection. Love is its own context, and if they cannot translate it
then they are the ones at fault, not us. We have our own frequencies, and wavelengths.
Our Love shall always ring out in the darkness, even if we have to switch channels,
It will be there, to comfort us, and relieve the ache of our longing. I already have enough
in this world. Let them have the rest. All I need is our tiny daily broadcast, all I need is...
Our love.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
There she was
An angel in beautiful words
Words found only in his dreams
In those hidden corners of lubriciousness
Musky shadows muted the sunniest of days
Like-minds grazed in intensity
And from those shadows rose her sun
Resplendent and bold
Illuminating every nook and cranny as she passed
There is no judgement as he reads
Those possibilities in her beautiful words
Could it be, there is another...kindred
But no, doubt fills a mind wrapped in norms and raised in terms of proper
Curiosity begs the question
Her truth answers his innermost lies
Looking for justification, a way out
Raised believing, too good to be true always is
Looking for a way to feed doubt and squelch a fledgling reality
Yet found his fantasies in this angel
With a face that made them real
What do you do when your demons become human
When your shame is no longer shameful
When you are accepted as you are, in all your seeming depravity
When your darkest yearnings are craved by another wading in the pool of lasciviousness
When your concupidity is realized
Crossing the line dragging fantasy into daylight
Holding on with both hands basking in the sun
There is a sweetness in this angel with beautiful words
A loving nature, a truth that cannot lie
And there is a gentleness in his heart that he cannot reconcile with darkest passion
So, what do you do with a dream come true?
You walk away into the norm and leave the joy to burn in her sun
Pretending her sweetness feels no pain
Hoping against hope, that her reality was never your dream
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
Jane holds the pencil in her hand
She uses it to get the thoughts out of her head
Now they won't come out
Time for a new tactic
She swings her clenched fist at her ear
The squelch is felt more than heard
Again and again she gouges the thoughts from her brain
Thoughts pool dark red in her lap
She finally shut them up
Eyes closed
Relaxed sigh
Alone in her head again
Jane fades out
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC