"inaudible" poems
Outside,
the snow is serenely falling
its illuminated resplendence
vying with that of the full moon
suspended in the silent night sky.
Inside,
it is just as silent
the only sounds the occasional spark and crackle
of the logs in the fireplace.
And two hearts harmoniously beating.
Wisps of smoke coyly rise from the sandalwood incense
gracefully whirling in the air like dervishes,
the room redolent with the fragrance of serenity
As I repose on the couch,
your head upon my lap,
you hold one hand against your rhythmically beating heart;
while with the other
I absently play with your hair.
There are no thoughts,
only heart thinking.
There is no speech,
only heart speaking.
There are no words,
only heart spilling.
~
You slowly rise from my lap and look through my eyes
and into my soul.
When I come to speak,
you gently place a loving finger against my lips,
whispering
“shhh“
Time revolves all around us,
yet within us — stillness;
the silence palpable.
Our souls become one
with the other,
with the tranquility of the night,
with the gently falling snow.
Our breathing falls in sync to a rhythm known only to the cosmos.
At the end of our inhales,
there you are.
there I am.
And then you speak..
three words..
Three words that contain the universe within them:
“This is bliss“
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
To Paint a Water Lily
A green level of lily leaves
Roofs the pond's chamber and paves
The flies' furious arena: study
These, the two minds of this lady.
First observe the air's dragonfly
That eats meat, that bullets by
Or stands in space to take aim;
Others as dangerous comb the hum
Under the trees. There are battle-shouts
And death-cries everywhere hereabouts
But inaudible, so the eyes praise
To see the colours of these flies
Rainbow their arcs, spark, or settle
Cooling like beads of molten metal
Through the spectrum. Think what worse
is the pond-bed's matter of course;
Prehistoric bedragoned times
Crawl that darkness with Latin names,
Have evolved no improvements there,
Jaws for heads, the set stare,
Ignorant of age as of hour—
Now paint the long-necked lily-flower
Which, deep in both worlds, can be still
As a painting, trembling hardly at all
Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root.
9.8k
Vivid demise guides
Me; can anyone hear me?
Why won't you save me?
What numbs me worthless,
The vast veer of intention,
Why won't it take me?
Evolve existence,
Into inaudible cries
For mental relief-
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
A girl and a boy pick their way across the snow-wrecked parking lot, holding hands even if they have to stretch to reach. She’s laughing, an arm out slightly for balance, like a gymnast. They come closer together as they reach a spot that is snow free, brushing arms, then the inevitable happens. The boy steps in the cold snow slush; trying to pretend his canvas shoes aren’t soaked through. The girl laughs, covering her mouth; hiding her amusement at his misfortune. Their mouths move through quick conversation, the words inaudible. They don’t really matter though, He’ll get home and peel off his damp socks and remember her yet again. The laugh that escaped her lips before she could control it, the cold hearted canvas that failed to provide adequate protection, and the way he smiled and continued walking, just to hold her hand.
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
Unleash your inner creativity
Where the mind and heart
Yearns to sketch the exuberance
Of the beauty of so many feelings
The soft inaudible utterances
Of the ink that flows through you
Becomes audible in murmurs
Louder and louder, they flow
Almost at the brink of insanity
Giving inspiration to creativity
Turmoil so revolutionary
Creativity is sometimes unsettling
Yet, so encompassing and revealing
Truth does find its way
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
Tonight I flicker dimmer than most
I'm alone with everyone here
Stabbing their plates and proposing their toasts
Tonight I feel my wings but they're in cuffs
I'm alone with everyone here
Speaking their words, laughing their laughs
Tonight I bear the arrows of discreet little leers
I'm alone with everyone here
Silently goading me with their mocks and jeers
Tonight I hear whispers muttered inaudible
I'm alone with everyone here
Inconspicuous fingers pointed under tables
Tonight I write but my ink weighs heavy
I'm alone with everyone here
They pile on my thoughts, usurping the calm...
Inciting a mind full of anarchy
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
lulling comfort of uninterrupted sleep subsides
replaced with an involuntary state of sedation
the emergence of an all too familiar presence
paralyzed by the force of a lingering sensation
choking internalized fear
timeless inaudible cries for help
unknown visitor condemning you to an everlasting silence
physical horror encroached the night
a lone passenger aboard an eternal voyage
bound for relief from this crippling fear of uncontrollable stillness
remaining prisoner to this petrified state
concrete walls of stirring madness
hallucinations of strange alien formations
faceless entities strike infinite fear
in the core foundation of sleep tonight.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
When in dark despair drowned
I was thinking, joy was nowhere around
A gentle breeze from the upland peaks
Came and patted on my cheeks
Softly whispering- ‘joy is here’
When the last ray of hope had been snuffed out
From the vapid plane of my arid heart,
A cluster of orchids, beautiful and gay
Smilingly nodding their heads on my way
Sweetly murmured- ‘joy is here
When I feared the earth was caving in
Under my feet with no chance to win
A butterfly with rainbow colors
Alighting on a bunch of flowers
Euphoniously hummed- ‘joy is here’
When all my yearnings got shattered
And sustenance alone was what mattered
The blazing sun from behind the hills
Wiping away all morbid chills
Affirmed beaming-‘joy is here
When I thought I was drifting afloat
Without any moorings on my boat
A crystal drop precariously balancing
On the serrated edge of a leaf dancing
Confidently chimed-‘joy is here’
When darkness settles on the scene
When life loses all tinge of green
When days seem inert and grey
Don’t be in a hurry to say
“Joy is nowhere around”
Before you jump to conclusions dismal
And write off life as abysmal
Wait to see the cycle of seasons change
From winter’s haze to spring’s lovesome range!
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
167
To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst—suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!
To stay the homesick—homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore—
Haunted by native lands, the while—
And blue—beloved air!
This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This—the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices—trained—below—
Ascend in ceaseless Carol—
Inaudible, indeed,
To us—the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!
3.5k
Hand softly against your cheek.
Lips pressed to your ear.
The whisper drifts into your consciousness, almost inaudible.
It's a request. A wish. A desire. A quench for passion.
The words tickle your canal as they enter.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall.
The speaker does not own these words but rather they own you.
Captivating, filled with desire, a yearning, wanting more.
As they trickle in, you process the slivering snakelike progression of words that just met your ear.
"Kiss me."
The very word "kiss" can set you on fire.
There's something about the word.
The way it's sharp and bold in the beginning...
Yet...electrifying at the end.
It is drawn out, poetic, tongue tying.
If you close your eyes, you can almost envision getting lost in the letters.
First, there's the K.
That crisp, clean K that is proud yet does not boast.
That K cuts like a knife, no not a knife, a kite, it cuts like a kite, soaring high into the sky. Never planning on coming down.
Then, you've got the I.
It stands tall but it's shy and sandwiched in the middle.
It cowers from the past and even more fearful of what is to come.
It is elusive, slightly **** coy, perhaps even unattainable.
Then you've got the electrifying, alliterative "ss."
Almost as if you're not ready for the word to end, holding, dare I say, clinging onto those last precious letters, dragging out every last sound.
Every last breath has come to this.
"Kiss."
It comes and then goes before you can say it.
Fearful of missing it.
You hang onto that "S" for it is the last thing that ties you to this.
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
Once you've said it, never stop saying it.
Kiss Kiss Kiss.
All good things, though, must go. Then the time comes to let it be.
So then you say,"Kiss me."
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Is it my priestly duty
to be denied?
love—time and all else, at all cost!
while he went home alone to watch a movie?
Another victim
sacrificed
having squandered all my pieces in his game?
Trudging home
along the river
slow, in snow
I parse my losses
At the outskirts of a homeless camp
I pause below a viaduct
hauling passion by a leash
warming hands
avoiding hovel-eyes
Flames flicker on our faces
receiving absolution over embers
of a burning embrace
There trace
in glowing holocaust of skids
in human bleatings and crumblings
our smoke rises— pure obscure
Appease with boozy-blur
the icy, stinging God of winter stars...
G’nights inaudible as blessing
Am I derelict enough to be worthy?
Fallen far enough?
from the porches of prosperity?
to escape it all?
That wedding white
the newborn’s head
that numbing denial of decay?
Am I depraved enough to make it?
to the pages of your tragedy— minus poetry?
But the angel said
“The poetry’s more!”
Than leaving me—beyond you
...in the shambles of my words
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
The lighthouse keeper and his son, one day
Were out on the rocks, by a blue-water bay
As the sea, their bare feet was laving,
They saw a mermaid, they first thought was bathing;
With long dark hair and eyes of green;
Like the mist of a loch, that sings.
She was struggling and sick, in the foamy sea
So they took her to the lighthouse, above the lea.
She begged and pleaded, to die in the sea;
But there in the lighthouse, she seemed fated to be.
A clawfoot bathtub became her home,
And there she stayed, never to roam.
Some children taught her some words and rhymes.
To help her to pass all the weary time.
The lighthouse keeper thought she was his own,
Though from the sea, she was merely loaned.
Sometimes a midnight, would find him there
Combing her damp and tangled hair.
In her long confinement, he was the one
Kept her sane, since she could not run.
They had long discussions until daybreak,
Entirely by looks and gestures they'd make;
She taught him secrets no man had ever heard;
How she could still the sea, with inaudible word
And how she could tell by the look of the moon
If spring would come early, or winter too soon.
And how the waves, did murmur below
If the weather be rough, or the hard winds blow.
How she'd loved and lost one merman that
Had gotten too close, to a fisherman's net.
They'd had a child, by the madman's reef;
Was eaten by sharks, and how they'd grieved.
He fancied that someday, he'd like a kiss,
For kissing a mermaid, seemed like rare bliss
But something forebade him, to come that near;
So he was content, just stroking her hair.
One day he found her, dead in her tub;
Her heart had broken, all for his love.
No mermaid can tell human men of her heart,
Or else they'll spend their lives far apart,
It's a law of the sea, older than time;
So this be the end, of the mermaid rhyme.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 8:04 AM UTC
Oval mirror of the sea,
age-warped isle waved and cloudy,
each angle crystalline and salty.
my lens into reality.
Point of space just visible,
focus of beams ineffable,
switch of signals transmissible,
receiver of voices inaudible
At time's edge. No need have I to shout
in fear about this death of mine.
And any creature here is glad
to offer you a glass of wine.
3k
Being deaf is ecstasy,
You may think it quaint,
But I do not fight destiny.
A man who knows his place,
In the scheme of things,
Sits back to watch,
The struggles,
In fruitless tiles,
Of the quilt laid in fate.
To see and not be deceived,
By the lies of other’s words,
To judge solely on action,
And never on what you heard.
To never be afraid,
Of that ever beating roar,
The ticking Heart,
A sign of life,
That I could care less,
For.
To be deaf is agony.
I dread it every morning.
To be judges so completely.
By one little malfunction.
I walk to school alone,
And even surrounded by friends,
I am but an unknown…
To never hear the birds chirping,
Or the beautiful octaves,
Of singers from near and far.
Or to hear my sweet lovers whispers,
Deep inside my ear.
To not know the pain of a radio on high,
Or to be able to live my life, completely devoid,
Of an inaudible sigh.
But, by now you’ll probably have tuned this out,
And that’s something with which I can empathize
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 9:41 PM UTC
redefining awkward definiens
endorsing victorious evening
clamoring hawk-like intonations
conjecturing additional goals
optimizing ambient network
winning illinoisan night
trapping hacked-up events
warping æsthetic remnants
resuming inaudible overture
rallying auric-state net-work
defying anti-punk technophobia
eliminating cavalier homies!
minding icelandic anniversary
winging ersatz excuses
kicking ecstatic nerves
denying lackadaisical event
questioning upper echelons
brûlant en calice
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
feel my breath
on your neck -
misty with an oxidized smile.
don't say no.
i cannot take more opposition
but across the universe,
my breath resonates like an unpitched percussive.
the sound is inaudible
but the sun in my mouth plays loudly
for no one to hear.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
please come flying,
to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
descending out of the mackerel sky
over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
please come flying.
Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
Please come flying.
Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim of your hat,
please come flying.
Bearing a musical inaudible abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this fine morning,
so please come flying.
Mounting the sky with natural heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and injustices at large,
while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
that simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
please come flying.
For whom the grim museums will behave
like courteous male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading rooms,
please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
please come flying.
With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers flying,
please come flying.
Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
2.9k
Sing me a song
For I love the sound of your voice
A crisp-gold
Notes, a string of memories
Blinding flashings back-,
To whens and wheres
Scents, words and people.
Sing me a song
For in your voice I remember
These ways in which I love you.
Dial tones|
Electric clicks|
That inaudible crackling
I'm listening to chase the ends
Of every end of your words.
I love when our ends both go silent.
Our minds rush back and forth
Chasing, always chasing (this)
Whatever it is that we should say next.
But nothing.
Five minutes of just breathing
Into the receiver.
Somehow, happy-
Understanding that this is,
Although nothing,
Exactly what we'd been needing.
At the end of this terribly long day,
Lying in bed, wrapped in the soft fabric
Stillness, and smiling
But never hanging up the phone.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
The vague temptation of your deliciousness
Is hanging over my head
And the sweet taste of your salty skin
Still makes me feel like I'm dead,
Killed by your mouth laid on my neck
Chilled by your hands sliding on my body
Thrilled by your fingers intertwined with mine
Quilled by your eyes, bright in obscurity.
I remember your barely visible smile,
And your shivering lips
I remember the tip of your breast
Getting harder every time I touched it,
With the fresh carress of night falling down.
I want to hear you panting again,
Watch your chest go up and down
As you were breathing heavily
Getting ready for the final knockdown.
I remember the burning light in your eyes
And your teeth softly biting your lips
As your hands hovered my naked body
Getting to know me, bits after bits.
I rcan still see your head slightly tilted back
And your open mouth, looking for fresh air
To cool down your own temperature,
And my hands tearing off what you had left to wear.
I can still feel your tense fingers
Vainly clinging the sheets of my bed,
Your hot, heavy breathing sliding on my skin,
The voices screaming inside my head.
Finally I remember your tongue slow dancing with mine
And the three words you said when I never asked you to,
Sweet, soft, quiet, light and almost inaudible
The magical, crazy "Baby, I want you."
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
There's something about water that fascinates the mind,
Hypnotic in its passive dancing,
Wheeling in panicked turns to the tune of an inaudible waltz.
The way it ripples with each drop of rain in the cold,
Resonates with me,
As though the water itself is speaking to me,
Desperately wanting to be heard,
It's voice crying in every motion.
Stop!
What is it saying?
Stop! Stop!
I don't know
Please! Stop!
It's too quiet
You're not listening!
All I know is how I feel when I see the way it glistens in the moonlight,
The way it reflects the beauty of a cityscape as dusk falls,
When the day is done water's true beauty is found,
It sparkles below me,
Pinpricks of street lights streak across its surface,
They seem to spread ferociously as my eyes are filled with tears,
Pinpricks becoming blazing stars.
The air whispers to me,
telling me what I need to hear.
Exactly what I need.
Water is pure beauty,
Eternally entrancing my closed-off mind,
Drawing me in,
Because sometimes
Water is more than beauty,
It becomes a perfect friend,
With no capacity to judge,
No way to hate,
Only to fill.
An empty
Heart
Drop
by
Drop
It becomes
Escape
*My legs fold beneath me,
my body goes limp,
I fall.*
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
The sand within this holy hourglass does record the unrequested gift.
Mankind’s mortality contained within transparent boundaries
that fool fresh minds with the fancies of freedom and yet,
like the sand, force us all towards a similar fate.
As Newton’s law prevails I contemplate:
those futures forever out of reach,
isolated by that invisible divide.
Our purpose predetermined.
We only live once,
no more.
Once:
soon to be no more.
Can I fall through the floor?
Can I ascend when tables turn?
Can I escape through fractures made?
Can I exist forever in the space in-between?
My cries are inaudible through the glass unseen.
I hear the gentle waves of home – white sandy beaches.
My younger years sink into the haunting heap of my history:
incontestable like the gravity that fuels this wholly natural process.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
It sits,
As it spins
In the veil of night
It thrives,
As it survives
On the liquefied viscera
Of its prey.
Its many eyes
watch
As its many joints
Crack
Its many arms and legs
Bend and move
As it crawls
And climbs
Silently
It speaks,
Inaudible words
Slide past its teeth
And the venom drips
As it breathes
With piecing fangs.
I dare not say its name.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
I do not know poetry
I know my toenails are too long.
I can feel them snag on the sheets that I haven't washed.
I'm out of toothpaste
my teeth feel grimy,
my gums raw
I waited all day to see you
so you could tell me that you don't like my sweater
You say you don't know how to talk to people who are in pain.
You are exasperated with the burden of humanity inherited by humanity
You are easy when you numb yourself constantly
Anger is righteous to accuse you
Defense is a child who is confident
All the villages you've saved but not me
I remember pain
I am so disappointed with your inhumanity
because no one can fail but me
You can read the look on my face
I can tell
So don't make me say things I can't
Pain is a vacuum
It doesn't exist in perfection
In an absence of sound,
even though it itself is so loud,
is inaudible
While I am at the bottom, God is at the top,
and you are somewhere in between
You are blocking the view,
misleading the people
You claim nothing but we demand something
When I left your house I wanted to crash my car into a ditch
Instead I drove home.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC