"mouthless" poems
The future has no mouth,
No tongue,
No teeth.
The Earth speaks, but it's easy not to hear.
Easier still,
when drowned by the rising noise
of trucks and drills,
destruction and greed.
And you want more,
And you want convenience.
you don't want hassle,
you don't want consequences,
of what you choose.
That's inconvenient.
You're busy,
you've got things to do,
you've got a job and a family,
and you don't care about much more than that.
Excepting, most notably, yourself.
So you turn the other way.
We sit on the ground before you,
we sing songs of generations before us
who tried to help the Earth too.
We sing the words of those who protected our lands,
before the coming of this new age
of willful ignorance.
And you walk past us,
and on top of us.
And you blame us for being in the way.
You yell at us to move,
you've got things to do!
Things to ignore!
It's easier not to know,
easier still not to change,
but the teethless, tongueless, mouthless future
continues to approach.
Melting, heating and shaking.
We must hear it,
before there is no-one left to hear.
I carry these bruises with pride.
I carry knowledge of my actions with pride.
I will do my best for the future,
I will not regret my caring.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt
Or what disfigured and unsightly
Cousin did you so unwisely keep
Unasked to my christening, that she
Sent these ladies in her stead
With heads like darning-eggs to nod
And nod and nod at foot and head
And at the left side of my crib?
Mother, who made to order stories
Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear,
Mother, whose witches always, always
Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder
Whether you saw them, whether you said
Words to rid me of those three ladies
Nodding by night around my bed,
Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.
In the hurricane, when father's twelve
Study windows bellied in
Like bubbles about to break, you fed
My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine
And helped the two of us to choir:
'Thor is angry; boom boom boom!
Thor is angry: we don't care!'
But those ladies broke the panes.
When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
Blinking flashlights like fireflies
And singing the glowworm song, I could
Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
But, heavy-footed, stood aside
In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
Godmothers, and you cried and cried:
And the shadow stretched, the lights went out.
Mother, you sent me to piano lessons
And praised my arabesques and trills
Although each teacher found my touch
Oddly wooden in spite of scales
And the hours of practicing, my ear
Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere,
From muses unhired by you, dear mother.
I woke one day to see you, mother,
Floating above me in bluest air
On a green balloon bright with a million
Flowers and bluebirds that never were
Never, never, found anywhere.
But the little planet bobbed away
Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here!
And I faced my traveling companions.
Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born.
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.
3.9k
The first thing that disappeared
was your lips.
Not your voice;
That I still hear loud and clear.
I can’t seem to remember what your lips look like.
But I remember how they taste.
Next it was your nose;
it melted right off your face.
Sliding down your cheek and now
your mouthless lower half,
It fell to the ground below.
The image of your eyes is burned into my mind.
I fell into them the moment we first met,
sunk into the blue flecked with grey
submerged in a stormy sea.
I have yet to come up for air.
Your rosy cheeks have faded
over the years.
Now they just look like everyone else’s.
I hope this means that to me
You’re not as distinct as you used to be.
But I sometimes wonder if it’s far worse;
if it’s that everyone else
is now more like you.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 10:24 AM UTC
i'll wear your braclet of cherry beads.
Draw me a pretty pink heart
on my wrist
so i can wear him
under my
sleeve.
The steel
is warnest
in the water.
-mouthless-
You kiss me
with cherry lips
Spitting out
layers
and layers
of me.
-stiletto sliting substratums-
The air is foreign
curious
hypocritical
treacherous
-animalistic conspiracies-
i'll remain in
the water
-solace-
where there
isn't
too much to
breathe.
My flesh is weeping
pale tears
-surrendering-
as another basin of
cherry beads blossom.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 9:31 AM UTC
Cope, hope, or catharsis, one
may be forced to choose one
during the bouts
of restraint against release,
of reach before the sigh,
of desire, to control instinct.
Of all inevitability,
daring to call itself proudly by name
on this mercilessly constant tread
of experiencing, each it seems
with a collapsing and rising unique,
Planck’s momentous, memoried,
voice-blanking frames, slightly
shifting and forming (together
we conjecture) the same blurred image
of light, of looking,
of a thought, of a chance,
that maybe,
whether it is instrumentalist hands
or a playerless orchestra bestowing
sound, of granules grinding
over each other, with each
a glance, a lift of a hand,
in disguise of louder music,
that I cannot say is wrenching, that I
cannot say is strident, or sweet or
harmonic or agreeable—just heard somehow,
resonant,
seemingly against silence,
at the seeming heart—
that the note might be
the only one to hope for,
as cope with, as cathect oneself in.
The only one channel to that which,
if heard, will really be heard.
Not a down, then in, then up,
and out, uncertain.
