"trumpeted" poems
Whilst walking down the street
I heard a thunderous tweet;
'Twas a straining little bird
Who couldn't pass a ****
The little thing was constipated,
Its **** wide dilated;
Tweeting loudly in mid-bog,
Trying to eject a log.
I observed with sympathetic heart
As it trumpeted out a ****
Straining, chirping loud and long,
Letting off a foul and noisome pong.
I watched for nigh an hour
Its display of **** power;
Then a final intestinal pump
Produced a huge great steaming lump:
A mighty ball of faeces
(a giant of its species,
and total bumhole splitter
which shattered its feathered *******
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
A fount of grace pouring out into my backyard,
I found there,
There was such a buoyancy to the arching lines,
There was a wild cherry tree blooming,
its scent loaded the air,
filled my nostrils with its bouquet.
Trumpeted its whiteness to the blue sky
The sound was deafening,
glissandi of softness,
felled all gloom,
felled my fears,
and filled my soul with joy.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
captured
by the glory
and
the majesty
of the steller sea
green sealight
bounced
from her
mermaid eyes
sailed our through
the Isles of Pangea
while
we trumpeted out
the name of Athena
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
Let the a.n.t.s sleep
Warm and dry blankets
Let the victories of the future brace you
Body molesting wind demons
false but True
Cloak yourself in my laughter
Grab reality and pull a book out of your spleen,
with a Dim mak to sentence your fears to death.
The first page is eternity,
Stay within the pleasure, bathe in it,
Body hyper aware, unclouded vision
Disrobe, and bathe in it
Open the door and begin
It is Unjust not to
Press Play.....
It will all rush forward, and you will breath freely.
Trumpeted like the arrival of an avatar of the love goddess.
Cool cheeks, unmarked by tear tracks..
Built back up with the love you feared had departed.
I'm pitiful alone.
It is emotions prerogative to make its opinion known.
These feelings cannot be ignored.
Doing so makes things worse.
Let confidence be always with you
For all time
Unending
Everyday
All day long
You can honestly talk to me.
Trivial questions.
Something burdening your breast.
I can make you feel better, if only for a handfull of minutes.
You'll float away, but later crash on heavy thought.
However....
You know
For several reasons
The outcome is always the same
Mind games are involuntary muscle spasms,
it is an affliction of chaos tourettes, inherited from a goblin ancestor,
Straighten your shoulders, I am here to reassure you,
Every day it will get lighter
The stress will be less, the panic will simmer
The message is salvation, in acceptance of the depth of the love felt for you.
I am here to listem.
Stop being kicked around by your thoughts.
Feel instead, gliding into a gathering of like minds.
I dare not say the full extent of what I know, and what I feel is transparent.
It grants me sanity
The compulsion to sing
Satisfying smashed hearts
Feeding your lips
Sanctifying your suffering into submission
Fulfilling a proper apology for the perversions.
You have won the war.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
She couldn't express her grief
but knew this tangible loss,
felt affinity with old bones
a bond with lost loved ones.
She cleaved close to those,
it being in her very nature
a clan thing - family loyalty,
bridging a long span of years.
Her trunk trumpeted, mutely,
while lowering a sister's tusk
softly on the blanched shards
of the ancestor herds, tendered
in this final act of fellowship
from one gentle giant to another.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Publicly, in a place where language and liberty are
held by egotists, teach the limits of minutes.
Remind the esteemed that speed
is a fool for popular belief.
Twelve months, twelve jurors, twelve perhaps.
Trees have grown in sadder conditions.
If you want the confidence of indifference,
then amaze nature with offensive styles and time with substance.
Paranoia is perfect in a nit-pick of cages.
Birds and children depend on the weather -- the size of
your plate is positive protection from detection.
Man is born trumpeted by eliminations,
so provoke the simple and the neccesary.
Wisely, allow falls to perfect your aim
and let submission be it's own masterpiece.
Devote yourself to purpose and exacting hope.
Increase living with boyhood wonder,
and always love -- transform.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Meet me among the numbing fields
where the cream narcissus grows.
Where my desperate human voice sings
against the flow of the autumn winds.
Do you hear the pillars of my empathy crumbling?
The wicked Imbolc has passed,
leaving me naked and sick in the light
of longer days.
Yellow-trumpeted blooms of each joss flower
are caught swaying to the emptying sounds
of my apathy.
Where I have been patiently waiting for
the flowering blood of hyacinth.
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC
Recollections on Chaliyar.
In youthfulness was Chaliyar.
As I saw her next , from afar
Amidst the greenery was, she
Dancing in pleated clothes.
In spotlight of the setting sun
In tune the Air that hummed
On rail the wheels trumpeted
Gallery across the river I stood
Watching her”jahiliat” life moves
Lured all by giggle and smile
Ripples, eddies her beauty spots
She was mine I was hers!
Oh! My Chaliyar, recall, whence
We started and parted;
Made our veins venomous.
By-gone are by-gone-
God loves and pardons ;
He is with them that pardons
God won’t hear our prayer
If we keep deaf ear to prayer.
Unrelenting oars push a yacht.
The fume of trade shrouded me
With the smoke of train chocked
Down in water I plunged, yelled
Help, Help Oh! helpless yelp.
THE TIME rippled, wriggled
Coiled around while none
But Allah held me around.
On a delta I lay bare; hence
I write on rights we need.
……….
Note : Chaliyar is a river in northern Kerala, India, once most polluted.
“Jahiliat’ is an Arabic word means uncultured/impure period in life.
Allah is the name to denote the Almighty Creator that all religions expected to worship.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
(by Bruce Bawer)
In Sønderberg the other day
A teenage girl used pepper spray
To rout a randy “refugee”
From somewhere far across the sea
Who threw down and molested her.
The cops arrested her.
As part of a jihadist plot,
A brute assailant took a shot
At a fine Copenhagen man
Who'd deprecated the Quran.
When the brave soul who'd nearly died
Then publicly identified
The **** who'd tried to **** him, he
Was charged with grave delinquency:
Breaching privacy.
In Mölndal, a Somali teen
Plunged a long blade into the spleen
Of a young Swedish altruist
Who'd yearned to do one thing: assist.
The land's top cop went on TV
And trumpeted his sympathy.
For the poor girl who'd lost her life?
No. For the kid with the knife.
At one time it was understood
That a devotion to the good
Didn't mean one should be blind
To evil, or pretend to find
Some virtue in sheer villainy.
To see what isn't there to see
Is not a sign of rectitude.
To point out evil isn't rude;
To fight it is good.
You can't, however hard you try,
Mistake for a speck in the eye
A loaded *** in the hands
Of some rough beast from foreign sands
Intent on taking out a child.
You'll win no points for being mild
To members of a desert creed
That seeks to make the heathen bleed
And preaches that the kind and meek
Are contemptibly weak.
Christ said to turn the other cheek.
But what if it's not just your cheek?
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
Your Secrets' Safe With Me
Your secrets' safe with me, I will not tell a soul,
you can rely on me, I will take it to my grave,
my lips cannot be tricked, to reveal your inner thoughts,
my heart cannot divulge, that which has been entrusted to me,
even if vestal virgins seek me out to coerce me,
my hands staked to a tree,
my garments ripped away from my body,
while verbal daggers are ****** upon me,
ghostly images do not frighten me,
they are only creatures that once were,
releases of fractured mind fragments seeking sanctuary
Your secrets' safe with me, under human laws not to be repeated,
you can rely on me, to stand tall in the faces of beasts,
there forked tongues waggling in the nite,
bolts of lightning extending through their eyes,
promises of eternal gratification trumpeted to my ears,
not Zeus nor Neptune nor Hercules could ever bring me fear,
for I have the power of the truth, I am the power of the truth,
but only if can stay vigilant to the cause,
only if I can stay true to my queen,
my honor, my soul, my life I owe to my queen,
your secrets' safe with me beyond the end of time,
your secrets' safe with me...
David Nelson
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 3:24 PM UTC
Invested in you
I find our better angels give ground
******* by our egalitarian feelings for each other
Trumpeted by Gabriel’s miscast players
Bedeviled, we take what are yours, mine, and ours
Accumulated wealth protected from predators
Gives in to charitable impulse
Gives out, a gated community against colored encroachment
My bias against the opposition
Dissolves in your arms
We resolve to devote our energy
Toward getting off on the best footing available
Place where we care and don’t simultaneously
Then make fun of our foibles laughing at each other
The same way black and white grays as we mature color blind
Loggerheads whipsawed and dovetailed
Until we forget why we ever came together in the first place
Then remember this location, this smell, this touch, this taste
Karass, storm's eye, held center, Kane's rosebud cathected
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
You sound so beautiful
In the rhythm of your heartbreak
So regal in the words from the mouth
Of a giant trumpeted over the plains
At daybreak
The way the elephant stands
Ivory gnarled and precious
Perfect and rare
Like the words you spin from your ivory teeth
Sometimes only glinting from the
Corner of your coyote snicker
A bitter trickster
Playing the beat
And I am in awe
Expecting there to be thunder
From the pound of your feet
But you manage to muffle the
Roll of the rain clouds
So as not to scare the other animals into hiding
So we can all rejoice at the rain
Then the crack of lightning
As it strikes the temples of those
Who stick around long enough
To appreciate the burn inside
You are the regal sound of
elephant trumpet thunder
And the late night
Howl of coyote’s laughter
Knowing perfectly
That it’s your timing
That keeps all the other animals
Up at night
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:19 AM UTC
Fiery the Angels fell
We passed in the firmament
Me heaven-bound
They to hell
A shining Saviour welcomed me
His heart beat Golden notes
Wing-ed cherubs trumpeted
Sweet tunes from honeyed throats
I cast my new found eyes
Downward toward the pit
And wondered why my loving God
Would sentence souls to it
But in my chest beat mighty fear
And lightning from his tongue
My soul resides forever here
And all his will be done
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
Rap at those enraptured under fears of the bacterial,
as children try discerning ethereal from material.
Drowning in the oceans of history, since repeating
these anachronisms trumpeted a fracture fed imperial.
Curse the brittle bones encroaching faster by the minute,
while the sinners broaching laughter couch a ghost within a cynic.
Living flesh against a ghost.
Spoken word against it's host
Who's the zombie here,
between a thread of hope and varicose?
Who's to know the line approached?
Serve the rabble in our throats?
Turn the table in our notes.
Learn the fables from the jokes.
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 9:48 PM UTC
We wrote our names on the beach in animal bones
as a vivisection, on our love.
there, she’s whispering into shells
into their Fibonaccian, trumpeted, dresses
and full-cheeked into a razor clam flute.
I, too, gave my blood to grease our domestica
and hung names on stars over the nighttime sea
always accompanied as I were
with the shark-eye, death, of her looks.
We dressed up the walls of home in black and pinstripe,
filled the place up with lit and lightless places,
Shadowboxed, shadowfucked, and silently argued.
Spent hours inside, laying floorboards
and then laying on them
to stare at the sodium lights
and discuss the inkblots on our eyes.
We vivisected our lives,
and splashed it on the walls
and carved it into the carpets.
We set alight to christmas trees
when the kids were sleeping upstairs.
We dressed in each-other’s reddening horror
and answered the door.
Valentines day was full of bone bouquets,
the gripper rods grew through the carpet
so on them we danced.
I prayed for the first time in the first year
and every one hit me subesquently
like I was its anvil.
I should have gone to war.
Because it makes forever shorter
things can only happen right now.
I watched everything in our domestica,
like when the static moved off the television
and played on the window
gutting me of my escape.
The smiles hung on our faces like lupus,
We had people round,
we cooked and coughed and choked
And their faces peeked round from the doorframe
and laughed.
The domestica lives
only to be a bit of fun,
but in the very same span of time
that decided to **** the birds on my windowsill
and my children’s love for me
and my dexterity.
We’ve happened to the whole world too
I promise you, my love,
my little hospice fire,
my flat tire at night at nowhere,
the lie you recognise means it’s over,
A field of a thousand three-leaved clovers,
the brightest night when you’re hiding,
your heart attack on holiday,
your bloodstained bed sheet
And sleep, whilst outside
the sleet and snow makes every emergency
harder to get to, and still the morning
much more beautiful.
I, you, we happened.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
You love to tease me,
Don’t you?
I can hear your faint whisper
Oscillating through my soul.
Echoing,
As if I were hollow.
You do this all too much.
Planting ideas,
Thoughts of treason.
Treacherous.
Baby,
What’s your reason?
I’ve put up with it way too long.
Your voice,
Fingernails on a chalkboard,
Steel versus concrete.
A distorted dog whistle,
Trumpeted
To a pack of hounds.
Is this what you really want?
I feel obligated to make you happy.
I promised to make you smile.
A man of my word…
Baby…
I hope your proud…
-Bang-
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
I disbelieved at first,
Remembering your pianist fingers dragging through my hair. Remembering
My hand in yours, you turning it over, marveling at the smallness.
Yet in the truest corner of my thoughts
I knew my time was running out; you had said you loved her,
Somewhere unrecorded, hopefully.
So this death dirge soft shrill in my ears - this nagging unconsciousness,
This plodding inevitability, reached its crescendo and bellowed.
Discontent to pass quietly, it trumpeted like a drunken elephant,
The Third World clash of car horns and splitting concrete,
Constant and irredeemable.
Hughes swallowed Plath like a pike. No one
In your charade did such a thing, ever managed to
Consume the other. Still, it was a dance of
Damnation, spiraling around your loose definitions,
Waiting with bated breath for someone to fall into mediocrity. The
Slave can never rule the master. Remembering
You on your knees before her, begging for a sip of
Non-alcoholic beer - I wanted to ***** so badly,
From jealousy, from lust, from sheer disgust. I was a slave
Worshiping a slave. In that moment, we were finally near-equals. I hated us both.
It hurt. You dabbed distilled water
Onto the cuts you accidentally created, standing up to
Defend me from prying friends and awkward moments, but never
From yourself. Not that I needed to be. The ache from the unit of you
Was exquisite. I was so distracted by the burn -
So used to lying in cliched darkness, so refreshed to be slain daily by resurrection -
That I failed to hear the first drums of funeral march renew.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Freedom, my fickle friend,
How nice of you to come.
Shall I take your coat?
Or will you creep furtively in the corner like last time?
Why so shy, freedom?
Your reputation precedes you.
Your triumphs trumpeted universally,
You’ve an entourage of millions.
Ah,
Freedom has a secret.
Statuesque, god-like, beautiful.
I cut you open one night,
While you holidayed in Nod.
A cat in the night, I crept inside,
Looking to unlock my door.
Instead I seizured in nocturnal vision.
Your breath notstirred.
Your blood notran.
Your heart notbeated.
Shriveled demon,
There is no hiding under the scalpel.
Your mask is torn off.
You wolf in sheep’s clothing.
You rotten peach.
Come not when you are called,
For I know already too much self-contradiction.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 12:05 AM UTC
There is a path ahead leading to the throne.
The beast started walking on it towards his dream.
Dogs barked, he didn't wink his eyes.
Wolves howled, his thoughts were unperturbed.
Elephants trumpeted, he didn't twitch a muscle.
Tigers growled, his pace didn't slow down .
After reaching the destination, the beast sat on the throne and made a thunderous roar.
All the creatures fell silent and bowed to the conqueror.
That's the way to rule the jungle.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
flung forward over slick asphalt
six cylinders speeding towards eternity.
your legs, our arms, tossed out the windows
grasping breezes raindrops freedom.
scents of summer storms fill our lungs
drenching us, cleansing us from the pollution of
cluttered basements, chemically-treated arguments
the stale musk of lonesome and striving.
trespassed swingsets launch us into skies, hazy city lights
love born of fading stars and whispered stories
breathless utterances of shared sorrows, griefs-
Grace uncovered in nods and glances
-clasped hands when words fell short.
barefoot toes urge a hesitating pedal
throwing us faster into our borrowed Kingdom
as fanfare trumpeted from skipping tracks
announced our four-wheeled ballroom blitz.
this automotive palace became our confessional,
our summertime, our refuge, a long-sought embrace.
we were vagabonds, saints, sinners, artists.
we were heroes.
washed in waves of sound, our fellowship burgeoned--
souls knit together in a tribal affection
ensconced in a fortress of rubber, glass and steel
steeped in diner coffee, wrapped in warm fragrant incense:
we sampled salvation.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
The clocks are ticking,
Although someday the hands will likely stop.
Pens scribble across blank pages,
Although someday the paper will likely disappear.
Soon it will only be keys clicking,
The drums of war in an auditorium.
Where new minds brew destruction for peace.
A figure stands alone at the front,
One mind against hundreds,
Preaching past sins, urging progress,
Or is it regression?
Hundreds of youth don’t know.
They simply sit at the solid tables,
With squeaking, unyielding chairs beneath,
Trying to comprehend the words spurted forth.
Words forming theories and trumpeted as truth.
Hundreds sit, scratching furiously,
Crammed into the cavernous theatre,
A fragile box overflowing with gems.
Here future great minds sit,
Clustered together, an easy target.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 2:28 PM UTC
lord
i would not dare
complain about
the power of prayer
you maketh
a path
for me and
i truely swear
to live
every moment of
my life gracefully
as free as a songbird
to sing and to share
her voice
trumpeted out
everywhere
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
Music
Like no other
alights upon my ears,
soft,
dainty,
and musical;
trumpeted like heralding angels
whispered like cherubims,
announcing your pleasure-
and mine-
at hearing you so happy;
trickling down
like deep, clear spring waters
bubbled up from underground reserves,
filtering through the muck and mud
of everyday life-
until its sinks beneath the loamy thoughts
of the surface I present.
I am unable to ignore this wonderful presence,
nor cover myself back up,
for it has laid bare my most hopeful intentions.
Ah,
what joy
like starlight
reflected on the still lake waters,
as the moon glimmers gently on the oars
and bow of the small boat on the surface,
with the entire heavens
as our companions,
you will put them all to shame;
I am envious of your carefree smile
and smooth white neck,
that glistens in the pale moonlight-
thrown back in beautiful abandon,
as rapturous as the ethereal and beautiful soul that sits beside me.
Ah,
your lips part in ecstatic joy,
making this moonlit scene more complete than before,
entrancing me and drawing my gaze
to the eyes that stop my heart
for moments at a time,
filling my soul with profound contentment;
I thought your smile was gorgeous,
and your eyes and lips exquisite-
but nothing,
not even the stars tonight,
could compare to your laughter.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
The tall tale teller team that told
the triple towered temple town the tall tales turned
turned terribly to telling thoroughly tempestuous troubling terrors
trying to trash the Truth
turned to trying to twist the Truth
to totally tear the treasured Truth to tidbits
turned to treasonous tall tales
then to tattle-tale telling
that the triple towered temple town's tall tale tellers team then told to themselves
till the triple towered temple town's townspeople then took them to task
turning them to teeny tiny tricksters
thoroughly thoughtless tattle-tale talebearers
that they then toppled
turning them topsy turvy
toward the triple towered temple towns
traditional trashpile
“TOORAY!! TOORAH!!
The thrilled triple towered temple town's
tipsy tongue-tied townspeople trumpeted triumphantly
ONEHUNERT TWENNYNINE “T” WORDS!
COUN’EM YERSELF! C if i ain’t rite!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 9:29 PM UTC
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.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC