"eardrums" poems
I had
drowned in
those ocean currents
they call eyes.
Slipped away,
not a word outspoken.
Strangled with glacier hands,
fingertips of salt and
thunder cottoning my
eardrums.
You wanted to save me,
but I could not tell you
over the salt eroding
my throat,
that you were the one drowning me.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Down like an anchor,
Vision is shrinking as your eardrums burst through the grusome pressure, increasing the deeper you go in the deep, blue, merciless sea
A match unwinnable, a fight to the finish, to ones very last breath,
Tackled something so much greater, it has pulled back, after capsizing we made the decision when it came to swim or sink, that we drown,
Swallowed by the ocean, these great unfathomable depths, taken away our last breath of fresh, salty, stinging, yet very pleasant flavour
Our blanket is a billow, a stormy night which caused this tragedy,
Darkness under darkness, where light upon light once ruled supreme
Until our bodies have been taken apart, by this greedy sea and its desire to take us in, make us a part of it's glorious wide spread self,
Never to see the glassy surface once more, or will we be ship ghosts?
All lies and all sin, all dreams and all majesty, are swept away by swelling waves of the expanse someone may call the pacific ocean,
All ego and all deception, all freedom and all light is lost in its dephts
But we quietly, gently rest with pride in our hearts.
~ Umi
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
It's funny how
I cannot seem
to find a care
or worry
in the world
as soon as
the sound of
your lighthearted laughter,
your gleeful giggling
reverberates against
my eardrums,
implanting all of its
melodious magic
deep within my soul.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia
The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony
Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes,
Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus
To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee
Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry.
That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured
Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta,
Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition,
And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly
Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity
Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth
To untimely half the yellow Sun
That juxtaposed planet of poetry
Behind the star of tribe as a priority
Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated,
in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis.
Ever predated on when tribes form nations.
A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins
Of white humanity, battling cynosure
Historically evinced in Antony and his father,
Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio,
Or Macbeth and counterparts
Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother,
As the white blood cells of the white blood,
Militantly attack the white corpuscles
Of the misfortunate chimpanzee,
Converting the later into
A chewer of misfortune.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
The great New York metropolitan
stretching its vibrancy
trafficking its wears.
Car horns combating in contemptuous arguments
habituated eardrums unwittingly pulsating
Great buildings upward; towering behemoths in grandiose splendor
This great asphalt jungle sprawling its electricity for blocks,
for miles
The jazz of the city continues the chanting; the sounds of bass and the blowing of the **** sax, the horn, the piano
and the drums drumming on its rhythmical beat
Beating hearts feeling the vibrancy; the shock waves of nuances echoing the great hustle
Multitude of voices singing praise to the different tongues;
vibrant in diverse rejoicing, the poetry of men and women
Metropolitans claiming the world condensing into small
blocks and listening to its RHAPSODY.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
the lightning won't **** you
the thunder will
boom
eardrums squeeze!
pop pop pop
bust! can't hear
slip in the grass
dropped amongst bugs and wet smells
curl up into a ball and sob
you can't even hear yourself sob!
lungs burst like eardrums
you're a mess
the thunder will
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
I'm sitting down, so why am I sweating?
A constant cycle of your reminding, and me forgetting.
I need to lie down. My mind is heavy in my skull.
Your mouth is moving, but my eardrums are full.
Petty thoughts take a substantial grip on my heart.
Can we just go again, perhaps take it from the start.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Whisper
Drop peonies in my eardrums
Sew violets under my skin
Take all my fragrance in and
Exhale
Pave a path of fuchsia petals
We’ll share baths with chrysanthemums, lilies, hydrangeas
And crown ourselves in wreaths of all the roses.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
I can’t move
my legs are pinned to my body
squeezing against my chest
my arms restrain to my sides
my hands pressing against my flesh
my eyes wide but i see nothing
the four walls of this confined prison
pinches my skin
and pushes my head into my knees
my breath is heavy
Panting i can’t breathe
I choke on my own thoughts
my own breath
my heart pounds in my eardrums
I long to stretch my legs
and run far, far away
from this hell I have to call home
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
like the ocean on a bright sunny day,
like the winter sky devoid of the blockade of clouds.
it's the feeling of the cool breeze
and the rain,
falling to the earth
on a hot summer day
and the hot breath
that you exhale onto
the cool glass,
melting it into tiny water droplets.
and the sound of the deep bass
of the drums
in slow motion
as the sound waves reverberates
in the air and
travels to my eardrums.
it's the sensation of
the sharp-icy touch
of your skin on mine,
like icy sophistication that
later warms into me,
as i cool to your being.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Not a smile
Not even a glance.
Do I even exist?
I don't know anymore...
I guess in all
The chaos
I just...forgot to be
I forgot
What it's like
To exist.
I want to be real again.
I want to be
Their screams and laughter
Echo 'round me
Piercing my eardrums
Ebbing like an unseen ocean
Quiet
Loud
Quiet
Loud
But alone I sit
At my own table
The memory of how to live
Gradually slipping like water
From my cold
Dead
Fingers
It's all gone.
I can't remember...
I can't remember!
People I once knew
Places I went
All gone
Like stars.
Also like stars
I am here-I know I am-but no one
Can
See
Me.
All the time I watch them live
But all the time
I don't exist
I want to be here
In the existence I can only brush
with my ghostly pale fingers
But never truly touch
Because now
In this sick reality,
That's all I really am:
A ghost.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
I texted you
at 12:30 a.m.
with a beer can on my bedside table,
asked you
if you remember
how my lips taste,
told you
it's been a while
since anyone's touched me
like you used to,
added
haha, I love you
to texts that
didn't quite make sense;
I asked for it.
That's what I keep
telling myself.
It's not ****
if I gave consent,
it's not ****
if you didn't touch me,
it's not ****
if I said yes when
you offered to make me less lonely.
I remember when
that boy you were always jealous of
told me he loved me,
I remember wanting to say it back,
I remember the smell of
my mom's *****
on his breath.
I said no.
Took his arm off my shoulder,
turned my head away,
told him not to kiss me,
told him not tonight,
told him he was drunk,
he was lying to himself,
he was just lonely,
he would not love me
in the morning.
I was right.
He told me
the last thing he remembered
was sitting down next to me,
he said
sorry if I tried anything,
I said he didn't.
My point is,
the boy I loved,
longed for,
still long for,
was giving himself to me,
his flushed cheek on my shoulder,
his hands in my hair,
my name on his lips,
and I said no.
My point is,
I, whom you knew to be vulnerable,
to be empty,
to be broken,
was begging you to save me,
my desire on your phone screen,
my scars in your memories,
my cries echoing in your eardrums,
and you asked for more.
My point is,
there comes a point
in every person's life
when they are given the choice
to do the right thing,
or do the wrong thing
and convince them self
it was the only option.
My point is,
I could have been
at your doorstep,
in your bedroom,
begging,
pleading,
naked,
ready,
and the right answer
still would have been
no.
My point is,
you did not **** me,
but you made me feel violated.
You are not a *** offender,
but you are an awful person.
I did say yes,
but you should have said no.
My point is,
I may have asked for it,
but that doesn't mean
you should've given it to me.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Running and laughing
As if
A fearless schoolgirl
Climbing through my mind
A playground for her games
My heart
Wet leaves below her feet
The veins bleed crimson into muddy puddles
As my feelings bubble to the surface
Unnoticed by the towering eyes above
The bell rings and she leaves me again
Nothing but lonely echoes of laughter
Shadowed smiles hidden behind a darkened stage
Waiting for the curtains to rise once more
One more show
As the actors take their places
The bell bites into awaiting eardrums
Feet pound and patter the ground
Jump ropes and monkey bars
Bouncing ***** and frisbees scraping gravel
Laughter fills my head like an aquarium
Tiny fish swim by oblivious
Completely unaware of my sponge-like brain
Retaining water
Slowly quieting
Drowning inside the water-filled glass cage
At last
Thoughtless
Bubbles rise from deep below
As my heart pumps air and blood to my lifeless brain
All the while she climbs
And laughs
Playing so innocently
Yet intently
Absolutely ignorant to her power
Not realizing as she stares across the chess board
That her opponent’s brain has stopped
And he is now playing with his heart
Now easy prey
Young, injured, or old
Take your pick
He is the scent of blood to a hungry shark
In her child-like mind she continues to play
Still not sure as to the extent of the challenge
A blaring bell sounds off in the distance
One more day’s reprieve
The footsteps and the laughter subside
The curtains fall together
The stage again grows dark
The aquarium is quiet
My heart beats double time
Waiting until tomorrow
Waiting for her hands to begin the climb
Staring at my pieces on the board
Knowing I’m in check
Just waiting for
The mate
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 3:47 PM UTC
Words without
Unspoken truths
Cut in neat pieces
Sharp like knives
Plunged deep into yesterday’s drivers seat
Intoxicated
The sweetness of wine
Time took hold
Tastes grew old
Drank straight with ice
A barrel aged whiskey with bite
Involuntarily, my body shakes
Like it was trying to run away from the feeling
“I didn’t know you would make me so drunk”
Stumbling and fumbling with my keys
Scratched drivers side door
Attempts to unlock what shouldn’t be
It left chips in the paint
“F*ck” murmured beneath my breath
The engines low rumble grumbled and sang
A stereo left on too loud came alive when I turned the key
Busted eardrums, slow trickle, ears that bleed
Silence spoke the loudest after that
The nights drive turned sideways
Cherry red lights matched with blue
I could outrun them if I tried
Pressed petals in between pages
Pushed gingerly to the floor
The speedometer creeped to new heights
That annoying flashing brightness followed me
Threat to freedom and a refusal to give in
Twist and turns
The chase ensues
I finally feel like I’m gaining distance
Little was known, encroaching on a dead end
Blew past a warning sign
Wrapped my car around a tree
Crimson red soaked shirt
“Why is my face wet?”
A steady stream of life giving fluid pumped through a **** in my forehead
Dizzy, it made me dizzy.
I sat and waited, not for help
But for time to be taken away
I understood that sometimes a mistake is made, and I can pay the price with iron clad bracelets and a night spent on a bench for a bed.
You taste like wine and then bit like whiskey, when all I wanted was coffee black on a crisp summer morning with the sun rising up to meet a lovers lust in my eyes.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 1:33 PM UTC
he's terrified of her voice
that whips his eardrums like kashmir switches
and tickles his diaphragm until he convulses
in nervous laughter inside his head
the way it inquires broadly,
like an opera written in tornado sirens and megaphones
and the brightness of lighthouses,
for conversation he thought
had drowned long ago and only
reemerges as bubbles on the lake's surface
a boiling body popping deafeningly
with anxiety, and plumping
bravery pasta, which smells seductive,
which he loves...
he's just not hungry right now.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
I'm speechless
That's my approach as you approach me
And usually I'm too focused on finding the perfect words
To penetrate the simple space I provide
So when beautiful girls intentionally invade my atmosphere
My need for speech is satisfied
Your beauty speaks sufficiently for two
So while I'm struggling for oxygen, I hope you recognize
Your presence is all I've ever needed to breathe easily
I'm stuck
Between unexpressed elegance
And helplessness
My mouth is screaming out
But frozen completely shut
I'm worried my compliments
May be complications
That my suggestions
Might suppress my objective here
We typically rely on our words
To settle the score
As if you and I are in overtime
Of a tie ballgame
Looking for phrases to frame the scoreboard
With an absolute victor
But I was hoping that you'd be willing to join forces
To break through the proverbial force field
That prohibits rivals from overthrowing obstacles
Because I've always believed the input overpowers the outcome
What if it were possible
To eliminate our speech
So our ears could erase the need to draw conclusions
We don't etch our words in pencil
Our words are enunciated in permanent marker
Brutally beating through our eardrums
Rhythmically reminding us
That silence can be more sweet sounding than any set of syllables
All I know is I'm hell-bent on remaining a straight shooter
My arrows will always be designed for the bulls-eye
But lately I've been questioning my targets
They haven't been painted red and white for all the world to see
They've been camouflaged by constricted communication
Secretly searching for statements that haven't met the airwaves yet
So I'd much rather absorb your definite thoughts
Than accept your remarks as absolute
The truth is
I'm not sure
What needs to be said.
The syllables I've learned to form
Don't apply to situations where
Words remain inherently absent.
And too often we force our hand
To make phrases appear
Where they don't belong.
But something about
Silent speeches is appealing to me.
Because the power in your eyes reduce
The need for any type of sound.
And the shock waves your steps make
As you inch closer to mine
Create the sweetest melodies.
So all I will tell you is this:
Let's leave words out of this.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
I stand alone in the dark Fulton Street subway station,
Breathing in the urine-scented air,
Breathing out clouds of steam,
A subway train rushes along,
Not stopping,
Biting at my eardrums,
With the painful percussion,
Of thousands of people,
Silently screaming,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
The air fanned by each subway car,
Rushes against me,
Pushes the ozone and the smell of burnt brake linings,
Into my nostrils,
Along with the air,
****** through the iron gratings,
Along miles of Brooklyn sidewalks,
Carrying the odor of a prostitute’s festering sores,
And the cries of a hungry, fatherless child in ***** diapers,
And the hoarse moaning of a city councilman mentoring a young intern,
And the cheap perfume of a fourteen year-old runaway,
Turning $20 tricks in an alley,
Smelling of stale Chinese food and wet dogs,
And . . .
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
. . . the smell of spoiled cabbage soup,
And the rancid remains of a hotdog buried in sauerkraut,
And putrid lilies lying in a gutter,
All assaulting me, forcing me backwards,
Until my back presses against,
The grimy once-white tiles,
That coldly burn their graffiti on my spine:
God is dead,
Bake a ****
Whitey *****
**** the *******
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
The train finally passes,
Its red eyes receding into the dank,
Dark tunnel beyond the platform,
The screeches and screams slowly die out,
Their echoes ******* behind them,
The smell,
Of my,
Warm
*****
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
The Quantum Poetry Theorem
from a long time ago,
a thousand poems a priori.
**Dedicated to you, Albert Einstein and the cast of TBBT, special thanks to the OWS movement.,
But especially to the few, the brave, geeks who write poetry in word and in equations.**
Scruffy, yet ennobled,
my own 99% invade and
occupy all my senses,
in my eyesight encamped
sensing opportunity,
the 99 demand
that each shutter eye snap,
all nominal exhalations,
every quantum minutia perception,
be live streamed,
direct tv to you
Everything I witness,
transformed into an
acoustic guitar rocking vision,
a levitation of poetic expression,
set to a primitive three-chord
rock & roll overture,
and my iPad,
appointed Recording Secretary,
compiles exhalations as ecrivations
a preservation society of the verb,
strings of words emanating non-stop
within my head, from a guitar playing
twenty four seven, ironically,
expressed mathematically
Street strolling,
busy brasserie bar,
a Pinot Noir arrives,
a large pour of
stanzas and a
napkin upon to scribble
mind in ferment but
A Capella smooth cool,
my bossy brain requires
incident reports,
a "write me down, please,"
and
no matter how much I drink,
ain't anti-matter enough to
stop my eyes from seeing
every human interaction
as a poetic, probabilistic,
verbal equation,
quantum expressions of sensory upload
The brain revels and reels from overload,
no mas, no more,
poetry fatigue incurable,
caplets and ointments,
string theory,
can't cure or explain
the compulsion I feel,
and the 1% of me
protests my
overtaxed mental capacity,
and
hear the, see the, masses,
the shouts, the placards,
outside my home,
shut it down, no one cares,
no one wants your transplanted mechanics
in their eardrums
Huzzah, found in my gut,
a Grand Unifying Theory
to coordinate, gauge and harmonize
my internal asymmetries,
yes, a coupling factor required,
but still,
one equation that explains everything!
my fatigued, pointy, index finger
refuses to tap any more,
my Theory of Everything,
and my poetry, forgot, overlooked.
in my library buried,
black holed, forever silence-stored
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
Scuffed case.