Not a fading with time
or a never heard at all
except for mere murmurings
of chance. Though don’t shrug them.
Be exposed, undeniably, wholly, to them.
These, musicless, can become
still air, still flesh—mystery’s shut mouth.
Something of a mouthless bird.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:32 PM UTC
It feels like sand on my breath
Like dunes in my chest
They are silent
But they are not still
Heaving gross quarter
Leaking for most water
The unscratchable itch
Can it be denied, of which
I am left outside, neck twitch.
Hands force paint in from closed 4 seaters
Enough
Enough
It subsides
As do my words
Am i anything without my words
Would i choose words over feeling
He said, as all the dry paint dripped from the ceiling
And there was love.
Nestled in the corner
A concave attitude begged no less of what there was to offer.
And we gave and gave.
Stretched innards in closed fists
Adorned by salesman with neat.
With neat.
Withering, neat.
Forgiven heat.
Not much to give
But we must eat.
Die and let live
For the succession of wheat.
Basket bare more than their share.
While the humans are simply denied theirs.
When.
When does this part end.
Soon i hope.
As if there were something.
Something to be had.
After.
Besides the calm. When the calm let's us notice our own distaste in it.
Not that the tree trunk needed that.
That hug.
But it helped the armless. Armless.
Or was it a kiss.
The mouthless.
Something dark.
Force them to spit.
Ask them to sit.
Did that have to rhyme. Did any of this have to. Did it take away. From
Take away from.
Cultured eyed breast sore
Vultures hide crest something
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
Blotched botched
word failures spewing forth
from defective machinery
subtracted from
popularity conquests
showing youngbloods
how to write up
this tragedy thing right
Mouthless voiceless
shapeless formless
avoidance and mockery
creeping like carbon monoxide admissions scrawled out
in digitized assault
and crying out
What kind of democracy is this?
What kind of freedom is this?
When torn from those clutched
analytical political land mines
I have to ask
Before revolutionary words are mistaken and reduced
to stripped inspirational drivel
adorning office drone strike stationery
What makes you think
your
words can hurt someone
who wants to ******
themself
daily?
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Silver threads
strain to mend
the rips in time --
a shattered mind,
pieces scattered,
falls witness
to guilt's campaign.
Voices invade
the natural silence:
discordant,
with mouthless
screams.
Unnatural lyrics
****** the ears...
Dark figures
menace, just beyond
clarity,
tricking the eye.
(Fear's morbid
fascination.)
Sight and sound
betrayed...
The night is long
that has no hope
for day...
(no escape nor reprieve).
The Rituals of
madness
must be obeyed.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
Malevolence
for so long stealthily hiding in shadow
today I became aware of your presence
I wish to understand you
but on the deepest level, I fear you
also though, I know I need you
with you here it means I am not alone
as I so long have thought
step forward
whisper my secrets into my mind
so that I may understand them
Mouthless, the others call you
yet still you are able to speak
you sought me out via a friend
tall, slender, clothed in black
many would seek to call you devil
yet you claim you are not such
I must accept reality is not what I perceive
let go of the fear I so desperately cling
and perhaps
you can lead me to what it is I seek
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
There once was a doll
But she couldn't speak
She knew all the words
"Hello" and "Goodbye"
As well as "Thank you"
"No, thank you." and "Please"
She was silent for ever
Someone had neglected
To sew on a mouth
And she just sat there
With words in her throat,
And no way out
I wept for the waste
of beauty kept secret
She wept for the taste
of words on her tongue
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
I am trying to overcome my fear of you
The images inside my mind scream, "Be afraid"
I lie at night listening, seeking to trust your presence
Seeing a flutter in the corner of my eye I still freeze up
Two halves of a whole, it shocks me you do not know hate
All the things I am not, you are and vice versa
Yet I still find this rather hard to accept, I am afraid
I know I need a friend though, one by my side all knowing
How long is it you have sat in dark watching, waiting
An entity devoid of all that I am I cannot understand
Mouthless, I have made you, screaming out my lack of value
Commune in my dreams, teach what I do not know of myself
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
it goes something like this:
(god the maker. jesus the carpenter. holy spirit the healer.)
god wills your atoms into existence,
the crashing echoes of collapsing stars
mapping the pulse of the newborn universe.
pockets of time push through black holes,
ordained to swallow the dark by a being
bathed in holiness.
the heavens are pinned into place on a
twinkling backdrop of fire, planet-making
material spread like a celestial blueprint.
“this is where my most beloved will live,” god
says, mouthless but firm, words dripping with
the first vestiges of life.
the angels crowd the first life form, shouting a collection of
“hosanna on the highest” and “glory, glory, glory,”
singing on wings the size of galaxies.
later, when the passage of time leads to
two-legged mammals, when humanity is breathed from dirt,
and then from rib, the angels are silent with awe.
god, jesus, the holy spirit, sees the world and it is good.
god, jesus, the holy spirit, sees humanity and it is good.
god, jesus, the holy spirit, sees you and it is good.
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 6:47 PM UTC
The wind tries to control our ribbons.
They blow across the dirt,
Not quite light enough to be lifted,
And they crawl at our feet,
Whispering of our potential
Trying to break our defenses
With their mouthless words.
The ribbons want to tie us together
In a pretty bow, on top of a big,
Materialistic present,
But we are only as vulnerable
As the expensive electronic inside.
Sometimes they don’t make a bow,
But weave around our ankles
And up our thighs,
Pressing our hips together,
A group hug of sorts.
We no longer know how to fight,
But we do the closer we get,
And we can’t decide whose
Fault this is.
We can blame metaphors or love,
But either way, we are just too
Knotted together,
Our only weapons blunt scissors.
We try to tear ourselves away
Whilst making out.
How many of us are there?
It’s hard for me to tell--
I push one away and begin kissing another,
But they are all just friends--
Or friendly acquaintances?
Maybe it’s just me the ribbons have tied up
And everyone else just happened to be there
When they did.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
the snow flirts with you better than I can
when we walk back from the bookstore,
where books are discounted for one week only
and we passed recommendations
between the shelves and said
I heard this one’s good.
there’s discarded masks by the subway entrance
like malformed ***** mouthless and obsolete,
a whiff of Korean food that meanders
out from the takeaway
and I offload corny joke after corny joke not even worthy
for the back of a beermat
or graffiti-besieged toilet cubicle but you laugh
anyway out of pity I suspect,
the sack of books (Vonnegut, Glück, Didion) seesawing
by your side, our footprints a transitory
punchline behind us.
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 3:42 PM UTC
i held way more love than he could ever
accept
embrace
live with, eat with,
sleep with
i held way more oceans in my chest
than he could ever swim trough.
really, i think i did love him
but often forgot my love is poisonous,
like acid
slowly burning holes and scars on the bare skin, melting away everything beautiful to the root
if you are not strong enough
for a hurricane,
cemetery of old wounds,
bundle of fears,
woman,
like me.
i say forgive me,
for i am only loving the same way my mother does
her words cutting like knifes
her love intensily and always too deeply.
we lay in bed that night as i share my dreams with him,
i count 217 stars and 94 new beginnings
before i pour out my soul
he looks at me like he does not understand
he looks at me like i am not a person
he talks to me like he is a helpless
bird of prey
asks me if i can shrink myself to the height
of his knees
and the size of zero
he is a whirlwind of all things i love and hate
and love.
i ask him
my dear, did you forgot?
not nearly a week ago you tried to split my head in half because there was too much of me.
haven't i warned you for the craters, cannonballs, swallowed cities
buried inside of me?
for the splinters at the end of my fingertips when i come closer and touch you?
my words; little explosions
building a home in my sweet mouth,
a danger behind each teeth
blackness hiding underneath
each breast
the raging storm that goes under the name of my love
he shakes his head, tries to shut me up
asks me how long i will be
setting houses on fire with that mouth
later on even hows me his fists.
i tell him if he like his women mouthless
he should've sewed my face.
it's in the morning when he leaves.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
tall prairie grasses
wind whipped, without lament
bison bones,
now soul wedded with soil
wagon wheel ruts
petrified with time, tracks
followed like words on the page
no scent of the sojourners' saga
remains
for mongrel dogs that hunt
or 21st century two legged creatures
who cruise control across mouthless lands
that once spoke of promise
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 10:34 PM UTC
The wind
finds a tongue
in the hazel
below the
flaking air.
At seventeen
I was in
a Pontiac
at two in
the morning
& I saw it
moving
in a coat
of leaves,
awake
& sentinel.
It uses
elms
to sigh
east
& chimes
pinned to
the brick
by an old
plum nail
drip sprinkles
of its music
into the
amber eve.
With
mouthless
whisper,
it tells me
that spring
is here and
the long
acres
between us
are just
the wild
playing fields
of fireflies.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
how do you stop them,
these pipette-fed ruby furies?
it is the escape that paints itself
in a shade of night,
a chain of palms away.
thinking makes it so,
so right.
look how they stay silent,
mouthless ghosts,
floating
and
never
fully
formed.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
is a broken rib—
the same sharp pain,
wooden-lung breathing.
I stand alone in an
ocean of bodies,
mouthless half-faces,
gaping holes beneath
strips of cloth.
Your assumptions
dissolve me only
gradually—
an un-bronchial
consumption,
though still,
I am left gasping.
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC