"inaudibly" poems
I haven't stayed up this late
since our restless early morning contests
to see who would fall victim to
heavy eyelids and tired thoughts.
I won of course, you most of the time,
but I won on the longest nights (or so I'd like to think)
though my satisfaction was rooted from
something entirely different.
To be honest, I could have cared less about the victor;
I was competitive but I liked when you won -
the shine in your voice and
the glimmer in your smile telling me
how I snored through the night (I didn't)
was much more rewarding.
I haven't stayed up this long
since our late night conversations
turned into early morning slurred sentences
of who could make the most sense
whilst repeating I love you
inaudibly through earphone speakers
and bundled blankets.
And as much as the tiredness
enveloped me in its embrace,
the thought of yours implied through
the telephone waves proved
to be worthwhile, nonetheless.
You were miles beyond my reach,
but you were simple words away.
***I haven't stayed up this late
since we fell asleep falling in love***
in different beds but with the same desires,
on the same line; on the same page.
And I hate to admit it,
but I still like to think of it that way.
- g.d.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
as the bus pulls along the lazy river on Main,
a slouching mind and pressed cheek is a swimmer,
dipping toes
and meanwhile
the gentle murmur of pool-goers living inaudibly,
like hunched bunches
in shawls of shade
(interrupted only
by the occasional l-urch)
nodding, nodding
off and on and off and
into the water,
the swimmer slips in
...
Here, it is heaven on earth
an oasis
...
and the mind swims ever so far
ever so deep
...
i wonder...
...
and outside
a boy, barefoot
runs upstream
a shimmering second
an apparition of summer?
and out of sight
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
The morning sun inaudibly arising,
Yo-yo weather, blue skies and rainclouds,
The familiar view of the long awaited landscape, evoking memories of many a week spent here before,
The warm feeling of - ‘home’
Shadows cast by clouds hovering eerily above a ‘witch’s house’, high on a mountain top,
Two hundred foot drops and winding peaks,
Dancing streams and wide lakes, the deepest shade of blue
Pedestrian cows crossing a motorway bridge,
The timelessness of the ever nearing estuary, lying in wait,
Our second home – the tin house with two doors,
Our place of wild strawberries and happiness and peace.
The estuary sand and the shallow-deep waters, as inviting as ever, gleaming as I walk on by,
The delicate beauty of fresh scented flowers, on a fine summer’s day,
Endless winding roads, following the sun trail, leading to a place far away,
Sheep on the beach, curious and shorn as the evening sun fades peacefully and the serein falls,
Evening serenity and the swell of the incoming tide,
The mystery of the island in the distance, far, far away.
Blankets and dreamscapes and tea in brown mugs,
And dinner cooked on an open fire,
The lights shining in Portmerion at night,
The noceur of the night sky, the silver-white orb, dancing gracefully amongst the stars.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
Lucifer just said I'm two-faced;
But the reality is I wear many faces
Each one a mask
Picking a bouquet of oopsie-daises
Unabashedly lashing out at you
I eviscerate; wielding a scalpel
Then I pounce; scalped him,
Pelt dangling from my ***** pack
**Went Kerouac on ***** ***
Surprise, surprise
Palpable attack
Thumbing tacks into your eyes
Lame as a bad sitcom
Band-wagon careening off the laugh-track
Everybody loves disarray
**** Vamoose!
Underlying interloper
Feel the allusion in high resolution;
Little tike on the *****
Anne frankly I'm that Führer fomenting furor
Have you lost your marbles?
Inaudibly garbling warbled garbage
Mauled to death
**I **** narwhals**
Convoluted revolution
I revel in it
Elusive illusion
Testify, I bring the excellence in electrocution
I'm the executioner
Putting the fun in funeral
Like a neurotic necrotizing narcotic
A lobotomy to the temporal
I dreamt the demented torment of descent
Cascading like a torrential waterfall
Ghoulish delight
Primeval upheavaler
With hopes to elope, many fold
Mic bold, but I suspect she's hitting the slopes;
Ice cold
Evoking emotion but a hopeless show
marionette in a stranglehold
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
Il dio è il miei testimone e guida, Sister Maria, the refectorian, had said, Sister Teresa remembered walking passed the refectory, touching the wall with her fingers. God is my witness and guide, she translated, feeling the rough brick beneath her fingers. She stood; turned to look at the cloister garth. Sunlight played on the grass. Flowers added colour to borders and eyes, she thought, letting go of Maria's words as if they were balloons. Ache in limbs; a slowness in her movements. Age, she muttered inaudibly. The war had taken her cousin's sons in death. Two of them. Peter and Paul. Burma and D-day. Three years or more since. She brought hands together beneath the black serge of her habit. Flesh on flesh. Sister Clare had touched. Not over much, not over much. Papa would lift her high in his arms as a child, she mused, her memory jogged by the sunlight on the flowers. Higher and higher. Poor Papa. The spidery writing unreadable in the end. She sniffed the air. Bell rang from church tower. Sext. She looked at the clock on the cloister-tower wall. Lowered her eyes to the grass. So many greens. Jude had lain with her once or was it more? She mused, turning away from cloister wall and the sight of grass and flowers. Thirty years since he died. Blown to pieces Papa had written. Black ink on white paper sheet. Flesh on flesh; kiss to lip and lip. She paused by church door; allowed younger nuns to pass; so young these days, she thought, bowing, nodding her head. Placing her stiff fingers in the stoup, she made cross from breast to breast. Smell of incense; scent of wood; bodies close; age and time. She walked to her place in the choir stall, bowed to Crucified tabernacled. Kneeled. Closed eyes. Murmured prayer. Heard the rustle of habits; clicking of rosaries; breathing close. Opened eyes. Sister Clare across the way. A nod and a smile, almost indiscernible to others, she thought, returning the same. Mother Abbess tapped wood on wood; chant began; fingers moved; sign of cross; mumbled words. Forty years of prayer and chant; same such of fingered rosaries; hard beds; dark night of soul and such. She sensed Papa lifting her high in thought at least; Mama's touch on cheek and head. Jude's kiss. Embrace of limbs and face. Il dio è il miei testimone e guida, she recalled: God my witness and guide. Closed eyes. Sighed. Sister Clare had cried; had whispered; witness and guide; witness this and guide, she murmured between chant, prayer, and the scent of incense on the air.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Perfect with gravity
fuji-like mountain
above which hangs heaven
star full and bursting
beside which she sits with a mouth full of flattery
quipping alacrities with ease
'you’re a man with a very smooth shirt’, she says
‘thank you’, he replies almost inaudibly
The breeze brushes an inner thigh with its lycra tongue
she shimmers
like a clear-lake breeze kissed
He grows to become a campfire on her shores
she laps at his embers
reflecting and flickering
He encompasses the perimeter with stealth
Sniffs the wind for fear and for warning
none comes
they bathe naked, ever watchful, for
a shift in the rushes, for the
fish in their sleep,
for the shadows
in the deep
not yet awakened.
MChallis © 2015
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
It’s like something’s inaudibly whispering
Words floating by on silent wings
Hints that I’m somehow drawing nearer
My worldly lens grows minutely clearer
More in tune with things perhaps
Seeing before seeing
Feeling before touching
Yet still grasping nothing
But Hope
Hope holds on in spite
Reading between the lines
Of a taciturn soliloquized life
Night after lonely night
The romance of unturned thoughts
Silently spiraling
Into the silhouette of a design I can barely see
A puzzle I’m missing all the pieces too
Yet if I shut my eyes
Perhaps I can make out its imprint
Etched into me
Been and always
Wandering aimlessly by design
Following the nonexistent trail
Imperceptible and clearly marked
Faith begetting sanity
I’d swear on
What others would call a reverie
A fantasy
The pining of one
Is my knowledge.
Sitting here, watching the starless skies
The romance of thoughts imprinted
Silently spiraling into a silhouette
Taking form
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
on the first day of spring
my mother died
she had always loved flowers
and had turned
our interior hallway
into a luscious greenhouse
father was not always happy
about the falling leaves
in her later years
when skiing was no longer hers
she hated winters
their long nights
their waning sun
she was always longing
for spring
waiting for the day
the morning sun lit up
the kitchen desk again
in her parents’ house
where she was born
and had grown old
the night before
I had called and told her
that here in the south
the first flowers were already
dotting the gardens
she had smiled on the phone
almost inaudibly
speaking had become difficult
maybe her last images
were of colorful spring meadows
today at 7.10 a.m.
my mother died
spring has come
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
The little spider sits
atop a paperback novel with a faded
cover, skitters along when it sees the
shadow of a descending
Chanel lofer and inaudibly
squeals as it is crushed
beneath the polished leather, four-inch
heel.
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
That panting belief of men;
a thirst for that which fills the glass,
beckoning the hand to grab the cup
like the itch moving the mind
to believe in
what?
Whether or not it’s enough we still fill that cup;
with some things,
others put in nothing.
Grab your cup and get drunk, get crazy,
love the world who is a capricious lady saying,
"Have one on me, fill it with everything!"
It’s a prayer without word or plea, the sound of everything ringing inaudibly.
It’s the power of song pursing lips to kiss dreams where we believe.
The canvas of our body, mind and soul
where we draw the ink,
imagine the dream,
and become reality.
The moment when the pen is the same as the beast starving for a feast only fit for men.
The same as the artist holding onto their vision.
The same as the language translating the soul within.
The same as the stars burning away the wick of entropy that ends the same as it begins
insofar as all finite things have their dreams in essence of their being
and yearn for infinity.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
I'm screaming silently
I'm crying for help inaudibly
I shout but nothing can be heard
Listen close, not a syllable, much less a word
I'm screaming silently
For someone to end my misery
An existence inside of my head
I may as well be as good as dead
I need to be saved, to be heard
But I scream and shout with a smile, not a word
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
A quaint cabin amidst pines
Gently tucked into the backdrop
Of modestly, snow covered mountains.
Echoes of unprompted elk cry’s bonded together
by the ever-present sound of rolling water
Inaudibly peering through the dirt stained window
Of this serenely placed cabin
Feeling a kiss of tender coolness
As your cheek touches glass
A sight of marbled walls
Which glisten with auras of green
As the sun peeked over the mountain
Floor covered in ruggedly thick black tar
while old pink gum disguised the ceiling
a shaky skeleton walked out of a closet,
as if to come and say hello
The sun tucked itself back behind the mountain
as if it suddenly grew tired of rising
Darkness embraced the scene,
then the shaky skeleton flipped a switch
Which caused colors of reds and greens
To re-embrace the terrain
The once green pines, now strangely red
The once blue sky, now strangely green.
Could this really be?
Grabbing the rusty doorknob
To enter the cabin
Turning it twice
To compensate for friction
Inside
A step into the black tar,
Leaving a shoe behind
As the shaky skeleton
Motions a laugh.
I know where I am
As the gum leisurely rains
I'm in my mind
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
Gang **** wars. famines.
iPad screen a shield between
news of death
and your life.
around, around, around we
go, tripping over molehills,
ignoring mountains where
diamonds and silver
lay as common as dirt
at the top.
this train is heading in painful
directions, but it would
tickle too much if we stop.
so we don't.
*I won't give up my wi-fi
to save every child in a village
I've never even heard of.*
we all say it. inaudibly.
too many of us aboard,
but the water is lovely.
would someone -anyone- please,
please rock
this
boat.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
In between the rise and fall of your chest
I find a place to rest my head
I feel all the insecurities leave me
When you call me beautiful
In your semi-conscious state
I watch you seek me
In your dreams
And call out my name
And if it was possible to love you
More than i already do
In this moment i definitely would
I hold your hand
You pull me in
Without ever seeing me
I feel the irrelevance of the words
I have been molding
To fit the love i have for you
But love lies in these little things
How two lovers seek each other
After a long torturous separation
A couple of ily's and kisses are exchanged
Before your consciousness fades
I know I'll be there with you
Wherever it is your heart sails to
In your dreams
A place far from this world
Of bitterness and hypocrisy
The clock tick-tocks
Time never favored us,
I beg it to stand still
So that i can encapsulate every scar and wrinkle
On your skin
I'm in your bed again
It feels like it had been another life
When we held each other
And bid farewell
I guess
Without you to hold on to
I held on to your memories tighter than before
We decided
The river was too wide
And it was hard to swim
With all of the world clasping with chains at our feet
We finally accepted
The world always wins
But my heart,
though secretly and inaudibly,
Still chants your name
And my mind is too busy playing pretend
To bother itself
With the fuss
Produced by my wailing heart
But now when im laying
In such a close proximity with you
There is no place
I would rather be
But the clock strikes 6
I know it is too early to leave
But it will always be too early
Too soon
I think there is a love
You just can't survive
I know it
Because that love is ours
reluctantly i pull myself away from you
But my heart and soul
Refuses to leave
I threaten them
I say I'll never set my foot in this place again
They reply with a smirk
This is where all your path leads to
We will see you again
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
He pulls my hand
and I stumble up the stairs
holding two backpacks, four books
and a lunchbox full of old toy cars,
nearly tripping
but landing instead on the second floor landing.
The blinds covering the window in front of me
split slightly,
just enough
for me to see her smiling eye watching me.
I don't know her name
and she doesn't know mine.
we've never said anything real to each other.
we know nothing about each other
other than that she spends a lot of time there
at her grandparents house,
speaking Portuguese, Spanish and English
and listening to Spanish rap on the balcony
loud enough to hear through the floor
of the apartment I only spend six days in a month
and over the occasional fight between my family.
That's all she knows of me;
my fleeting ghost walking with my brother past their window
thirty or so times a month,
talking
but almost inaudibly, and never to her.
wish i knew her better
than as the eye peeking through the blinds
©Brandon Webb
2012
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
on the first day of spring
my mother died
she had always loved flowers
and had turned
our interior hallway
into a luscious greenhouse
father was not always happy
about the falling leaves
in her later years
when skiing was no longer hers
she hated winters
their long nights
their waning sun
she was always longing
for spring
waiting for the day
the morning sun lit up
the kitchen desk again
in her parents’ house
where she was born
and had grown old
the night before
I had called and told her
that here in the south
the first flowers were already
dotting the gardens
she had smiled on the phone
almost inaudibly
speaking had become difficult
maybe her last images
were of colorful spring meadows
today at 7.10 a.m.
my mother died
spring has come
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
One time when I was on acid
I climbed to the top of a mountain
And mimicked the trees
Danced in the breeze
Colors pulsing from the roots to the leaves
Everything breathes
Has a purpose to be
A choir of soft voices
Whispers inaudibly
The hums are enough to comfort me
They keep me warm on this balcony
Bird's eye witness to the souls of the young
The jovial
The sprung
fighting for fun
They entertain me
But like all pups
still in training
They sleep too long, play too much,
Bite too hard, drink too much
Can I join the club?
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
I know he doesn't know this
but...
tasting him is the best part of being me;
coaxing him to untie me, knowing he wants
to try me, lay beside me
untying red lace as his lips trace; lips
blushing to taste open thighs, inaudibly
I sigh within
salaciously I grin...
lying naked across bare chest; I whisper
suckle right here; he gives in at my behest
but...
his upturned eyes says is that a dare, I say yes,
but, baby! have no fear, I love wet kisses planted
across my rear
and...
he springs to action, to my satisfaction; he kissed
and tasted every moaned reaction; pulsing wet lips
his main attraction, licking me deep
I noticed his throbbing whip ready, eager to dip, but,
I back him up...
baby! please don't stop, I eye his bulge; knowing I'm
ready to indulge, fingertips dance upon his bulge;
I wet each finger sliding them down every vein divulged
he whispers... ah! baby! you're driving me insane;
I play coy, this I enjoy; teasing my boy toy
slowly he unravels...
I turn, the way I want to have him; body burns to feel his
prowess, ready to pounce, unload every ounce, in out;
both lips pout; riding him inside out; calling my name
with trembled shouts
expulsions...
implode within the breadth of our being; unleashing
heavenly syllables from our mouth and the best of
being me unfolds into the warmth of him
us untied...
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
The deeper I go
the darker the day,
blue turns to grey turns to black and
it's hard getting back.
I grab onto daylight which for now is the skylight
and the colour returns to my cheeks,
time speaks quietly to me, inaudibly,
I only see the light.
At the zenith, the nadir is clear to me,
each holds itself to a certainty
an effect which though true gets
lost on me,
I only see the light.
The deeper I sink and
the darker I think, I think
I think myself into a
quandary, in
silence the colours come back to me,
like troops on the long march to victory
and time chatters on quite
incessantly.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
In the kingdom of Saturday an angel holds nothing,
encompassed by picture frames.
A human trafficker bites a popped Tylenol,
Eviscerates the nightmares that circle his crown.
An optimist puts their hands up,
Envisions a tableau soothed with moisturizer.
A chieftain offers a beer to an orphaned
Child, lush with vermillion blotches.
A physician shrinks down in front of,
A simmered-out wife, head towards the door.
A gypsy considers being alone,
xenophobia resiliently grips her throat.
A mystified boy points to a girl,
Whispers inaudibly “I miss making her laugh.”
A priest begins an unimaginable service,
“My prayer is simple, my dear one,
Live for tomorrow, not yesterday.
Open your hands.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
I see your face in every person I meet
In the street
And I wonder,
“Do you see the same?”
I can still hear you call my name
As I turned to look at you,
You smiled.
There’s still a trace of that smile
Somewhere deep within my memories it lies.
Buried but not forgotten.
How can I forget
When you make me want to remember?
Your smile has always been that trigger.
But it was really the silence.
The silence that spoke a lot of things.
That pulled me closer.
It is what I choose to remember.
You, standing across from me, not saying a single word,
Only smiling.
But right then and there,
You inaudibly uttered a million things in my heart.
And I chose to remember.
Because losing someone doesn’t always mean you have to forget.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
Suddenly I felt myself slipping.
Grasping frantically at any strand of sanity that could be found.
There was nothing.
I was completely and utterly alone.
The silence rang in my ears.
It whispered inaudibly but somehow I understood.
It was like a warm blanket tightly being wrapped around me.
It felt how it use to feel when you held me.
I miss you, you know?
Maybe that’s what love is.
Insanity.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
In those silenced nights, I inaudibly screamed through words.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
When I hear your words through song
I hope I someday can sing
In harmony with your love
But for now I long for silence.
All the pretty girls with their pretty boys too
Holding hands along the beaches of the lake,
Singing together nearly inaudibly,
Of songs about hearts that beat in time.
And it’s while I watch them silently,
From a distance I know quite comfortably
Seeing how they move near effortlessly
That I know it’s time for me to leave.
So home is where I’ll go,
But the only home I know
This home somewhere on the road,
The home I don’t own where I belong.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 1:11 AM UTC