Paired and synced.
Simple, easy.
Simplistic beauty.
Music plays.
Audio flowing.
Eardrums tremble.
Heartbeat flowing.
Time slowing.
Soul escaping.
Joy replacing.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
Dice the dead mans diligence like a Dillinger or Challenger,
He gained a Dodge Wrangler like a sad handler of emotions;
Perhaps all of this is more potent than potions or consumer hand lotions plus alcoholic haphazard;
Yet I consider the price of anything to be lice on everything,
Like a fat woman’s sullen song,
The sounds still ring in the lingering enclave of my eardrums,
Which breath waves like air into my lungs.
It’s sundown,
And therefore, I’ll see you soon;
Yes, I’ll see you soon, moon.
So very soon.
May 24, 2011
May 24, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
A thunderous crack
Echoes in the night.
A monstrous sound
Splitting my eardrums.
****** impure poison…
And it’s funny.
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 8:44 PM UTC
Dropped off in a desert.
Combat uniform tight against me.
Sweat gripping my skin in a desperate plea
For sanity to return, so I may escape.
Gunfire stutters its loud whispers of death against my eardrums.
Explosions drown out screams. My own?
I blink. The dust engulfs my body as I writhe on the ground;
Fetal position my permanent placement.
Longing for the ground to swallow me whole,
To the comfort of death's womb.
Cries of, "Get the hell up! What are you? This is a man's war!"
I get up.
The gun at my side like an old man's artificial hip;
Comfort and support in an unstable land.
I look at the chaos and depravity around me.
This is supposed to be Heaven to me,
Yet the combat boots feel too heavy.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
your daughter is infected;
writhing as she sleeps in too-thin-skin,
afraid the already permeable peach might catch,
impaled by some night terror
inching out under her eardrums and eyelids.
any other orifice blackened with rot,
and skin crawling with creeping creatures, cutting comfortable
dugouts and sleeping quarters in her heels,
beginning to pull and tear as
one-by-one pests patrolled her leg bones.
cauldron of guts, blood, oil, trouble and toil,
stirred to churn, to gurgle;
Out from up her hip bones the maggots marched,
All her demons expurgated,
Slithering out and flicking forked tails,
Winking kisses with blind eyes
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
The word slithers from your mouth
Arsenic tone reverberating
Jumping on my eardrums and misting the fleshy insides of my skull
Dearest one, though unbeknownst to such a good intentioned heart
You are killing me
You lather onto her shame like oil
In your eyes she shines; epitome of all that you are not
Elusive seductress, skin tasting of intrigue
Entombment of that which lives in the blackest parts of you
Your brown eyes flashing ivy, becoming venomous,
Teeth sinking slowly with each syllable
****
Dearest deer eyes, open up
She dwells in your recesses but in my repressions as well
She is the 6 year old child emanating innocence
Closing her eyes to the fact that some parts may only be visible in the presence of Mama and Dr. Mallon
Mistaking foul play for dreams
She is the 13 year old not yet skinned of her baby fat
Caressed like the infant she most certainly is not
Lips glued with guilt and naivety
My dear, dear friend, please
You are killing me
The 16 year old girl whimpering no
Pomegranate lips pressed to the underside of Narcissus' hand
The other digging in between quivering thighs
***** you sigh
They're pathetic really
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
A BIRTH
Twelve hours in velvet dark
I waited for your shaft
to penetrate my channel of desire
birthing purity and long lashes
You came without a doubt
Acacia branches making curtains
their feet digging deep for
the numinosity of life
Wisdom of Time feeding a
*********** into pink moistness
Deeply hidden thorns created
a serpent circle of protection
Descent spiralled into eardrums
eyeballs, silently swirling light
dividing with space, minerals
unfolding with Earth’s rhythm
Her sister shed joyful tears
for her soft arched feet
whilst ***** petals fell
for dainty fingers curling
As missionary I buried a sticky
cord beneath Acacia
Understood the elixir of truth and
your departure into shadows
©GhairoDanielsPoetry1997
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:55 AM UTC