"mummers" poems
The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide
Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale
The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach
Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change
Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness
Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul; that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's impending break
Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies
The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...
someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
I’ve finally stopped
writing
unrequited letters;
there were too many
wasted breaths
left unsent
Lapsing intentions
befallen on timeworn
tawny crumpled pages;
aging like spent flowers
in fading earth tones
and rumpled paper regrets
Multi-hued words uttered—
mummers of voiceless exhalations
spoken without a sound;
indelible spilled ink
left behind,
lays fallow for so long
A love once new, and
a growing silent ache—
a hungry heart
left for dead—Déjà vu
We leave a lot behind,
fallen leaves in unspoken ink
a restless soul laid bare
by a passing moment's
random gust;
atrophied
like unwritten poetry
stifled stillborn
in a wadded up paper lament
jesse stillwater ... July 2018
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
A Mummers Funeral
Time slip't, a careless moment, words without thought or foment.
No smile, no glance, no touch, nor care
none of these things ever so fair,
was thought or brought to share.
I've gaps in my memory,
And holes in my shoes.
not enough time,
Too much *****
Nothing left of strength and toil.
The grapes of wrath? That wasted soil!
But for the Ghosts of Things unsaid,..
Shadows host the Deeds Undone.
Bare walls and plank't floor,
cobwebs of nothing more.
A Home empty; a house.. a shack,
a time-worn agent my soul to wrack.
Shadows flitting through
cobwebs in the corners of my mind, Have taken in my soul to bind..
I've holes in My memory,
And Gaps in my Blues.
Too much time,
And Not enough *****
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***
How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
2.6k
YOU gave, but will not give again
Until enough of paudeen's pence
By Biddy's halfpennies have lain
To be "some sort of evidence',
Before you'll put your guineas down,
That things it were a pride to give
Are what the blind and ignorant town
Imagines best to make it thrive.
What cared Duke Ercole, that bid
His mummers to the market-place,
What th' onion-sellers thought or did
So that his plautus set the pace
For the Italian comedies?
And Guidobaldo, when he made
That grammar school of courtesies
Where wit and beauty learned their trade
Upon Urbino's windy hill,
Had sent no runners to and fro
That he might learn the shepherds' will
And when they drove out Cosimo,
Indifferent how the rancour ran,
He gave the hours they had set free
To Michelozzo's latest plan
For the San Marco Library,
Whence turbulent Italy should draw
Delight in Art whoSe end is peace,
In logic and in natural law
By ******* at the dugs of Greece.
Your open hand but shows our loss,
For he knew better how to live.
Let paudeens play at pitch and toss,
Look up in the sun's eye and give
What the exultant heart calls good
That some new day may breed the best
Because you gave, not what they would,
But the right twigs for an eagle's nest!
December
2.2k
I see the tears welling up in his eyes
As he sets there, with a heavy sigh
These thoughts on his mind heavily weigh
Under his breath I could hear him say
"I'm getting so very forgetful"
"I'm looking so **** pitiful"
He turned 87 a week ago
And his age is starting to show
I know he feels deaths grip closing in
His skin is paper thin
He's always cold even in the sweltering heat of summer
His hearing is almost gone, it's all just mummers
He talks of how his legs don't work so well any more
Getting up is such a chore
He has taken to cussing like a sailor
But reads the bible, getting ready to meet his creator
"Growing old in not for the weak or faint of heart
This growing old **** is hard"
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
If only you knew
The thoughts I've had for you
The broken tears that were shed
The empty promises that were made
The lost hopes for each other
I f only you knew, the things I'd do to keep you
I shouldn't have these thoughts
For they can't exist
If only you knew about the long nights I've had
Up until two thinking of you
Wondering
The love that will never be true
The thing we will never have
For you have fallen for another
If only you knew how bad I'm hurting
Because of you
Would you love me
Would you long for my caress
Would you care
No
We'd still sleep like we're lovers
Spitting hateful mummers
If only you knew I didn't mean a thing
If only you knew the mark you've made on my mind
It's unerasable
So forever will you be there
If only you knew how much I cared
How much I need you
If only
Would you stay with me if you knew these dreams I've had
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
I wonder asunder
what a whale would wonder
or whether they wander
through waters of wonder.
Above on board bottles
boast "BAM!" faces mottled
but whether bought or dottled
broken beauties cottle.
The window metal rusts
recoiling at her lust
raptous roilings dost
remedy raw must.
and in frustration
and in anger
and in desperation
and in danger
I break.
Leaving convention losing sight of solid ground
sailing Atlantic and crossing canyons hidden
beneath tons of tons of water
I
amidst tons and tons of air
wonder and I wander
and
bottles boast "BAM!"
while
recoiling at her lust.
For this, Beloved, is a Carinval (kar-knee-VAL)
and Carnival, beloved, is a mummers farce.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
**Noisy mummers
As my spiritual being is taken over
Cold winds blow up my nose,
Yet window is shut.
Slight sensations in my body
Thoughts began to twist and turn,
"Society I hope you burn"
Causing an alarm,
My Veins Popping,
Pulse boiling
The lights in my eyes,
They began Twisting and toiling
I can hear their whispering sounds,
of deceiving chuckles
Head throbbing
Nails disintegrating,
White Walls receding
The Battered soulless making their way to where they fit in,
being me**
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
The bells tolled in silent air, no mummers
Where uttered in haste as white cloth over
Black draped upon their figures.
On the desecrated reminisce of ash petals
That grow in this place each is picked with
Elegance so not to fracture there fragility.
A new one Is found to replace those that
Unveiled their voices on solemn oaths to words
Never to be uttered, they surrendered it t air.
Voices of blood echoed on the floor, a chastity
Forsaken and white cloth drank upon the wine
Till it had its fill, then voiced its intent in puddles.
The shaded leaf was gently dissected between fingers
And where lips blessed word, the ash sealed them with
The twine of dead embers, and they screamed silently.
Silken coverings where bestowed on the vacant realms
Of purities, in the convent of silence where the dead
Don't speak and muteness is a sound only heard.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
Unspoken words,whispers and mummers
She takes a whiff,smoke rising from her lips
And she blows them softly away
Those tattoos on her arms
Those scars on her wrists
Each tell a story,she is a running history
Wind blowing on her face
She laughs those scandals away
Her lipstick slightly smudged
Her hair falls loosely on her shoulder
He watches her in awe
She is a bird so free
On the other side of everything he has seen
He wants to hold her
She wants to be held
She wants to be used
She wants to be loved and then abused
Unspoken words,whispers and mummers
They slowly spin out of sight
Not talking tonight
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
And so the elements did wage bloodshed
upon the realms, and the natural world bled
in numbers. Obsidian did dredge seeping
upon natures frail innocence. And weeping
in sorrow as life was entombed beneath.
Its tears of ash sealed eternally underneath.
Cinders were bathed in heavens truthful tears
As the each contended with elemental affairs.
Oak did lumber forward to entangle all within
roots, as the heavens screamed on soils sin.
Wood did splinter, shards impaling friend
and foe, collateral damage as anarchy did descend.
The earth bellowed as the onslaught of force
did disjoin the soil. A champion would endorse
the others right of battle, blades did clash
as such impacts did render all near by to ash.
brimstone against the clarity of diamond shards
As no ground was won as blows befell within yards.
Fighting still mummers as elements do now crusade
In natural form. Allegiances do switch others made,
Scars still do heal even though such a long time ago,
when lightning strikes a oak, know they are still foe.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
her leasuire face painted thick
hangs in the evening light of the car backseat
disembodied and surreal
passing headlights demonstrate the subtle differences
between her left and right eyes
they each shout casual references to deviancy
but neither comes clear to route this is achieved
so one is left wondering at that implied reality
you can almost taste its impeccable champagne quality
but you know that its aftertaste is of cheap cotton candy
she has been speaking non-stop and your
mind returns from its wandering vacation to her thought caravan
an endless stream of weary wagonloads of useless information
you look with longing to the desert of his thoughtless mutterings
least there you are not expected to acknowledge
or recompense
she leans back and unfolds her duplicity
like a sly smile on a sinister face
it comes out whole and unbroken
birthed without a sound on the seat next to you
its wet foul skin touches your repulsed skin
she quickly gathers it back and pushes it into her many pockets
with a nervous laugh
and quick fearful glances at his unseeing face
in the front seat
he mummers on
you catch a phrase or two before he subsides
the cat has been chased and now rests
the day is long but not long enough
as you arrive at your fate
and the car ceases movement
you spring from its confines
to the last clutch fingers of her lust
and the dour eye of his steering wheel
another night survived
her skin follows you inside
and lay next to all night
creating sounds and moving in subtle ways
you lay staring at the ceiling unable to rest
end
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC
My mummy told me not to go near them,
To stay away from those of warmth and
Ebbing with the essence of life.
"They will consume you my baby,
"Take you within, only a voice they will hear,
They will undo you till all is but an echo,
Searching through the ebbs of their being.
But this can have dire consequences little one.
"Mummy do they see us?
"Can I ever say hello,
They know where near, when the breath turns
White, when we give a feeling of their grave
Yet yearning had been stood upon before death.
"There are things worse than straying into them,
"Beacons are a prison of flesh and bone,
"Are kind are mesmerized by a yearning, captivated then gone,
They wondered through never seen, shadows of
Nothing but real. hand in hand never apart,
They saw a light in the distance drawing mummy in.
Mummy no please its a trick of the light,
"Don't leave is my love not enough,
"My angel your words broke the link,
"If not for you I would be a voice not me,
They watched from a fearful distance as the bag
Of flesh an bone. Beckoning are brethren like
Moths to an open flame and they all burned.
But as he took them in the voices started to birth
Upon his breath, random ramblings would spur
Its anger on the air of mummers not his own.
But there is a limit to a shell, a with a final burst of
Light he took many into his grasp. Confined, excluded
Where all within a now onyx shell of madness.
"Mummy he is of obscurity it is of neither realm,
"Child quieten your tongue it hears us now,
With those whispered words as if a bleak breeze past
By where they were heard. It sensed their presence a
Like night consuming day it was upon another's words.
Silence covered their essence as it seized upon its prey.
With but a touch Unseen fell like fractured reflections upon
The ground, not even a noise until shards descended below.
They swiftly departed as its shadow was left in a crowd of breath,
Fear illuminated on their features as visible momentarily
Then once again into the existence of which they lived.
"Calm your fear baby, our emotion delves us into moral vision,
"Do not fret for we left its essence beyond its senses,
"Mummy they were.....,
As they faded into the realm of apparitions they held
Each other. What was to become of a mother and daughter
In the warmth of the living? Behold the beacons of maddened
Voices that absorb the essence of death and never let go.
"Come child mummy will keep you safe,
"Mummy I see a light its so pretty,
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
When a breeze glides upon your face,
That is a whisper from those departed,
Spoken through the trees, rustling
On every branch and leaf.
Can you hear the mummers, listen
Carefully, you just listen to the breeze.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
I drag you from ya bed,
tie you up in
night terrors that are alive.
Razor wire gags, that give you
that Cheshire cat smile.
As tears touch cold metal..
You'll never use your mouth again,
to verse disrespect to me
or those closet to my family tree.
I haven't the patience..
For you lack lustre mummers..
This is message to those who think
they can smile in my direction.
Words have consequences.
"yo wake up,
"What the hell you doing in my room,
"you ready to smile,
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
I dreamt within the confines of my room,
of a place where the white moments
gathered in ease.
Collections within them.
Every negative
and slowly asphyxiating gathering
being buried within
the confides of a blanched confinement.
No longer where there shadows of before,
collecting in pools bellowing the fumes of
ill repercussions.
Instead the flakes of ******* highs drowned
every moment out with delusion highs..
For within the white molecule,
was a specific reflection.
And I never gazed deeply,
in fear of being
blinded with the truth.
Covers everything in a shallow grave
of white mummers
crunching under foot.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 5:51 PM UTC
I see the tears welling up in his eyes
As he sets there, with a heavy sigh
These thoughts on his mind heavily weigh
Under his breath I could hear him say
"I'm getting so very forgetful"
"I'm looking so **** pitiful"
He turned 87 a week ago
His age is starting to show
He feels deaths grip closing in
His skin is paper thin
He's always cold even in the sweltering heat of summer
His hearing is almost gone, it's all just mummers
He talks of how his legs don't work so well any more
The act of getting up is such a chore
He has taken to cussing like a sailor
But reads the bible, getting ready to meet his creator
"Growing old in not for the weak or faint of heart
This growing old **** is hard"
©Pauline Morris
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
To Friday five I apologise,
to my profession and charges
I weaken and give mummers tales,
avoid holes of attention
that tired souls give in to
I love my responsibilities hotly
but there are ends to means,
so weekly turns have starts
which Mondays begin
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 7:46 AM UTC
She'd asked for a teabag
one lump or two.
I asked casually??
But replied that she didn't need one
at the moment!
and could
I drop them off later.
So as she slept, I edged closer..
her mouth open..
I asked did she want
one bag dipped
or two..
She sheepishly said in tired mummers
two....
And believe me with her mouth ajar.
they fell into her warmth..
Swilling in here moistness
As she gagged...
ok may be I should have
dipped one..
Because now my bags are swollen
and I'm not dipping them
anywhere soon..
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 5:26 PM UTC
Remind me again
of the where and when of it,
it’s slipping through my finger memories
and my heart slows
Tell me of the Technicolor past,
even with the scratched film stock
I need to see it again
to affirm the mummers truth
and rest easy
I know you tire of the words,
of me,
sorry, sorry me
But the third reel is fixed
and the epilogue’s flickered approach
rattles near
Before the credits roll
narrate me a last flashback
to suspend our disbelief in
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 8:12 AM UTC
ah, love. singing.
weaving through peace lilies
a single swan's head
craning, not yet in bloom
I'm pruning and
you
roll your hands over
keys
soft and sad
the TV mummers
low, dancing along with
laughs emanating from
soft cotton yarn, balled
up and around our raven fawn
warm slats of sun
wander in from the window
and the music
and the shears
and the mummers
and giggling peels
create the song
love intends to hear.
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC
new faces
eager to learn
wanting to speak
not sure, too sure
waiting for brilliance
to fall upon them like rain
holding the centre of the space
yet small within in it
older faces
casual in welcome
relaxed in attitude
creating a sense of being
larger than they once were
filling the space with synergies
they all come in and mingle
the very fresh,
those who are middling
and those who are beginning
the downhill trek to the end
this is the conduit,
this dark room
that seems dingy
and broken in the day
but at night
when the grid is lit
and the mummers come to play
it is the grotto fantastic,
filled with other beings
opposite selfs
with faces painted
and multitudinal voices
making all from naught
and I am
the gatekeeper,
paid in coins of laughter
and notes of tragedy
opening vistas
and changing lines...
all the faces
have the one thing
in common
an earnest desire
to stand up and
take the stage
so throw open the gates
let them enter, let them play
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC