"mimed" poems
And now we see the singularity
of the artist, wrists spread bare on
mimed canvas, finally we see
his consistency.
Lazarus is dead on the first day.
Gold background, rocky outcrop,
sense of cluttered space.
Do you see the decay?
Can you sympathize, or do you notice?
I cannot sympathize with Duccio,
I am too vain to admit his Maestá
survives while my brain rots from
alcohol. But I remember Duccio is
at least fifty years old when his Maestá
preeminently destroys my career
as a visual artist. I do not mind.
Lazarus is dead on the second day.
Duccio had many pupils, among them
Simone Martini, whose Annunciation
is a cropped rehash of Byzantine/Gothic
flopped with Duccio's handy flair,
a pious reverence and virtue.
It sweeps and moves. Or attempts.
Lazarus is no longer sleeping.
I have never been to the city of Florence,
not now nor the 1300s, so I need not
explain my lack of comprehension.
Lazarus has risen now,
but it is different than I remember.
Lazarus is all alone, and
Lazarus is alive,
doomed to walk in mortal Hellfire
a second time over.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
A clown with a frown was talking to a king with a crown, when a mime happened by, and mimed to them, “What’s the quickest way out of town?”
The king said to the mime “To catch a train, be on time.” And the clown laughed at the king, and it began to rain
The mime grabbed his bags and looked at the king, and the clown, and mimed “Thanks, I’ve got to run.”
“Was the mime on time to catch the train?” said the king to the clown. “I don’t know.” Said the clown, and again says, “Do we really need all this rain?”
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 8:31 PM UTC
I can't speak for the others
I can only reflect on my own thoughts and the heat of discomfort.
I can't speak for the woman who wept beside her oversized suitcases on the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow, I can only consider her tears and what they did to my own heartache.
I didn't speak, but I reached over after several minutes of communal silence and placed a tissue (clean and unused) on her lap. Before I was back in my seat, she had taken it and covered her face in her grief and the tears came again.
The grandmother across from me got up next and placed a red stripped mint on the woman's skirt.
The dad who stood in the doorway, dressed for the beach, followed, leaving an offering of a capri-sun.
The child in the pram looked up at his mother and she smiled encouragement to him, as he offered his Spider-Man, pressing it to the woman's hand
and as she unveiled her face and saw the offerings, she laughed, brief and wet, but with a smile that stayed. She hugged Spider-Man, nodded and then with a sensibility to a child's needs, handed it back with thanks.
After a moment she found my eyes, and mimed a request for a fresh tissue and then in the silence she settled for her journey as we all looked away, dutifully silent.
Oct 19, 2022
Oct 19, 2022 at 11:55 AM UTC
I hope this reaches you well. My best wishes are upon you.
You have severed me completely. (Something) I thought you would (never do).
You achieved it, so precisely.
Without self-harm.
Emotion cannot describe.
Confusion I feel.
The hurt and obvious malice are thick.
The disregard and callousness are deep.
How does this make any sense?
Eight years of unrefined love.
Pure at its core, with crystalline solidarity
Weakened by erroneous friction, and
Exotic erosion.
I knew we’d make it through,
I thought.
In any stretch or strain of memory,
Any blip of conscious being
Any dream or nightmare or in-between
Any movement or word,
Mimed or heard
Any plain of existence,
Lying or in stance
I hope this reaches you well. My best wishes are upon you.
You have severed me completely. (Something) I thought you would (never do).
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
In the morning of haze set a heart on ablaze
all is finished with it even the craze
as the ashes faze, the birds gaze
all is now gone with the blaze.
Minds and faces of feminist cry
some show, some shy
everything is happening with a sigh
and slowly the days passed and so the nights.
Days later it again struck my mind,
remembering that day that time
all was going and so they mimed the crime
no shame lingered their minds.
In the morning of haze set a heart ablaze
it was of nobody but a baby girl of that time.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
One day our spines’ll tesselate under sage soft duvets as storms sweep across us and no one will cry;
not one noise shall slip from tongues
‘cos strength comes from keeping quiet
or carrying on.
You’re a now realised kindness that doesn’t know what breath is
or how the north circular works in festive rush hours home,
but I’ll kiss the answers upon your tender carbon tapered chest and hope the toner never runs low
(your dad would’ve handcrafted every thing he knew in semaphore if he’d have pulled through,
but you’ll learn in time, too, that time does not ruin fewer experiences than being).
I lean in. Whisper this (above) across your one body,
three eighths the size of a coffee table hardback book:
the result of patience pined for
that I mimed along to motherhood the best I could for nine months
and now, here, I lift the hood and work out what to do next in this rush to settle down and sit,
sip until you snooze off into silence.
Here I carry you and do not notice the weight,
stare at the gape of you, my newly framed little one held in the palm of my hand,
squat full four pinter named after someone we knew.
You landed lunar surface side up,
smoothed new to the toes
and I wonder how I’ll meet you
I wonder how this goes.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
Magic is a lost art form
It crawls through your mind like a worm
So many papers written about it for the end of the term
All striving for once single goal to learn learn learn
It might make you get a perm
Causing a riot and making you turn
Give that monkey a new bread crumb
Or he'll succumb to being obnoxiously dumb
But it will probably happen anyway
Because the monkey listens to the fray
While his mother goes home to pray
That his father doesn't travel far away
From his family or his favorite friends
But on his job it all depends
On which locations are best for him
Going by the name of Edward Tim
Who use to frequent his home gym
He Crushed on hot girls named Kim
Kim loved to crash Tim's wonderful parties
Shooting up with a pack of Smarties
Tim wanted her to be a lady
Tim wanted her to be a lady
Because she was pregnant with Tim's baby
Although her mother wanted her to give it up maybe
However Kim wanted to name her baby Sadie.
Tim wanted to name it after his mother.
Kim wanted to name it after her brother.
Both of decided because of each other that it was getting quite dim
With such fuss between Tim and Kim they settled on a name that was another
And prayed that their son would not be dumb
Then he wouldn't be any fun for Kim or Tim
The fat rat sat flat on may's bat
While the sun shined you'll find some fun before the day is done said the trees which they mimed and chimed
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Ill be your lingering cigar smoke if youll be my quivering nostalgia,
jumping at any chance to reminisce of the days when our steel frame
would test its infallibilities to the sound of our anguish
of course, were versed in this dance of discourse, this
arrhythmic,
energetic,
emotional banter.
We have performed these parts to a silent audience,
and recieved a deafening ovation.
For we own the stage,
commanding our mimed patrons respect and attention.
We astound them with our vigor and voracity as we
dance our unparalleled folly, tangled in the valleys of our eyes.
The dance will outlast our bodies, for the dance is more than we can ever be.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
Mr Cutler had passed away
the room was cleared and ready
for the next resident
clean sheets
pillowcase
fresh blankets
the curtains taken down
and washed and dried
and put up again
but that didn't stop Sophia
penning you in
standing with her back
to the door
blocking your escape
he is dead now?
this Mr Cutler?
yes died the other day
you said
nice bed
she said
you looked at
the candlewick bed spread
blue and smooth
yes guess so
you replied
you gazed at her
with her blonde hair
tied in a pony tail
her ice blue eyes
focused on you
her Polish English words
harsh yet also soft
you could **** me there
she breathed
rather than said
too risky
you said
more exciting
she uttered
her Polish tongue
brutalizing
the English
who will see?
the old man dead
who else
will come in here?
some old boy might
come in by mistake
you said
an audience
will add to the fun
she breathed out
the words
you could smell
their sensuality
no I can't
I have baths to do
you uttered
looking at the door
behind her back
they can wait
she said
or you could
bath me first
she said smiling
I've got to go
you said
someone might need me
I need you
she uttered
here on the bed
I can't
you said
if you try to leave
the room I will scream
she said
I will say you try
to touch me up
as you lot say
she put one hand on a hip
and the other
against the door
they wouldn't believe you
you said
let's try
if I scream loud enough
and cry they will
she said
she mimed opening
her mouth and screaming
ok
you said
no need to scream
she smiled
good boy
I like you
she said
moving away
from the door
and unbuttoning
her blue overall coat
revealing her tight
short dress
her ******* pressing out
the top
she dropped her overall
on a chair by the window
and drew the curtains
that's better no?
it made the room darker
the shadowy light
made the moment surreal
come on
she said
mustn't waste time
and she began to undress
and you stood there
open mouthed
and doomed
when someone
called your name
down the passageway
Mr Elks needs you
where are you?
oh ****
Sophia said
dressing quickly
and standing
by the sink
out of sight
of the door way
sorry
you said
maybe another time
and you opened the door
and closed it behind you
as Matron arrived
ah there you are
Mr Elks has been
calling for you
I think he needs to go
to the bathroom
o right
you said
just been making sure
the place is ready
nodding back
at late Mr Cutler's room
ok
she nodded
and gave the door
a quick look
and then went on ahead
leaving Sophia dressing
and forsaken
no ****
for her today
and followed Matron
with no
more to say.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
The first night that they slept apart
-I think because he had a cough-
He grabbed his pillow from their bed
Mimed a kiss and then was off.
Their separation lingered on
like cancer growing in a womb
Days into weeks turned into years
each spouse in their separate room.
Anniversaries came apace
To the separate cells wherein they dwell
All marveled at “togetherness.”
None could glimpse their private hell
.
No kiss, no glance, no warm embrace
As would ward off a winter’s chills
No passionate heat or casual lust
Not that either needed pills
And then one day he failed to wake
Cool to her touch, she felt his arm
Detachedly she looked upon
Her love, long dead, now gone
She lay down on the bed once shared
And swallowed pills enough and more
To join her fellow in that sleep
They’d share together evermore.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
No longer do tears rain down but blood that bitterly flows inside the tear drained eyes.
Holding thee as one can; an embrace of a, hope/loss, enigma.
The wounds, all too great to heal, of the last breath taken together.
Carrying on in a daze shuttering and cursing life itself.
"No!" The mind cries out to make sense.
This unfair sight of watching the broken body wither.
Black fills the air. But death does not pity nor spare sorrow.
Mocking the only value held so tight.
The clasp grows tighter, as if to squeeze the life back in, but to no avail.
Death does not undo. Solitude surrounds with it's mimed walls of truth and destruction.
As forever passes itself through, what most would call, moments the gaze becomes fixed upon absence. Blood runs down the cheeks as hell burns and sings the ****** lullaby of serenity.
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 1:09 AM UTC
capture this fleeting joy
and bind them in memories.
not knowing what despair awaits
this morose forthcoming dependency.
condition my cold shell.
twas freedom that ached
for another day of rest.
lolling to the minutes of apathy,
sanctioned sadness ensues.
now. here. the voices play tricks.
ferrying me beyond sanctity
without appetite or stomach.
phantasm; blinding apprehension
with wisps of blackness.
hardened by sorrow
the tinker’s bells are mimed in spite
upon me, ceasing feeling.
Below, the sands drain wildly
into oceans roaring. still,
the screams of drowning souls
can be heard, similar to my own
cries, swallowing suffering
with hopes to be rid of it,
no one cares.
resigning to defeat
the weight of memories bearing heavy,
in these final few moments of quiet,
sink; down to the bottom patiently
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
As I read a poem,
Imagination begins to bloom.
Thoughts are portrayed,
In lines of rhyme.
Reality begins to fray,
Only to be mimed.
Dreams sent forth,
To make a souls worth,
Test one’s self-pity.
How the far the mind bends,
Through one simple metaphor.
As the words come to an end,
I hunger for more and more.
Then reality sits back in...
These thoughts dare to fade.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
You, blue-eyed boy with a once heavy-metal heart,
Who mimed slitting the throats of boys we now deem heartless,
Who suffocated under thick blankets of smoke in hot-boxed rooms,
Who gave beds and beer and ancient guitar picks to all who you loved
Who have you become?
You, once so full of joy,
have left your old heart behind,
crafted a new one out of felt,
and it is your darling who creates its cavities
Have you given up?
You, the boy with sad eyes,
shedding angel tears,
Who cares not for himself,
Who runs for his love,
Who dispenses coins from his mouth,
Who knows not the meaning of courage,
Whose friends left him like milk teeth
Sometimes I think I may pity you
But then I remember there's an exit door not far away
But you pass it by every Friday
And if I have one thing left to say,
It's that my heart is made from felt too,
Only I never let anyone tear it apart
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
Fluid flamboyancy swam from his mouth, much to the dismay of the listener
This will not do, this can't be you, learn quick, think fast, be swifter
Concepts cloaked in foreign shadows, spoken obliviously against, total defense, these creatures should be sent to the gallows...No Offense??
The young mind, so bent, squeezed and mimed,
Soon comes to see,
That for Himself,
His ultimate goal,
The freedom he stole,
Always belonged to me
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
My shadow passed me.
He pulled the thin laces
Attaching him to my feet,
and disintegrated
as curtly as he tugged.
It would be one thing
if he ran a little ahead
skipping merrily in view.
But, my shadow
being nothing
more than my own,
became smoke in the fog,
tickling my impatient cheeks
and joined sky's fireworks.
I should be alright in his absence.
After all whats the purpose of a shadow?
He is nothing more than earths black mirror
a natural reflection of action.
He is the other account which
attests as truthfully as I
to the lies of an evening,
a sunrise, and the dimly lit
greys of the night.
I have been long without him.
And he mails me chills sometimes,
like the static of a flannel nest
down my bare skinned spine,
because my colorless mimed companion
grew taller than my
monotonous motions,
provoking my dark puppet to
seek more than I can provide.
While I wander in the lights
searching for him.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
A maker of verses is the refined poet, he does find
Emotional thoughts sublime, inserting some formulae,
Or enigmas that are behind each sustained line, each I
Tell wilt unwind, then that rhyme to be mimed,
The lowest crime in our kingdom mounted up on high.
So if in thy cheerless failure ye seek intense success,
Because ye subjectsto listlessness of the bodiless
Mind's distress, I request ye give no such inference
It's egress or reappearance from the darkest eclipse
In this; but rather by keenest innovations do impress
-And that protects a poets wisdom from the nuisance.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Letting go through space and time
Over standing how this is only part
Valuing the lessons I’ve learned and mimed
Everything between our agreement, art
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC