"deadness" poems
Why can't we have meaningless talk
the way people have meaningless ***
you would crash over me into a
river of un-scathing emptiness
and leave marks on my skin-
stories that this was where
you started to tear at
the seams
effortlessly
like the silkness
of your sorrows on my floor.
You would become a sultry verse
in this anthology of every day
lodged between the rush and
vacancy of broken hearts
and anguished limbs.
You would radiate the heat
of your angry, angry heart onto
the cold deadness of mine,
and we could burn and melt
all at the same time.
Meaninglessly you would leave
me out of breath,
gather your clothes
and go home.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
The blood loses its grip as the dreams of fire flow closer.
Alain’s face fills the gap my heart created with her dying breath.
I’ve lost hope more often than I’ve kept count.
Each moment slipped her away.
Every stranger’s touch faded the fresh memory of her breath upon my cheek.
Her heart was mine to the last moment.
Her blood pumped away wetting the field of battle.
I dreaded each day I woke knowing she was gone.
Time would not heal my wound.
It scarred and built numb spots of deadness.
It made it harder to feel.
I will see her.
I will touch her face in wonderment.
I will kiss the corners of her smile.
May the Mother help me.
Alain is waiting.
And I am looking for her.
cc2011
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
I feel alive because of the complete deadness that overwhelms.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
have you left yet?
are you gone?
i miss you.
i love you, koala.
you're free.
wrap your knuckles around the steering wheel & don't look back.
think of me as you drive into a west texas sunset.
shout my name as the thin mountain air puts pressure on your lungs.
stop at traffic lights & expect to be enlightened.
look at the clouds every day. i mean really look.
stop & cry by yourself on the side of the road somewhere.
stare into the fantastic sun & don't blink first.
return light to the world like a universal mirror.
take a bath in a hot mountain spring & learn to breathe underwater.
fly in vulture circles over the deadness of your past.
never stop writing & painting & singing & reading.
turn around & surrender your heart to the void.
take the list you wrote of the things you learned here & burn it for fuel.
cut up that credit card & use a sharp piece as a guitar pick.
laugh at your warped reflection in a rippling pond's surface.
let light dance around you in a lush green valley.
look at life through a thrift store camera lens.
abandon the road before the road abandons you.
go chase a rabbit up a mountain in tennessee.
go nowhere & i'll meet you there someday.
go find your friends on couches & balconies.
talk to strangers every chance you get.
pull them back from the ledges they're on.
hug a quarter million people.
by the time you hit kansas i hope you love it.
by the time you hit asheville i hope you love yourself.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
Behind the building,
a one hundred percent green certified building
an amazing feat of engineering-science-forward thinking
fabulously energy efficient cutting edge building
sit solar panels in the sweltering heat,
extra heat from the toxic clouds in the sky
which now envelop the Earth
There, under the panels sit a small band of sheep, who represent the
last little bit of progressive wonderfulness
visionary design and research based and proven
and the future because they eat the grass
and there is no need to use toxic fume producing
loud unnatural unsustainable lawn mower
But the grass is long dead.
It is just white and yellow and there are lambs
baby sheep who sit and pant underneath the
sustainable solar panels without a decent meal
in sight. Only stalks and yellow deadness
I suggest vitamins or supplements
after all there is no grass, only grass out
that is watered sustainably and is carefully fenced off
from the living sheep underneath the dead panels
behind the dead building.
Outrage from the forward thinking cutting edge
Wi-Fi custodians of the cement and metal building and panels,
panels that emit a high pitched hum
from a hot metal box and regulate the CO2 in each room automatically
The sheep are there to eat the grass
if you feed them, even to make them healthier
so that they may get up out of their hot suffering
and eat some stalks in addition to a little bit of supplemental feed
they will not eat the dead grass, and they are there to eat the grass
they are not there to be comfortable or healthy they are just sheep
But sheep are only living non human feeling beings
and not part of the forward thinking cutting edge metal and cement
technology that is worth a lot of money and was written up
in the paper and got the custodians attention and recognition.
And they are just suffering, hot, miserable animals
and despite all of our technology, Mars landing
solar panels to electricity advance thinking technological wonders
our compassion and empathy remain tight and selfish
and the dead things, not the living ones, are what we value
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe I should just stop--
Stop trying
Stop feeling
Just... stop.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe I should just end it
Would anyone care?
Would anyone notice?
Maybe I should just stop.
I regret ever feeling at all
Harden my walls, forget my heart
Decide that nothing, no one, is worth my pall
I wish I didn't have to become numb to be okay,
Just to make the pain go away.
I regret ever feeling at all
I want to be strong
But, I should've known all along:
I feel too deeply to be healthy,
Especially when people are involved.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe I want to die
Maybe just a line at my wrist
(The X-Acto knife in my drawer would do the trick)
But no, perhaps not (I am not a fan of pain)
Bleeding out takes far too long
I don't think I could take it, anyway.
I regret ever feeling at all
The voices in my head say I'm worthless
No wonder everyone's gone
I can't attract anyone, I'm too broken
The deadness in my eyes belies a dormant predator
Watch out, I'm a hidden monster
I may catch you in my claws before a single word has been spoken
Beware the darkness of a shattered heart,
It will be far too sharp.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe this is for the best
Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson
And never have to trust again
I'm blowing this out of proportion
This is so much worse in my head
But you said I should spend time with myself, love,
No matter how many times I wish myself dead.
I regret ever feeling at all
I am so far out of my depth
I don't know what to do, love
I wish you could see this mess from my shoes.
This constant nagging ache, I wish it'd go away.
I regret ever feeling at all
I want to hate you,
To lose the pang in my stomach when you wear bruises on your neck
Your trophies are the cause of my heartbreak
Why can't you just stay away?
I regret ever feeling at all
I wish my friends could stand being around me
But maybe they sense the monster within
Who hungers jealously for that which she cannot have
Who lusts for the flesh of one who does not love her
Who, deep down, wants to hurt everyone who wrongs her.
I regret ever feeling at all
This darkness is so suffocating
Why did I have to, for you of all people, fall?
When you cannot feel the same
When all I get from you is pain
I love you, I hate you, I feel all of the above.
I regret ever feeling at all
This horrible, deadening cold
It seeps through my limbs
All I want is a hand to hold,
Someone to chase the demons away,
Someone who can love me as much as I love you,
Someone who wants to save me from myself,
As much as I do you.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe if I disappeared, you'd wonder what you did wrong
Maybe you'd actually call
Would you feel any of my regret?
Would you feel the hurt you cause?
I don't know that, love,
I just know I regret ever feeling at all.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:05 PM UTC
Anchor
Blindly walk away carelessly forming a separate destiny
What heart hasn’t been broken from loss?
Nothing but these remain a certainty
Transitory lives and times
This tension ever exists
Security rock solid always will be buffeted by change
Fate continuously at odds with calm calculated reason always set to resist
Dark doubts the heart will pierce
Fear puts able thoughts in chains
The mind enslaved death enshrined
Who hasn’t known this cruel master’s reign?
Held fast as by a strait jacket useless to fight
Heartless people consumed by deadness
In the midst of laughter lies a specter
Decency and safety shifts treachery always at readiness
Impossible innocence shocked blood covers the land
There is no freedom dealt by mortal man
This race and special gift angels sift
Divine pollination needed for character unchecked
Grace everywhere at once without a trace of its origin
The face noble the heart captured perfect gladness
The rock of offence removed
Stiff necked pillar of rebellion finally moved
Paths now sweet a life hid discreet
The waters calm the breeze a balm
Thoughts unbridled burning intense
Arrows of gold feathers of silver
Blessed be the nation who finds God to be their anchor
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Take the dead Christ to my chamber,
The Christ I brought from Rome;
Over all the tossing ocean,
He has reached his western home;
Bear him as in procession,
And lay him solemnly
Where, through weary night and morning,
He shall bear me company.
The name I bear is other
Than that I bore by birth,
And I've given life to children
Who'll grow and dwell on earth;
But the time comes swiftly towards me
(Nor do I bid it stay),
When the dead Christ will be more to me
Than all I hold to-day.
Lay the dead Christ beside me,
Oh, press him on my heart,
I would hold him long and painfully
Till the weary tears should start;
Till the divine contagion
Heal me of self and sin,
And the cold weight press wholly down
The pulse that chokes within.
Reproof and frost, they fret me,
Towards the free, the sunny lands,
From the chaos of existence
I stretch these feeble hands;
And, penitential, kneeling,
Pray God would not be wroth,
Who gave not the strength of feeling,
And strength of labor both.
Thou'rt but a wooden carving,
Defaced of worms, and old;
Yet more to me thou couldst not be
Wert thou all wrapt in gold,
Like the gem-bedizened baby
Which, at the Twelth-day noon,
They show from the Ara Coeli's steps,
To a merry dancing tune.
I ask of thee no wonders,
No changing white or red;
I dream not thou art living,
I love and prize thee dead.
That salutary deadness
I seek, through want and pain,
From which God's own high power can bid
Our virtue rise again.
1.9k
"The mother's heart is the child's playground."
i have one story to tell to me again and maybe again, i caught myself dreaming the boundary between the energetic darkness and the travelling light. this vital story when the mornings were pure the nights full of unknown beings, the rib cage the only space i knew rippled by the vital waves, by dread, incomprehensible vibrations, the beat of my heart unprotected, the horizon had not yet been invented, nor the sisterhood and brotherhood. pain was an incessant falling into the void, the desire infinite, my body shattered into vital fragments, a misattuned orchestra of delight and terror (body-mind-reality continuum forever broken). at the crossroad of deadness and aliveness i was stamped with fire and water, i was an imaginary being without limits. even now i use a strange language and visions of the infinite haunt me, i taste life when i confuse myself with you and her and him and them, so that death is not incomprehensible. i was once a pool of vibrant nothingness, this terrible pain of life crushing itself inside the flesh, of reality and imagination, longing and despair annihilating each other.
my body carries patiently the invisible tattoos of vibrant scars, she waits for me to learn how to love the simplicity and the serene fullness of life. all i need is more words, new vessels for the infinite desire, more "i" in this i from the imperfect, impermanent and incomplete.
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 1:56 PM UTC
Those unchained melodies are heard-
slayed and naked, like a lost soul-
wand'ring along a village; a dejected village!
And hark, hark to how they plead!
O, how they beg to be alive, to be free
from the deadness of these winds.
But no-one greets them, with a handful
of care!-how ill, and thievery is,
such inattentiveness! What a smug
egotism!-For these areth living
creatures, not lurking shadows as they'th seemed!
Blackened willows, stiffened dust;
trembling trees, affronted branches-
bending in their nakedness, a scene of vulgarity
with no ******* and sensations-
to capture attention, o, am'rous
attention! How poor these humans are! Brutes
are they to natureth-dappled with disgrace,
insincerely prayin' for more and more to feed their
ungrateful innuendoes-which prey on their
mortality-to fascinate their tongue,
and ***** And elements with no such marks
are out of them, no thinking is set on them;
no moreth! Peek, peek now, at how those
bountiful thorns blureth, and dieth!-at the scorn
and rivalry amongst humans-and still no-one bothers
kindethly-to eventh peek at 'em, yon miserable,
pitiful creatures! But 'ose humans, whose spitefulness
is awayth from b'ing praiseworthy, are aboundth with
death; cannot they defy it, inescapable as it's always
been-for death is not destined to dieth-never!
Thus thy sins, humans, wilt swing thy joys into swamps
of guilt, denial, and suffrage-be unafraid of which,
straighten thy chins-for these are all what thou'th
deserved, all along! Thou'th betrayed nature, and now
thy souls wilt be thy subtlest enemy-thy veiled threat!-
beware of 'tis, but still perchance, it is futile to
exhort thee-now and again! Thou art stained with
remorse, and prefereth doth thou-to follow thy own
course, rather than nature's bliss's vows.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
a moonless bird
in a storm without center
some things hardly
come undone
emptiness dissolves
surfaces contours
plastic hands scream
in distant dreams
dystopia belongs
to daylight in a world
devoid of shadows of thought
unable really to recognize
the gap between their eyes
in between me and anti-me
tyrants dream disembodied worlds
angels have not yet been invented
no more black words
in mugs by the window
the propensity of deadness
as real as the decay of sonnets
one cannot see one's steps
in bruised forests
I am singing a lullaby
to my emptied hands
I bow to this force
the starvation of life
the oblivion of the pulse
in which time grows
Feb 3, 2023
Feb 3, 2023 at 2:44 PM UTC
right now would be a great time to write poetry
it’s past midnight, everyone is asleep
there is a pale blue light coming from the hallway bathroom
my thoughts are lingering in distant, buried places
recalling nightmares as dreams
drawing halos over the heads of humans
but i don’t want to
i am tired
and bored
and afraid my words will smell like stale clichés
maybe i can just dip my toes in reflective black holes
feel the coolness, the deadness
the other world i’m too afraid to fall into
like quicksand or riptides or working nine to five
maybe i can lean in, just enough, to get a glimpse
of what i do not want
i promise i don’t think of you.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
A couple of innocent words. A wink. I can’t pretend I don’t know how she feels. I suppose it’s the way that they all feel. And then I look at her.
She’s the kind of girl that you’d ironically fall for. Model skin, model hair. She actually speaks French, nom de diu! She takes pretty pictures of herself amongst the scenery, posing as one who is very much alive. You, who would protest about how photographs can’t capture the majesty of the world, and find a certain amount of deadness in that which is judged by the surface, you’d fall for her anyway.
With her pretty lips and pretty mouth. They could say the words that my mouth says and you wouldn’t find the same meaning, but you’d want her ideas that much more. The saccharine taste of pretty.
You just would.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
moonshine on the lawn
amish rocking chair, creaking listlessly in the white wind snapping
howls
murdering crows with a swallow
fists to barking dogs and the dead bark, we are the 99%
of deadness on trees
only you are the leaves and root tips and phloem that thrives under the weight of dead things
and death
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
I know this woman well
from the curl of days
each day I write
a love letter to life
I strive to allow anything as
it is unfolds emerges
aliveness deadness blindness
foolishness fright ignite
the gloaming of thought
the expiration date for
the hade of dreams
I welcome every pain with a smile,
white hair and a glass of wine
this kind of love nested
in the voicelessness
of uncanny zoons
hues tunes lagoons
in the silence of soles
when you step so carrefully
not to disturb the unformed truths
pain love, neighbours
in the flow of synonyms
they taught myself to me -
the density of ribs
the depth of skin
the electricity of muscles
the tautology of heart
the logorrhea of thought
the temptation of beauty
moon is to blame
it hid its unforseen tales
inside the blueprints of
songs under the skin
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
Listen the stillness
Of a broken lullaby
The deadness of a cold hand
The strength of agony in hardened eyes
The emptiness trickles softly in
Where loneliness reclines too bold
Jasmine smoke trails filled the air
With a story soon to be told
One teardrop shed for love
One teardrop shed for hate
One teardrop shed for the angel of power
One teardrop shed for your grave
Listen the damp darkness
Of a broken lullaby
White peacocks screaming in the night
The strength of agony in hardened eyes
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Jan. 8, 2015
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
Irena, won’t you sing for me
The day is almost done
I see the sun’s long, glist’ning rays
Upon kissed altar stones
They bid goodbye to Daylight’s glee
As Dusk crawls in to keep
My world in constant pace despite
The tasks in mounting heaps
Irena, should you lose your song
Don’t weep, sky-speckled friend
For I have one to comfort me
And croon with Love no end
Like yours, her ballad fills my life
With harmony, pure light
My aging pen is a nightingale
In the deadness of the night.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 3:36 AM UTC
HOPE
Gushing stickily out of heart
Dripping from the dagger stabbed
Flooding on the floor is my blood.
I sense the deadness of death.
Numerous skulls round his neck
Monstrous foot over my head,
Grim reaper thwarts my throat
Life Sap tastes briny on ground.
Facebook is not what it it is.
Single post can stab to death,
Oozing out of the holy wounds
Blood and water plops but flops.
I can see the Sun setting in zenith
Gleaming rays fall on my eyes
I padlock them to the world
Far-sighted a dawn dawning o'er.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
self destructive wrist is
always bursting into pieces
using flesh as your parchment
write with razors til it hardens
then the slicing isn't burning
this crimson pain just isn't working
the deadness beating in your head
won't be brought to life again
search through shelves of self improvement
resort to smoke to dumb your senses
figure "if i can't transfer all this hurt
then i'll cloud up these problems first
and maybe they'll fill with such confusion
they'll forget what they were doing"
but soon enough the fog is clearing
and the voices you've been hearing
rumble back until they're SCREAMING
"you will never ever leave me"
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
Shawls of dead child meat
Wielded like salami
His person excited
In deadness and army
Big long ****** **** just speared through a child’s cot....
There’s nothing to say...
In lullaby trauma
They dance like boulders
An avalanche of gracelessness
Bob their own children on their shoulders
The dust the poor breathe in reluctantly
That this systematic, cinematic dentistry leaves...
... chokes to the core
An ocean of innocence strives to be pure
But the big bulldozer bullies
Won’t stop dealing this misery
And moving around dead pieces in their glee
You see... this is it. No discussion, no big debate– no “it’s ****
- the truth - no words could ever account for this.
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 7:27 PM UTC
Father's Day 2015 in Charleston, SC
When the murderer goes numb,
Thinks actions imply no consequence,
No need for forethought,
No heaven to approve nor disapprove,
No yearning hell to shun,
The act of killing becomes amusement,
A way to unsettle the ennui.
Drape a twisted mind in a Confederate flag,
Lace every thought in outrageous racism,
Give time and means and venue...
Turn the other way as percolating HATE
Photographs himself burning the Nation's flag,
Cradling symbolic rebel colors,
Proudly displays the vestiges of apartheid,
Rants villainy on the web,
Mind sick, and gifted with a gun...
The perfect recipe is prepared
For hellish fun.
Indoctrinate
This weakened mind,
Stir in a diatribe or two,
Look the other way,
Avoid the warning signs...
And wait...
Hope for the best,
Don't intervene...
We'll see results again
That we have seen....
The pastor greeted him at the door,
Invited him to join the Bible study.
Sitting through the heart-deep prayer,
Embraced by kindness as a stranger,
He chose to follow through,
A snake in the house of innocence...
Firing and reloading...
A coward's calculated act
To incite rage,
To challenge Haters everywhere
Race war to engage....
Looking into the killer's eyes,
Survivors speak of deadness:
No emotion, no elation, no remorse....
And so on Father's Day,
I weep and pray
For brothers and sisters
I have not met,
Mourning the dead (in Christ),
Who died at Mother Emmanuel.
(On Father's Day, 2015)
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
A bleak night, a hallowed night
Bathed in haunting silver light
By the hanging moon over head in fullness
Which shows the way for my feet through the wood
That is empty in this season of deadness
With the space between these barren trees
Filled with sound of blowing winds
That whip the leaves round me blinding
Lifting by heart from listless binding
As I walk this cold stark winter path
To vainly search in hope of finding
A permanent place to live and laugh
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 9:18 PM UTC
I have a mouth full of words
Eating away the inside of my voice
Rotting my vocal cords
You ever wonder what silence really
Sounds like ?
Mom tells me not to talk about it
Reruns of her favorite show have been on all morning
And the laughter of the audience
Seems as though it was made for us
To play again and again
Repeating the same deadness that has been living with us for years
We've been burying each other for a few months now and each day we learn what it feels like to be front row in a funeral
You were never really invited too
Our black clothes have been fading since January
The paint has been chipping off the front door since September
My dad stopped by , but didn't come inside
He yelled from his truck
and you wonder why people never come through it
I guess you can say things haven't been the same since he left and took the "welcome home Matt " with him
It was moms favorite one
She didn't have a place to hide the extra key anymore
So now she keeps the doors unlocked
Things seem safer this way
I know I can leave anytime
But I'm afraid of the mess I am
Of the excuses and sincere apologies
You only find in mailboxes
I swear I'll go one day
before
I become the same one mom started forgetting about
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC