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Armando A Quiros May 2016
hands gently shudder
even the thunders quiet
you stroke me deafly
Max Neumann Nov 2019
take me away from this journey
i am trapped in the land of placelessness

blind / hypnotized
route 36 / bolivia
deaf / treated with ultrasound
simultaneously

scarcely knowing
what all that means

i am feeling the rising of blood
a wave of heat like sandstorms

inevitability: willful / knowing / aware

i am putting myself at risk of dying
long ago i read about the risks and consequences
of my ******* abuse
pervaded them intellectually while

my heart remains deafly because
of *******
bitter
sear
aflutter and in panic

there is just:

one life
one heart
one body one man

man what are you doing?!?!
i am hollering into my inner
embracing the envelope
obsessed over bitterness
numb love
in the dungeon of plotted heavens
lofty as never before
is where i am running away from:
every day

in the 1920s there was a man
who they called "koks-emil"
he sold ******* in the nightstreets of berlin

the national archive has been keeping
a picture of him doing business with
two girls out of gangland we
can't see the face of the one standing left only  
her back

however her companion typifies precisely
what the drug creates in our souls:
a form that can not be imitated
like the effect of the drug

a form of longing and greed in the
girl's face

longing and greed
balancing each other
not one of
these states predominates

while beholding the girl i am becoming
horridly conscious
about myself
horridly about

my relationship with *******
my affair with *******
my love to ******* this
sounds sick?
indeed it is

we call it
suffering from an addiction

we call it
suffering from a dependency

become clean.
i wish you willpower
wish you strong luck
wish you peace at last

the rate of relapsing
******* users is vast
during the night

when the wind is
breezing mildly

when the stones of the cities
are breathing out the heat of the day

while you are
sneaking over the streets

while every street corner resembles
the very one where
koks-emil used to sell his product

while you are sensing the smell
of bitterness

while you are being preoccupied with
her face: her longing her greed

while you are experiencing
yourself:

more deeply
more soberly
and more knowingly
as before

while you
are reaching out your hands searching
with kidfingers for koks-emil

the guy with the warped corner of the mouth
the reliable / greedy one

the one who is always ready

a salesman has to be available for
every second of your longing
every second of your greed

koks-emil: your world is made of black and white
your hat is grey its bonnet is vanishing as your
shivering hands

hands that spread capsules
hands that grap at bills
hands that you use to brush away your sweat

**** between the lipps
shabby coat

koks-emil your spirit
blows through inner cities like gas fumes
a grin on your face coming from
lurid lights

you became immortal
you underwent rapid decades
you were an addict
you created addicts
you served addicts

the ****** expression of the girl
your child-like customer
remains for

all for everybody with a
*******-addiction

for all and for everybody
who depends on *******

for all and everybody
who is clean from *******

for all and everybody:
longing and greed

rest in peace girl
Based on true events.

Today is a good day.
Katy Mack May 2010
Swiftly moving, surely breathing,
Death comes upon thee.
Deafly hearing, blindly seeing,
Death comes, you'll see.
Purely hating, silently screaming,
Death moves toward me.
Angelic sinning, awakened dreaming,
Death won't leave you be.
Drowned swimming, motionless fleeing
Death has to be the key.
Unharmful stabbings, helpful bleedings,
Death has slain me.
Written 5/14/08 @ 10AM by Kathrine Mack.
Sia Jane Sep 2014
They never started the same
They crawl up on her
They become part of everything
Dispersing across floors & furniture
A plate with fresh food
Thrown, mistakenly, at a wall
Shattering, only to breed
Innumerable monsters
Too much distress to even
Identify the name of
These creatures that
Preposterously morph around
The warm cup of tea she
Once held, warming her
Terrified self.
smash
Even with closed eyes, they haunt
Leaving the undecided question of
Is this some form of disordered
Disorientating other reality?
A rhetorical question, a statement
Of none expectant response
For these are for her eyes only
Her mind & her disorder
Running tracks, stairs
Streets, towns, cities
To no avail or answer
Worn out feet of battered soles
Stumbling the miles traced
Breadcrumbs, leave a Hansel & Gretel
Trail of discord, a cacophony of deafly noise.
smash
They are the disease of the night
They are the monsters of the mind
They are the enemies attacking a naïve self
Days spent, releasing fears
Of what once were dreams
Irrevocably impossible to change
For how is she to reach
Into a subconscious mind
Where the mice are chased
Defenceless prey
Victims of themselves
Slaves of the blackened sky
Where all there is to protect her
Are crashing stars, subsuming
Her very own nightmares.
smash
Stars setting her free
Free from sinful blasphemy
Awakening memories of
Unconditional love from
The honey moon set in
This autumn sky
Where all is forgotten
She is no longer the babe in the woods
A quivering girl, but a
Woman of remarkable wonder
Sleeping in silk sheets, bungalow number three
Château Marmont, 8221 Sunset Boulevard
Elixir of life, Princess of alchemy, believer
Of exoteric knowledge, trusting a
Universe, far greater than her.
smash

© Sia Jane
*Hollywood  ****** - not heroine for a reason.
Sharleen Boaden Jul 2011
They slip through the cracks
In and out of every pit
Until with ease they arrive
Where Fools sit...
In grotesque embrace;
Questioning deafly till
They're blue in the face
Doubt spins round
Desecrating the air
And manic eyes blink
With glassy-eyed stare;
Murky mirrors reflect pale
Shadows of mens' minds
Mockingly peering down nose
As they sweep truths from under toes...
They slip through the cracks
In and out of every pit
Until with ease they arrive
Where Fools sit....
Alex McDaniel Nov 2014
She fell in love with November,
for the way the sun shined down on
decaying leafs
and chilling temperatures danced upon the tips of her fingers,
providing her with a perfect balance between life and death.

She presented herself to the world in this manner,
always happy and bright, but never content,
as days carried on cracks in her skin led to trails of pieces on the ground.
Her eyes often flickered between a beautiful orange and a sickly brown.
Her heart, as much as it wanted to be warm was deafly cold.

She was a mystery.

And as December rolled in and the world froze over in darkness,
so did she.
The only light in her life was the moon.
how badly I wish she could've loved a month like June.
In between the crevasse, the edges of *******,
Two boldly jutting stingers perpendicularly putting
A slick gripping upon a slim tantalum cigarette,
A discreet bayonette from weapons that should have kept

Their secrets, saved their wars, retained their scores
To themselves, mourned in their shells, sat in the corners of their skin and bone cells,
Weeping through fingernails.

The acid cannot wave between the lips,
Absorbed, contained inside their grips,
Decidedly encased inside like bottled ships
That cannot sail from inside a deafly, deathly speaking slip.

Those circled, muscled sinking feelings
Driven cold by air, the scarab dealings
Flying flus, thus rabid reelings,
Blades cantankerous on wings revealing.

Bottled, at stop, on gums that go.
Bottled razorlings, at stop, on gums that go.
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Lightning crashes.
Scenery of Christmas lights and carnival delights.
Wishes of "wish you were here" and feelings of gladness that you're not.
Nothing here but invisible trees and extending branches.
Brains wired and falsely ecstatic.
Minds clouded with wonder.
Feet soaked in mud.
Lives filled with dirt, but not tonight.
Six feet under we're covered with dirt, but not tonight.
Music in our ears of deafly heard dreams, clouded by the constant ringing of sober-less memories, filled with invisible sounds of the undergrounds we so deftly tried to forget.
A house of cards, knocked down but slowly rebuilding in this temporary paradise.
We're all strange here; we're all separated by our hopes.
To drink, to drive, to live, to be buried, to stay alive, to not be buried alive.
On the edge of summer, on the edge of beginnings, on the beginnings of an end.
Passion is a pit for dead lovers. Dead lovers lie naked in the mud. Mud covers footprints of those who were here.
Puddles by morning.
Brains in a puddle, minds in a haze.
Lifeless gazes from across wet grass.
Is it dew from rain or are we due for rain?
What's the point of being wet, if we're dry in our souls?
Nothing matters, the eyes disappear into huddled masses.
Under your umbrella, under my last chapter, under our life's story.
Sun comes again, the great big wheel.
Omitting true light to those who hate it, no matter how deep their hate is driven like snow.
Lightning crashes.
TigerEyes Nov 2014
He stole something from her bed
and, it began messing with her head...
A Greek man came into her home
late at night when she was all alone
A naive girl who had wanted to learn a bit
about the culture of this ******
she regretted ever
meeting him
nearly scrubbing off
her entire skin
and, while her tears ..
like water rained on down
her sobs fell deafly to the ground...
for what seemed like hours, and hours...
while she stood weeping
in her shower.
© Krisselle S. Cosgrove
Karijinbba Oct 2020
More often than not
one is fated to continue loving
a lost great love misunderstood
as regrets teaching self love
expanding to others
is healthier to living
then surviving in daily
worthless pain that hating is.

I wanted to know true love
in this life time.
To meet great wise souls,
but mostly haters came to me as
stranglers boa constructors
mendicants greedy blood
hungry Alien moths
attracted mostly to my light.

Snakes slidered around
my tini cradle in my parents
forestlands, one bit my leg!
Through life, it was the most benevolent of my attackers!
My uncle's malignant
child predator his jealous
viper wife Roselia was as evil
marriage to my spoiling paternal uncle didn't change her ways.
.
Roselia murdered my two baby brothers David Sanchez and half brother blue eyed Antonio Chavez G.
She devil left me
internally bleeding dying requiring surgery to save my life
.
I ran away at age seven
surviving that ugly predator
in her jealous rage towards my
naive un-protective ignorant
unfit widow mother!
Later on, running from this nightmare two human predators
fathered my three precious kids
Jealous Greek Medeas tortured
my newborn babes in Calamata and Athens Charalambos
(haralobo) Kiriaki and her family
poisoned us three for years and
a lifetime trashed me to those who were deafly jealous of me in USA.
Henry R, W remained
a Charles Manson advocate in CA
he is and his evil sister Liz his sterile ex-girlfriend all high on ******* almost turned me into Sharon Tate!
trashing me for being an RH -O-
Back in 1983 to steal my children and sell them for ******* dues to whom ever bailed them out
a hate crime against me a Mexican born a Mom struggling to stay alife all alone beautiful in and out purple heart Mom;
an immigrant running for my life saving whatever the vipers left of my 3 baby girls and myself!
I couldn't find a single friend in USA
My Josie-Rosie my sassy, required surgery on her sternum chest
to save her life.
We are hated for surviving them all
foes ditching their death dice each time they tried stocking me and baby girls everywhere we went.
Elizabeth W G even bought me a fraudulent life insurance sold my medical records to thugs in the medical LA care fields
in LA CA USA hating me
for succeeding in all they have failed.
For my heart, my perseverance!
for my lovev to my children.

I was so battered myself I feared going public but my silence allowed enemies to return to trash me to my kids and harm them some more I couldn't save them they were assimilated drugged compromised and blackmailed.

I have not seen my grown kids in eons
just to not to spike the demented jealousy in those thugs
they now call friends enemies
who took my place in their life.
the witch hunt must end
for God is stronger then evil doers.
That deadly enemy used drugs to lure my 2 sons in law trashing me
  to them too beyond repair.

They think they won but God's justice shall prevail to avenge some justice
for me and my blindsided children
whom I birthed adored raised schooled my gifted high IQ'd kids.
I saved their life a million times
my motherly rights shall resume.
as God is my witness
evil just can't prevail forever.

True love divine found me too.
in all areas of life that may matter
the all wholly good ways.
That unforgettable true love
had left me behind shredded.
alone misunderstood;
Afterwards misery and pain
was all I found as you read above.
but my heart of gold knows how to love no scorn in me hides only love.
Is it better to have love and lost?
This purple heart Mom knows
what true love is though.

What to be in love is like,
when a special human being
fell in love with me too.
When my children deep down understand we are all victims of same evil enemies
my kids love themselves and me their good life saving caring heroic Mom.
deep down, my children adore me Angel Mom, remembered well.
their Mexican-American Mestizo French mix Mom pride and joy
Mexican lives matter too!

I am glad I was your Mother
(my lala, my sassy, my coco)
Patricia Angela, Josephine Rose,
Michelle J San-Gutier.
I am giving you three new names
for good luck, new beginning!
kiss my grandkids for me
their true maternal grandma.
with much much love.

And to me all, all this,
it made all the difference.
sigh..
~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
Copy Rights
2020
To the loves of my life my grown daughters my grandkids and my first
and last love JPCRk
as for my unprovoked jealous enemies.
My children and grandkids belong to my heart to God not to you snakes in our paradise!
we aren't dogs nor cats not for sale!
your evil deeds are destroyed with truth.
Charalambos haralobo serial killer human trafficking predator: Kiriaki Mantalozis, Elizabeth W G Henry R W
Arthur and Susan W. Raitano
chikd tiryurer Judy A
you are trash thieves human ptedators racist biggots
human trafficants with agendas
sociopaths I give you all ten traits of narcissist personality. I didn't make you sterile you were born that way God is wise in who to make a Mother and who not to but the devil births and feeds thugs like yourselves
to steal treasures and feel important because without victimizing innocents you have no life at all.
As God is my witness you all shall rip what bitterness you inflicted unprovoked..
epictails Jan 2015
Be careful little lady for the world is ill
It beguiles you deeply to its will
And then you wake up everyday with no thrill

Love they judge as taboo
The hopeful who cares they misconstrue
As an idiot with a loose *****

The truth is but a faraway fancy
With people living for themselves only
Lies here and there, truth being heard deafly

Peace is a dying cliche
Violence, aggression all they pray
The dignity of many turning into decay

So you see my dear,sweet innocence
Open your eyes but embrace this reality with grievance
One that has lost its meaning and balance
But with you, a believer, a kind soul, might still give it a chance
Do take action with love and not vengeance
For you can still save a world stripped of conscience
This is the (sort of) sequel to my poem A Letter to Mother. This would be like the mother's reply to her child's questions. I urge everyone who gets to read this to let your little siblings or children  know how they can take action in issues that have shaken and continue shaking our morale as a society.
Alex McDaniel Dec 2013
I'm deafly afraid

that you never learned to stay a float,

that you will decide to take a swim in an ocean of your own sad tears,

and that I'll be to busy admiring your face in glass reflection of the water,

that the glass might shatter

and we just might drowned.
Luc L'arbre Apr 2014
#7
Molten mote of gold,
I see you.
past the orange filaments of lightning
cast from your centre, you weave
crimson laces through the cage of my ribs.
avatar of light tearing,
       crying, lashing
I feel it in my chest,
       this heat
       this soundless clamor
My eyes are too wide,
your needle too fine
       too brilliant.
I could not dream your form,
given a thousand years of sleep.
Yet deafly I hear you,
in the turning of my bones,
the swell and decay of my blood.
Molten mote of gold,
I see you.
Craig Verlin Jan 2016
Love is a frail word,
whispered out by the pressing
of the tongue against
the roof of the mouth,
falling deafly outwards
and with little consequence.
It comes rattling out slowly,
beginning there in the epiglottis,
mulling forward and pressing
against the back of the skull
like the blade on a dull knife;
never quite hard enough
to break the skin.
You hear it in the slightness
of the air, pushed through the
smallest gap between the
front teeth and the lower lip;
forming the mouth in precise
measures.
Somewhere within all of this
movement of air against the
contortions of the mouth,
there is a wonderful lie that
we have created for ourselves.
Onoma Nov 2018
I'm at a

loss for so

many things...

chiefly

words.

yet here they

are, blue in

the face.

a flailing

troubadour,

birds flocking

deafly...

thru half the

air's soul.
Max Neumann Sep 2020
take me away from this journey
i am trapped in the land of placelessness

blind / hypnotized
route 36 / bolivia
deaf / treated with ultrasound
simultaneously

scarcely knowing what all that means
like a child who isn't listening to anyone

i am feeling the rising of blood
a wave of heat like sandstorms

inevitability: willful / knowing / aware

i am putting myself at risk of dying
long ago i read about the risks and consequences
of my drug abuse
pervaded them intellectually while

my heart remains deafly because
of narcotics
bitter, sear, aflutter and in panic

there is just:

one life
one heart
one body one man

man what are you doing?!?!
i am hollering into my inner
embracing the envelope
obsessed over bitterness
numb love

in the dungeon of plotted heavens
lofty as never before
is where i am running away from:
every day

* * *

the rate of relapsing
drug users is vast
during the night

when the wind is
breezing mildly

when the stones of the cities
are breathing out the heat of the day

while you are
sneaking over the streets

while you are sensing the smell
of bitterness

while you are experiencing
yourself:

more deeply
more cleanly
and more knowingly
as before
Listen to the audio of this poem:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jqSqRwKjfI
Nicklaus Bailey Oct 2019
Night arrives, darkness unfurls its old comforting splendor
Silently I surrender my sense of one to depth of non existent light
Slowly, gently accepting its embrace, its caress so soft and tender
My sensations swirling, falling, and abandon my sense of sight
Warming, comforting, alone and gently turning my face away from reality
Day has been long, burning, scorching, destroying my sense of hope
But in the cool, loving night I find the worlds hidden duality
When I find my body broken, my life breaking the spirit of my soul
Swiftly, gently, my heart opens to the chords and tunes I cannot find
Roaring deafly, soaring underground, logic left behind
Thoughts alone and thoughts they remain
For I have entered a world where darkness is domaine
Not sadness nor worry or anxiety to burden my heart
Slipping, tipping off the edge of duality of this imagined reality
Clinging, crying, begging for a reality where this duality
May yet spread its wings and feel the wind as it soars
Letting go of all the love and hate from before
Breaking, cracking, my very soul a knife into my own heart
I am flawed, a monster of my creation I know
When did it begin? When did this path a young boy start?
Where did I lose the innocence I might have once known
Finding comfort only in the solitude of my mind
That same mind is slipping out of reality
Where is it? That sense of self I may find?
Have I ever owned a true sense of identity
Powers of love lost in the pain and cruelty
My own words are daggers
And abandon their own master
Wounded and bleeding
Gasping, breathing, clinging to ideas of salvation
Hope is fading, light is falling beyond the hills
And at the end of it all only do I find revelations
That I have grasped and sensed I have had my fill
Night time, darkness, cool winds on burns
Softness, tenderness, caressing each in turn
Stillness, hushness, softly dying breaths and whimpers
Sweet promise of dreams of love and joy in slumber
Darker thoughts and ambitions forgotten long ago
And though my thoughts and soul give ‘way
To the darker side of Day
I find comfort of the stillness without fight
The stillness and the comfort of the night
Old friends, new ones, all encompassed in the slumber
Fantasies abound, darkness all around, coolness yet so tender
Dreams and fantasies of a life I may have known
Circling each before my eyes
Beauty incarnate of my own mind, my fantasies unwind
Embracing the tenderness of the night
Sydney Rose Apr 2018
misunderstood
interpreted
wrongly

what the earth couldn’t see
is a beauty beyond her mouth

pretty brown eyes
blinked into the crowd

deafly speaking
silence said aloud

eyes spoke words a minute
hastily scripted within

stuttering softly
no words to perceive

mouth was inaudible
eyes were explodable

what the earth couldn’t see
is beauty a within her eyes

she spoke with her pencil
and wrote with her mouth

deaf
brown
eyes
Brett Oct 2020
There is a place I dream of
That truly frees my mind
It often smells like peace
And tastes of salty brine

The hours never wither
On these sands of time
Where the sun can always kiss her
And faces age like wine

The night is deafly quiet
Bright stars adorn the sky
The moon floats behind it
And I never say goodbye
We Are Stories Jan 2020
Separation-

Exclamation.

Exasperation-

and then silence-

for all the years
when you were speaking to me
have found the words

silent-

and as the feet
slide side by side,

the heartbeat
is deafly quiet-



a treasure is lost

a foundation is cracked

the stone i leaned upon has swayed-


my only wish,
if i could have it,
would be that you could’ve stayed-


that maybe grace and understanding could keep you
instead of sending you away.
Mary Gay Kearns Aug 2020
What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, —
dumbly calling, deafly listening—that
in misfortune, even death,
encourage others
and in its defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.

Marianne Moore
I love this poem and poet .uses geometrical categories
Joshua Buskirk Mar 2021
I keep hearing
Of the milestones,
we are reach
We reach them in greater frequency
With quieter outrage

A disproportante response.

How can we have turned so blindly
So deafly
When they come louder and faster
With each passing.

With each mention…
New statistic revealed
I hear the voices
Louder in individual unison
Their needs to be heard
Not to be gone
Drowned by platitudes.

More and more
I’ll think
As I hear the word
Milestone
Milestone
Over and over
Droning on and on
the dark points we have reached
I keep struggling
With milestone
The word doesn’t flow
Doesn’t express right.
It feels we are achieving when we reach milestones
And now we are doing anything but...
wordvango Sep 2020
The prose of prawns
Once spoiled upon
The lawns fell deafly stride
The dead ears of young
Men called to defend the majesty
Of flag and home but
Whence the nouns the round
Romance verbs absorbed like
Blood into the earth
And aunts and moms
Younger brothers home
Gave up all hopes of his return
Into no poem came faith or honor, no more was the Valor
Rhyme and the cadence glory.
Oh, young,
You that preach how precious
Seems
Heed naught in haste.
Spend lightly send the old
Those in power that bend and proveracate speech in colored
Tones of we
He was my son.  
And he is no more.
What have you done.

— The End —