"thwacked" poems - Hello Poetry

God knows how our neighbor managed to breed His great sow: Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid In the same way He kept the sow--impounded from public stare, Prize ribbon and pig show. But one dusk our questions commended us to a tour Through his lantern-lit Maze of barns to the lintel of the sunk sty door To gape at it: This was no rose-and-larkspurred china suckling With a penny slot For thrift children, nor dolt pig ripe for heckling, About to be Glorified for prime flesh and golden crackling In a parsley halo; Nor even one of the common barnyard sows, Mire-smirched, blowzy, Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout- cruise-- Bloat tun of milk On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies Shrilling her hulk To halt for a swig at the pink teats. No. This vast Brobdingnag bulk Of a sow lounged belly-bedded on that black compost, Fat-rutted eyes Dream-filmed. What a vision of ancient hoghood must Thus wholly engross The great grandam!--our marvel blazoned a knight, Helmed, in cuirass, Unhorsed and shredded in the grove of combat By a grisly-bristled Boar, fabulous enough to straddle that sow's heat. But our farmer whistled, Then, with a jocular fist thwacked the barrel nape, And the green-copse-castled Pig hove, letting legend like dried mud drop, Slowly, grunt On grunt, up in the flickering light to shape A monument Prodigious in gluttonies as that hog whose want Made lean Lent Of kitchen slops and, stomaching no constraint, Proceeded to swill The seven troughed seas and every earthquaking continent.

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6.5k

Sylvia Plath

Sow

God knows how our neighbor managed to breed His great sow: Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid In the same way He kept the sow--impounded from public stare, Prize ribbon and pig show. But one dusk our questions commended us to a tour Through his lantern-lit Maze of barns to the lintel of the sunk sty door To gape at it: This was no rose-and-larkspurred china suckling With a penny slot For thrift children, nor dolt pig ripe for heckling, About to be Glorified for prime flesh and golden crackling In a parsley halo; Nor even one of the common barnyard sows, Mire-smirched, blowzy, Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout- cruise-- Bloat tun of milk On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies Shrilling her hulk To halt for a swig at the pink teats. No. This vast Brobdingnag bulk Of a sow lounged belly-bedded on that black compost, Fat-rutted eyes Dream-filmed. What a vision of ancient hoghood must Thus wholly engross The great grandam!--our marvel blazoned a knight, Helmed, in cuirass, Unhorsed and shredded in the grove of combat By a grisly-bristled Boar, fabulous enough to straddle that sow's heat. But our farmer whistled, Then, with a jocular fist thwacked the barrel nape, And the green-copse-castled Pig hove, letting legend like dried mud drop, Slowly, grunt On grunt, up in the flickering light to shape A monument Prodigious in gluttonies as that hog whose want Made lean Lent Of kitchen slops and, stomaching no constraint, Proceeded to swill The seven troughed seas and every earthquaking continent.

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Gloominess all around me I could see no light The pain is ruling, tears are flooding I know there is no way I can fight. I scream, I cry, I hit the walls but all I get is woe I curse my fate, sit in disgrace having nothing to do. They dragged me in this ocean of chaos blaming me that I committed a crime Now I can do nothing except to sit and hymn They smashed my face real hard and thwacked my jaw They made me naked on those frigid nights for breaking their law. They tortured me all night long just to make me accept the sin I had no any alternatives left except to agree and lean. I had no evidence of being innocent So I accepted the crime For I could not bear the grief that they gave me every time. Now, I am waiting for that day to come when the ropes embrace my neck I will then fly freely in the air with no pains to take.

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Dec 16, 2014

Dec 16, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC

bhaskar-dhakal

Innocent prisoner

Gloominess all around me I could see no light The pain is ruling, tears are flooding I know there is no way I can fight. I scream, I cry, I hit the walls but all I get is woe I curse my fate, sit in disgrace having nothing to do. They dragged me in this ocean of chaos blaming me that I committed a crime Now I can do nothing except to sit and hymn They smashed my face real hard and thwacked my jaw They made me naked on those frigid nights for breaking their law. They tortured me all night long just to make me accept the sin I had no any alternatives left except to agree and lean. I had no evidence of being innocent So I accepted the crime For I could not bear the grief that they gave me every time. Now, I am waiting for that day to come when the ropes embrace my neck I will then fly freely in the air with no pains to take.

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Aching, breaking 20,000 leagues beneath the sea, you now find yourself shaking. And the pain, it is buried so very deep You think you could glimpse the opening to Hades. So why not stop to ponder what became of all that childhood wonder And before you finally go under, recall the manifold wonders That the child within you glimpsed with each unique unfolding day – It was knocked from you, shaken out of you: The hard ruler thwacked upon the desk; the calloused hand that cuffed your head … all of it inevitably led To A late card A lanyard A back yard … A graveyard But it doesn’t have to be this way my sleeping brave That child who dreamt of wonders never truly went away He’s been sat in extended detention staring out upon the rain all these blasted, wasted days Smiling defiantly, waiting patiently for this, the day that you inevitably awake again -So awake again And acknowledge the dull convention that held your child in suspended animation All these very many years -recall the tailored hopes and fears that steered you upon this path of aspiration All that vile accumulation of stifling convention Now let those dimly-lit and narrow days just simply wilt and fall away Lay down your daily paper and incline your face up towards the sun And allow the child to mingle with the man you have become. Be a child once more my son And you may rise with the grace of a brace of golden angels once again. Spiralling; entwining; in the endless space between the margins. Dipping and swooping, joyously, carelessly loop-the-looping Through skies and heavens never ending You feel the glory of your golden child for evermore ascending

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May 5, 2018

May 5, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC

stephen-mc-auliffe

THE CHILD OF EVERMORE

Aching, breaking 20,000 leagues beneath the sea, you now find yourself shaking. And the pain, it is buried so very deep You think you could glimpse the opening to Hades. So why not stop to ponder what became of all that childhood wonder And before you finally go under, recall the manifold wonders That the child within you glimpsed with each unique unfolding day – It was knocked from you, shaken out of you: The hard ruler thwacked upon the desk; the calloused hand that cuffed your head … all of it inevitably led To A late card A lanyard A back yard … A graveyard But it doesn’t have to be this way my sleeping brave That child who dreamt of wonders never truly went away He’s been sat in extended detention staring out upon the rain all these blasted, wasted days Smiling defiantly, waiting patiently for this, the day that you inevitably awake again -So awake again And acknowledge the dull convention that held your child in suspended animation All these very many years -recall the tailored hopes and fears that steered you upon this path of aspiration All that vile accumulation of stifling convention Now let those dimly-lit and narrow days just simply wilt and fall away Lay down your daily paper and incline your face up towards the sun And allow the child to mingle with the man you have become. Be a child once more my son And you may rise with the grace of a brace of golden angels once again. Spiralling; entwining; in the endless space between the margins. Dipping and swooping, joyously, carelessly loop-the-looping Through skies and heavens never ending You feel the glory of your golden child for evermore ascending

32

If putsch comes to shove, aye ain't no doggone fraidy cat nor chicken little fearing coup d'état, yours truly simply risk averse, and more exact, he stays sequestered within these four walls, cuz tis safest inside this flat always... mein kampf, I remember when fertilization begat after nine months in utero... ah dat womb dar full habitat i.e. ****** cradled humanity, whereat teeming bajillions primates peopling planet Earth couples made lovey dovey after spat (which species among other flotsam and jetsam), got shot out (think) analogous muzzle loaded gat excellent marksman aimed then squirted packed heat hot as summer temperature gets within Gujarat recorded courtesy, thee oldest functioning thermostat, albeit microcosmic primordial vat testy sea men don (May comb hairy gah great again) conical hat. I surmise proto humans especially storied hall (conjured in Peer Gynt by Edvard Grieg of mountain king) trumpeted, tooted thwacked, and announced presence courtesy posterior primal mating call, which vibrant cheekiness heard all around the mulberry bush to Gaul hmm... maybe e'en hot air inspired Marc Chagall, while sitting atop porcelain throne, nonetheless scandalous ****** blasts methinks help explain fall of Rome, whereby noxious generated silent but deadly nauseating noisome pall mall felled friend and foe alike analogous on minuscule scale to Chernobyl level 7 nuclear accident also linkedin, when Polar Vortex doth stall across avast swath planet Earth forcing quick thinkers to marshall, what (mathers) matters such as... antique pinball machines worth a mint, a ***** to install.

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Nov 25, 2019

Nov 25, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Feint faint "Fake" no nor'easter

If putsch comes to shove, aye ain't no doggone fraidy cat nor chicken little fearing coup d'état, yours truly simply risk averse, and more exact, he stays sequestered within these four walls, cuz tis safest inside this flat always... mein kampf, I remember when fertilization begat after nine months in utero... ah dat womb dar full habitat i.e. ****** cradled humanity, whereat teeming bajillions primates peopling planet Earth couples made lovey dovey after spat (which species among other flotsam and jetsam), got shot out (think) analogous muzzle loaded gat excellent marksman aimed then squirted packed heat hot as summer temperature gets within Gujarat recorded courtesy, thee oldest functioning thermostat, albeit microcosmic primordial vat testy sea men don (May comb hairy gah great again) conical hat. I surmise proto humans especially storied hall (conjured in Peer Gynt by Edvard Grieg of mountain king) trumpeted, tooted thwacked, and announced presence courtesy posterior primal mating call, which vibrant cheekiness heard all around the mulberry bush to Gaul hmm... maybe e'en hot air inspired Marc Chagall, while sitting atop porcelain throne, nonetheless scandalous ****** blasts methinks help explain fall of Rome, whereby noxious generated silent but deadly nauseating noisome pall mall felled friend and foe alike analogous on minuscule scale to Chernobyl level 7 nuclear accident also linkedin, when Polar Vortex doth stall across avast swath planet Earth forcing quick thinkers to marshall, what (mathers) matters such as... antique pinball machines worth a mint, a ***** to install.

61

O, where did all they go when he cleft? or forever this woodpecker was chosen to be left nothing lasts forever, as our hurts dance with no shimmering stance befriended with his own pallor face to see abundance of worldly things running with no dice while busily keeping the wastage stacked, by alone he got thwacked to rack every tiniest and lightest heart for the sake to stay still in amidst of everybody’s part unto pronounced as a best masked dancer how poor he is by goofing off his beloved and his only one lover by turning out his sleepy wacky head into cluttery niche wait, he even does not aware he has been ditched

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Aug 22, 2016

Aug 22, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC

emma-bugg

Chosen

O, where did all they go when he cleft? or forever this woodpecker was chosen to be left nothing lasts forever, as our hurts dance with no shimmering stance befriended with his own pallor face to see abundance of worldly things running with no dice while busily keeping the wastage stacked, by alone he got thwacked to rack every tiniest and lightest heart for the sake to stay still in amidst of everybody’s part unto pronounced as a best masked dancer how poor he is by goofing off his beloved and his only one lover by turning out his sleepy wacky head into cluttery niche wait, he even does not aware he has been ditched

14

I’m on the right road of the wrong path Should be first but I am dead last Heading true north but I’m south bound Trying to swim, more like trying to drown Look I am just trying to move forward in my life. Put some distance in my rearview and grow in my life. Catch a rhythm leading up and explore in this life. Soaring over shooting stars and ****** success with the rest of my life. Take a step forward but I am yanked back Spun around and Ka thwacked Speaking truths but fed lies Watch the vision forward, wither and die Play the game but I cannot compete. Each new rule leads me to defeat. Picked only to be released. Now I am behind again, dealing with a handicap so massive it’s missive. Rolling die when I should be spinning the wheel. Kinging when I should be checking. Moving pieces that don’t belong. So, I try again to play the game Looking fly but really lame New tactics but the results stay the same Stay out of trouble but get the blame All and all I see the end. The way out is to make my way out. No feints or fake outs. Just a simple plan laid out. No exaggerated, grandiose, exuberated exit. Just a normal walk-out.

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Apr 14, 2022

Apr 14, 2022 at 1:34 AM UTC

grimsly

Promotion

I’m on the right road of the wrong path Should be first but I am dead last Heading true north but I’m south bound Trying to swim, more like trying to drown Look I am just trying to move forward in my life. Put some distance in my rearview and grow in my life. Catch a rhythm leading up and explore in this life. Soaring over shooting stars and ****** success with the rest of my life. Take a step forward but I am yanked back Spun around and Ka thwacked Speaking truths but fed lies Watch the vision forward, wither and die Play the game but I cannot compete. Each new rule leads me to defeat. Picked only to be released. Now I am behind again, dealing with a handicap so massive it’s missive. Rolling die when I should be spinning the wheel. Kinging when I should be checking. Moving pieces that don’t belong. So, I try again to play the game Looking fly but really lame New tactics but the results stay the same Stay out of trouble but get the blame All and all I see the end. The way out is to make my way out. No feints or fake outs. Just a simple plan laid out. No exaggerated, grandiose, exuberated exit. Just a normal walk-out.

15

From the heavenly churches they say came he Gabriel’s disciple it is said him to be Walks the man from town to town And his followers come pouring down Then goes they to his mansion Whose blue silk embellished walls are beatific no need to mention Sits he in his majestic throne Across which angels are said to drone Thwacked he his stick on to the wooden floor And looks all at awe at his splendour With a majestic tone says he, “Come in by the name of God anyone who needs help done to thee” Hypnotized his followers are all to this lured Slowly forward they leaped, shared they their stories Says then he, “Tis no big deal, thou will be fine, have not worries” At night, I the harbinger of truth, walked stealthily to the man’s mansion Alas! What I saw, lost was he in scandalous sensations Lay him in his bed amidst filles de joies Waiting for them to make him feel joy There I saw Lucifer in the air Smiling at his followers who lay in the bed bare Anger rushed through my veins, Knowing that the pains of the man’s followers went in vain Brought out I the dagger from my pocket And rushed to him with the pace of a rocket With all strength forced I my dagger to his chest And at last I sent him to eternal “rest”

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Nov 14, 2018

Nov 14, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC

rakib

The Fake Prophet

From the heavenly churches they say came he Gabriel’s disciple it is said him to be Walks the man from town to town And his followers come pouring down Then goes they to his mansion Whose blue silk embellished walls are beatific no need to mention Sits he in his majestic throne Across which angels are said to drone Thwacked he his stick on to the wooden floor And looks all at awe at his splendour With a majestic tone says he, “Come in by the name of God anyone who needs help done to thee” Hypnotized his followers are all to this lured Slowly forward they leaped, shared they their stories Says then he, “Tis no big deal, thou will be fine, have not worries” At night, I the harbinger of truth, walked stealthily to the man’s mansion Alas! What I saw, lost was he in scandalous sensations Lay him in his bed amidst filles de joies Waiting for them to make him feel joy There I saw Lucifer in the air Smiling at his followers who lay in the bed bare Anger rushed through my veins, Knowing that the pains of the man’s followers went in vain Brought out I the dagger from my pocket And rushed to him with the pace of a rocket With all strength forced I my dagger to his chest And at last I sent him to eternal “rest”

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