"impassive" poems
We marched to the words of "We Shall Overcome"
courting justice to walk at our side,
seared into memory with the heat of sun
brothers and sisters, arms linked one to one
beneath that day star's unblinking eye,
we marched to the words, "We Shall Overcome."
We swore an oath to forego the gun,
to carry only freedom's cry
beneath the impassive afternoon sun,
through bludgeon and cudgel one by one,
each truncheon summoning others to rise,
to join in the words "We Shall Overcome."
As we embraced, the marching done,
a crosshairs trained a sniper’s eye
to wrench malice from the indifferent sun
to hew a path in blood and bone,
to rend flesh
and a rasping
fatal sigh . . .
in the fading caress of the afternoon sun.
Beneath the eternal arc of the sun,
again we will muster side by side,
a sanctified chorus, whose song will be sung,
let our marching echo...
"We Shall Overcome.”
Copyright © 2018 Gary Brocks
Conceived after visiting the LORRAINE HOTEL (Memphis, Tennessee), the site of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Thursday, 4 April 1968.
In 1991 the NATIONAL CIVIL RIGHTS MUSEUM at the LORRAINE HOTEL was opened to the public.
"We Shall Overcome”, an anthem, title and refrain, of the American Civil Rights Movement of the mid 20th century.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:18 AM UTC
* "Our cattle graze, the wind breathes." -Garcilaso *
It was my ancient voice
ignorant of thick bitter juices.
I sense it lapping my feet
beneath the fragile wet ferns.
Ay, ancient voice of my love,
ay, voice of my truth,
ay, voice of my open flank,
when all the roses flowed from my tongue
and grass knew nothing of horses' impassive teeth!
Here are you drinking my blood,
drinking my tedious childhood mood,
while in the wind my eyes are bludgeoned
by aluminum and drunken voices.
Let me pass the gates
where Eve eats ants
and Adam seeds dazzled fish.
Let me return, manikins with horns,
to the grove where I stretch
and leap with joy.
I know a rite so secret
it requires an old rusty pin
and I know the horror of open eyes
on a plate's concrete surface.
But I want neither world nor dream, nor divine voice,
I want my freedom, my human love
in the darkest corner of breeze that no oen wants.
My human love!
Those hounds of the sea chase each other
and the wind spies on careless tree trunks.
Oh ancient voice, burn with your tongue
this voice of tin and talc!
I long to weep because I want to,
as the children cry in the last row,
because I'm not man, nor poet, nor leaf,
but only a wounded pulse circling the things of the other side
I want to cry out speaking my name,
rose, child and fir-tree beside this lake,
to speak my truth as a man of blood
slay in myself teh tricks and turns of the word.
No, no. I'm not asking, I, desire,
voice, my freedom that laps my hands.
In the labyrinth of screens it's my nakedness receives
the moon of punishment and the ash-drowned clock.
Thus I was speaking.
Thus I was speaking with Saturn stopped the trains,
when the fod and Dream and Death were seeking me.
Seeking me
where the cows, with tiny pages' feet, bellow
and where my body floats between opposing fulcrums.
5.7k
I'm not even sure who I am anymore...
I've become but a shell of myself, before.
And my eyes, once happy, look hollow and cold,
with a empty sadness that can't be consoled.
As loneliness grows, festering inside-
the hurt becomes much harder to hide.
Darkness has taken control of my heart...
quietly and completely, I'm falling apart.
Gathering shards of my broken soul,
I quickly forget what it is to be whole.
Life has lost meaning, but I no longer care.
I'm numb...I'm nothing- just dust in the air.
Yet envy eats at me, day and night
for those who exist without this fight.
Impassive I let all hope fade away,
knowing tomorrow will be just like today.
I am oh so weary from living as I do-
dear lord, let this end, I beg of you...
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 5:52 AM UTC
We have our dreams,
My perfect stranger,
Though we never really met,
Perhaps; never shall meet.
Still, we amble along together,
Navigating the lamentable brook,
Unfulfilled promises, foaming,
Swirling around our bare feet,
The cold of reality numbing our toes,
Skipping over rocks of broken ideals,
Once cherished, but not here, no,
They are fractious and discarded.
Trickles of tormented sighs, tease,
While avoiding guiding ropes of life,
Which would snag our thoughts,
Straining against friction burns,
As they attempt to bind us tightly,
Holding us prisoner, when in truth,
We are capable of incarcerating ourselves.
Although, our minds are free, yes,
Living beneath the same impassive moon,
Bathing within its stolen light,
Stealing our own, moments of peace,
As in sleep, we slip away unnoticed,
To hold each other, so loving,
Above the clouds, sharing caresses,
Smooching around, and round,
Oblivious of telltale tears on our cheeks.
A shooting star arcs across the sky,
‘Shall we wish?’ You ask,
‘Nah,’ I reply; wishing is for fools,
Be content; acceptance is the key,
My perfect stranger,
We have our dreams.
© Paul M Chafer 2014
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
beated
pushed against the wall
touched
loved for one reason
***
impassive morals
but love
strong emotions
and pain
that combination
is what drives some of us insane
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Promenade of Colors
reality ought to fade
watermarks on evening lake
the Lad idling was awake
Torments of Agony
the fear of ambiguity
a broidery of epitaph
toiling the stars up the top
Free of Delusions
impassive feelings strut
to the unknown that fogs
and hems over the mutt
Dashes of Silver
passing vessels of desolate
coxswain sighting out for love
moon bobs from the lake
Willows of Empathy
humming of Mississippi
-a friend that greets
the lake gave its peace
Signs of Eve
the breeze whispered
a wisp of eyes uncluttered
the Lad unshackled
Artistry of Sky
as spirits begins to fly
I was full astound
my purpose, now I found
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
Like an explosion;
But in s l o w m o t i o n, a tidal wave crashes
This ironclad vessel beginning to thrash
Through the flashes of light though I see a brief passage
The corroded bolts past their toll
Give way exposing the hull
Capsizing the flood gates,
Negating promise of a safe harbor ashore
Amidst the panic and commotion
Together we sank, into the ocean;
*Sailing the high seas of impassion
I was impassive, &
Like an anchor*
Love plunged to unimaginable new fathoms
Dragging us down;
Perilously we claw hand over fist
The sorrows we drown
Adrift the turmoil and wreckage
Bubbles ascend toward the surface
(Spluttered echoes of our last choked hopes)
Water fills our lungs expunging the air
Fearing the end I daresay;
Babe take my breath away
Death is only the beginning
But I’m afraid of the forward path’s embrace
Dead ahead through the currents we tread
Shallow water blackout,
There's no turning back now,
Let's die as we lived
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Breaking the hush of the summer day
Chee-keeee trills the bird as it waits for prey
Catches one swallows skyward easy
Then for the next gets ready.
You love its intent solemn eyes
The brown neck and the blue shine
Its impassive posture that’s only a disguise
To pounce on the prey and merrily dine.
It perches on the lightest twig
A dreamer and a hunter in one rolled
Scanning the water for a large swig
Big enough for its beak to hold.
Sometimes the wait may be long
You imagine his eyes in sleep droop
Then in a flash proving you wrong
The blue streak would on the catch swoop.
Rain brings it an ecstatic thrill
It loves to be drenched in the showers
To reap the harvest of a daylong meal
Never tired of long hunting hours.
If it ever god forbid so happens
You don’t see anymore this creature
Know streams have dried up there’re no rains
And with them has vanished Kingfisher!
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
satin black robe, maroon nails,
my cold palms on a colder marble balustrade,
the moon soaked rose garden,
and crying angels of that medieval fountain;
Beethoven creeping in the background
but still my heart didn't strung a sound;
All I did to find inspiration
still I'm going blank for years
words won't splendidly fill my unfinished fiction;
But still I'm here
grasping onto the midnight smoke
trying to give colours to my drunk imaginations;
My tired sighs now wished
that it'd be easy
to come up with words,
a missing lover
or a ballroom ******
or a heartbroken maiden
with empty goblets filling her scars;
anything would do now;
As long as this melancholic sonata goes on,
And before this cooing midnight
disappears into a blinding dawn,
You would find my impassive face
and desperate gaze
capturing floating words
to give a meaning to this new found romanticism;
Aug 26, 2023
Aug 26, 2023 at 1:44 AM UTC
storm winds howl
in fury rage
lash dark clouds
in thunder running
lightning laced
they storm across
her cool
impassive face
she answers
in silence
serene
immortal grace
her face
softly knowing
her smile
sometimes showing
in silence
radiant
.
.
http://oi58.tinypic.com/kbyo1l.jpg
.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
---
impassive
implacable
emerging from
a sea of glass
this reflection of marble
this face of stone
with eyes so sapphire blue
the depths of which
go into eternity
soulsurvivor
(C) 7/8/2015
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
no stone so hard
as this wounded heart
no eye so blind
to her beauty
nor ear so deaf
to her sylvan voice
ice and stone
mine only choice
what shall i be ?
ice and stone
impassive face
indifferent tone
unfeeling heart
of ice and stone
till the day
winter comes
no night so dark
no pain so deep
no outward sign
for her to see
what shall i be ?
ice and stone
till winter comes
to take me home
no night so dark
no pain so sweet
when winter comes
to set me free...
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
I'm
drowning
in light,
In blinding light:
Lights on cars; and buildings;
and lit up trees lining lit up streets;
Houses with sills all lined in gold
And diamond; silver glitter glued onto mould;
Street lamps; and laser pointers; and
Towers; neon lights dotted with flowers
Of plastic sun; hoardings and billboards,
With bright teeth and skin and red words
Everywhere you turn,
Telling you what you want
And never knew you wanted;
Shop windows; chandeliers;
Presents for that time of year;
Cell phone pylons with twinkling,
Bright lights on top, like Christmas trees;
Christmas trees, with stars and angels
Speckled, Frosted,
Dusted on the tops;
Disgusting glare on sunglasses,
And a smiting gaze along the arms;
Bridges and fountains with gold poured on;
Platinum bands in every size, laying all forlorn;
Bedside lamps; and taxis; and taxi stands;
Every window, but the ones
Being jumped off of;
TVs and refrigerators, opened
Thoughtlessly at night;
Screens shooting onto impassive glass
That used to be faces;
Cameras, going off in quick succession,
Quicker than you can keep up;
I'm drowning.
We are taught desire, in light,
We learn to read in light
and scarlet letters of fluorescence
We are blind,
Now that the road is paved for us,
To the light that was before.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
you said on facebook you hate cops
so i put a pig's head in your bed.
the deputy said, before i killed him dead:
"i have a wife,
i have a wife!"
with a sigh,
i grinned, replied,
a glimmer in
impassive eyes:
"so will i,"
and then i took the bastard's life;
swung my axe until he died.
anyway,
you wanna get married?
nah?
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
In place of memories — embers.
Inextinguishable, yet untrue
to the fidelity of what was.
The smoky curlicues, too,
have been denied. That whiff
of the past. Smouldering,
it warms the prudent hand.
Sears the lingering one.
In place of you — embers.
Charcoal flake anklets at your feet.
Wrinkling, shrivelling.
Your impassive verse-marked
way of staying. But when asked
to disappear, become so
unwilling.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You ask, seeing my impassive face.
It's been a while, and though I could
Remembering feels out of place.
Recollecting just makes it hurt.
Forming the words again is hard-
They're overused; now they sound curt.
In too many I've confided
To too many people I've told
All my sorry, deep, dark 'secrets'
Some warmed me when I was too cold.
I wish I could say more to you,
Explain why it's not escaping
Sometimes it's nice to not talk,
Than to break what I'm now shaping.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
These whitewashed walls scream out my discontent,
The faces of inmates line the corridors, impassive and unimpressed,
I bang on steel locker doors, but I hardly make a dent,
My words are not replied to, and my screams go answered,
It doesn't matter though, they are silent screams of aid,
They resound through these hallways like the echoes of a gale,
The cold of locker steel is an ever foreboding constant.
They line the hallways, like the vigilant sentinels of a jail,
And I can help but think, how familiar the two seem to be,
And how in one a perfect illusion is created, of being free,
These whitewashed walls are filled to the brim,
With students and inmates, angels and demons alike,
Teachers and wardens stalk these halls, hidden behind their hollow faces,
Bullies and inmates swarm these halls, hidden behind unfamiliar faces,
In these whitewashed walls, there are blackened souls and empty holes,
Holes where hearts used to be, and coal where souls used to be,
These whitewashed walls are alive, and they bear witness to it all,
And here these whitewashed walls remain, through our rise and our fall.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
The Red Doves,
They seem to fly near,
now.
They are more friendly.
Maybe,
They have even become my friends.
I can feel my shoulders,
when they are near.
Those sticks,
only hold my head,
now.
Bones, muscles and flesh.
When my tiny Red friends were not near
those winter months,
The Alamo window
seemed lonely.
Blank and deep stares.
Nothing.
Impassive stares.
Time seemed to not move then.
I don't notice it now.
Without them,
I do.
The Red Doves,
they make me feel
joyful maybe even youthful,
now.
I worry for the winter months,
they'll leave me like the rest,
they'll leave.
They'll leave
and those sticks
become rusted,
they'll hurt.
Salt roses bloom
at the thought.
I wish never
that The Red Doves
leave me.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 7:40 PM UTC
Either this town is without character, or my own lack thereof blinds
me to what style hums it into history. The brook's rapids are drowned
by the highway roar, central song that never passes through, spilling
over walls and roofs. A railroad collects rust between weeds, silent
authenticity. Impassive clouds remind me of other ways to witness.
And this is real, too; sadness accrues over store counters, fatigue
glowing in the pavement connecting all, cracked and rubble
facing skies a simulacrum grey. Inebriation, par for course,
a hidden semblance of a self-chosen haze within a haze.
Gravity, acoustic footfalls question my arrival here.
phosphene breath--
dark, dark mining town solstice
unearths inner rainbows
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
I wrote a song once
About a girl
With chamomile eyes
It wasn't about the color
It was about the feel
The way her eyes seemed to embrace you
To wrap you up
And hold you
And protect you
You are not that girl
Your eyes
Are nothing like that
Your eyes
Are a dark
Deep brown
Sharp
All edges
Daring me
Pushing me
Teasing me
Your eyes have a hint of laughter
And contradiction
A cool brown
That can cut through me
When you are mad
Relentless and so, so impassive
But make my stomach drop
When you give me that look
You know the one I'm talking about
It's all eyes
All tilt of the head
Twist of the lips
As they curve up
In a teasing smile
And the ember
In the brown ashes
Of your daring eyes
Makes me weak
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
The sun-setting solitude slowly turning a velvety night
a fine goddess now descending concealing all her might.
a temptress teaching, a mother loving, a judge always right
granting us a freedom from a million corners more to fight.
The dark angel calm shining her blinding beams so bright
searchingly merciful creating still deep inky shadows of light
numb blissfully for those conquered heroes false who slighting
off the straight narrow path of the fair,just and right alight.
Generous is she, the queen majestic enduring all the pain stoic,
our pleasures and folly wise,even joys twisted and distorted vain!
sods poor,fiends rich, the carnal drags and compassionate hearts,
killers cold, sly cons,soaked winos, glitzy stars, gamblers and tarts,
children of a kind all in her ***** mix,playing perfectly their parts
trusting a goddess neither blessing nor reproaching dead impassive
allowing us all a discretion total she is our grand,real mother massive!
I am a son blessed rare,watching neon bathed the nightly circus affected
judging never,comfortably learning with My Nocturnal Angel protected!
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
Patterns of neglect
reside at intersections
with doubts
and the relics of disrespect.
Wounded victims
hide
behind barricades
of anxiety and mistrust.
Gaps for sorrows
coincide with thoughts
trembling
like piano notes.
The ugly side of paradise
immortal, immoral
eluded the glimmer
of an impassive sun.
Oases defined
by the purity of light
shimmer
somewhere outside the mind.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
Muddled yet accountable.
Sober yet lively.
Impassive yet doting.
Mixed bag of traits
define him.
Bowlful of big hearted fondness
he carries to embrace all.
Conviviality and amiability
are his favourite words.
Pile of rendezvous,
easy reach outlook,
entangles him in a maze.
Still an apple of everyone's eye and
quite a loved soul.
Being you and always there,
with joy I proclaim,
cuddling happiness and ease.
Best of our camaraderie,
brimming with our fond memoirs
is yet to be savoured.
Attachment and affection remains,
Love, regard grows each day, to remain forever.
Blessed to have you brother, friend!!
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 7:22 AM UTC
"I just want to have sex", you said.
An unexpected non-sequitur.
We had been sipping tea or coffee or something.
We had been reminiscing about the old street,
Back when none of us were single.
"yeah, I miss it, too", I said.
"No. I mean right now", you corrected.
As I turned to see your face, it betrayed little.
Impassive, but alert.
Warm, but not intimate.
No passion.
I was willing, but remember:
this never happened.
Something seemed wrong about it,
But was there any harm?
I asked if I could think about it.
You thought about it, too, as we watched a movie.
Halfway through some Ridley Scott epic, we held each other.
We touch-explored and memory only tells me this is true:
With no further reason beyond the will to be,
I soon lay naked there with you.
It wasn't love but, then again…
This never happened.
Awkward, at first, we found our place,
Our touch and pull, our rhythm and pace.
"no kissing", you admonished, speaking only that.
Though I rest spent and full inside you,
That was your concern.
Too personal.
Too intimate.
We held each other for a while, you left within the hour,
Saying, "this never happened".
And my only thought,
My only answer to you,
Was a solemn confirmation,
That nothing could be more true.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
There was a time when I was sane
when I used to walk among daffodils.
When they used to open up and sing
their unadorned song from hill to hill.
There was a time when I was sane
when the trees used to sway
and the leaves used to rustle
just to lay their flowers in my way.
When I was sane,the eagles
from their eyries,used to fly high
and block the sun with their wings.
Just so it wouldn't be in my eyes.
The clouds would come at my call.
And the rain would fall only for me.
The diamond drops would break
and bedeck the ground at my feet.
Looking at the night sky,
at the star studded lanes,
I would see the moon smile at me
and know that I was sane.
I used to create new worlds
with living words from my pen.
Full of marvels they used to be.
But that was all then...
Wrapt I was in fantasy
while the world moved on.
It has moved away from me
while,impassive,I looked on.
People said I was not sane,
told me that where I lived
there were no daffodils;
No promise in how I lived.
Now that I'm cured,I see
that I'd been but a fool
who believed Horton really lived
in the Jungle of Nool.
No magic rings in reality.
No wonderland or wicked witches.
No Elves nor dragons.
Not even Quidditch and snitches.
Now cured,I see reason.
The flowers never did sing.
Nor did any eagle fly for me.
Reason came but relief did not bring.
All those words I created,
All those worlds I cherished,
All too soon yea all too soon
All have but perished.
Now I see people toiling away
in richness,poverty and ignorance.
I see children bent with age;
In their eyes,everything but innocence.
Reluctantly now moves my pen
as I try to make new worlds.
Stringing letters together it desponds.
As lacking life,they are but words.
Everything used to be wonderful
when I knew I was sane.
Now that I've seen reality,
I know I must be insane.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC