My memory endures a tourniquet
as it tries to forget, while holding blood.
It used to sport a bouquet
as it tried so hard to boast.
Bouquet becomes tourniquet.
A flow is held.
A part of me is throttled, my throat is squeezed.
It wants to loosen - but strangles.
Some things will not release.
Eyes will gawp, try to pop.
Memory can cause so much pain.
That tourniquet that holds so much.
(4 May 2003)
tubers on the vine
flourishing in fertile soil
field of potatoes
I swilled vodka made of spuds ~ Absolut
Distilled veggies that were grown as a root
Drank another bottle
Hit the ground full throttle
Grossly soused but I didn't give a hoot
ingested as French fries, potatoes are better for human health
~ ~ ~ ~
January 21, 2022
Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku Contest sponsor: Charlie Messina
salient seal surges
fondling felon vices
tumbling twain smirks
leering lusty lurch
per punctured zeal
moaning mists breed
wielded will whooshes
dripping damped drizzles
seeped'n saucy stinks
haughty heels hanker
oozing taunted trigger
airy atmosphere flickers
tumbling tiers throttle
dangling dark dwindles.
'20:01:31:15:23
There once was a golfer named Joe Jessop
Who liked to eat his hotdogs with ketchup
His girl opened a bottle
Began squeezing full throttle
Whoa! That made Joe's little putter stand up!
As last rose of summer opens wider
Night is drawing nigh, rose cutter in hand
The rose clipped in its best stage; placed in cider
Jar that was used up, cleaned_now it will stand
Jar of cider was enjoyed long ago
Remember that day on our honeymoon
You were so young with raven hair my beau
We found that road side stand that afternoon
Bought that jug of cider that was so cold
Refreshing after long ride around mountain
So eager for life that we would build_hold
Hold each other_life; wanting to obtain
I clip that rose_place in memory bottle
One memory revs my motor throttle
Fast and furious we live our lives
always at full speed ahead
never taking time to look outside
of the window to see around our head
All of the life and laughter we miss
always going full throttle
rushing to get here and there
much too busy to be aware
But then one day the engine fails
and we look in the rearview mirror
ask ourselves what'd we see as we sail
what did we do on our journeys here
How sad we are when we realize
that life is not intended to be a race
looking in the mirror, there is no face
only dotted lines and blurred visions arise
No ribbons, cups, or prizes
only one who realizes
life is like an empty bottle
cuz we always took it Full Throttle
I have a friend called Bob Beaubobble
who trains unusual pets to juggle
assorted items frequently fumbled
by freakish fish or octibumbles
This hobby made him mucha dinero
which he put in the bank ‘with interest’ to grow
but while he was filling in all of the forms
One creature escaped from under his arms
Unseen in the dark, in the bank late at night
It bypassed security through the intranet site
And juggled and gambled to its hearts content
playing with our pennies until they were spent
Red-faced officials met the press in a panic
George Bush sent more troops to Afghan and Iraq
World leaders drew circles around toxic debt
then pointed their fingers to the country that started it...
The slimy old salamander sucks his cigar
as he drives to his office in a luxury car.
CEO though all see he's a feckless axolotl
without any shame, just a shed load of bottle.
He's safe in the knowledge, while his bank has been drained
A huge bonus is scheduled to keep him retained
and cash will be pumped from the taxpayers vains
soon he’ll start things all over and gamble again.
For as much as the puncture
the tincture, the cure
will squash out your sickness
and push you to pure
the illness does offer a kind solace too
a moment to stop, be it fever or not
to sink into pillow tops, linen clean white
to better the darkness instead of the light
to catch up on reading, listless delight
wilting in sunshine, rejuvenate night
Poured like elixir into pots of recovery
Muscles homebound shine their eyes toward discovery
Brain resumes traveling at its normal speed
Heart pumps like mad with white cells
Whirling old world still spinning in circles
Outside your sick room the air's filled with purpose
Bleached like your nightstand, starched on the surface
Energy splitting like hairs that are nervous.
So, as much as the puncture
the tincture, the cure
does squash out your sickness
and push you to pure
You envy the slightly ill people, a little...
for your world must go back to living full throttle...