"mutes" poems
[Rain]
that falls motionless in waking dawn.
muffles the sadness within our souls.
mutes the voices within our heads.
holds us close when we're all alone.
that saves my drowning soul.
will help me grow...
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.
8.2k
bring your hammer and mutes.
temper my just intervals and
i'll beat a sweet harmonic series.
stretch my octaves,
correct my dissonance,
fine-tune my enthusiasm,
i'll play you some smooth sounds
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 2:16 AM UTC
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions.
It’s born out of the head of ignorance,
it resides in the heart of the blind.
It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body,
until fully enslaved by inaction.
It turns agents into sun tanners,
activists into office workers,
outlaws into accountants.
It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws,
it places crowns on faceless leaders.
It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected,
the racially profiled.
It mutes news casts,
veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings,
glorifies the paycheck.
It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb,
corruption, and death proof.
It allows sleep at night,
it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet.
It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear.
It insures, “birds like to be caged,”
and “pain is just part of the human condition.”
It whispers these misconceptions
like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress.
Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy.
Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control.
Progress has forgotten it’s maker,
just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee.
Contentment leaks from the Western world
and infects all those around it.
When you are no longer content
you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life,
and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before.
When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
i.
mist in solemnity
mutes the sounding
leather bells in silence
ii.
salt surges waste wantonly
gulls guttural in guises
of waifs
iii.
driftwood delivered dull of
deluged dilution
ochre offering to dune's
divestment
iii.
sea glass shivers into
shallow sandy pockets
scintillating color schemes
iiii.
conches lie abandoned
in stands of sea grasses
cacophonous quiet
v.
i am wide awake yet dreaming
sleepwalking
into the
waves
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/1/2016
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
i
a wee shaft of beam
across
a sea of chilly darkness:
dashing on, dashing long
a chain
of disturbing crispy waves.
a haunting pitch
of sirens, of winging gulls.
…then
a whistle in the dark
ii
i have bled.
and ever bleeding
is resurgence.
the stones are stained now
not all are stained yet.
but i can hold no more.
no more.
iii
to listen would have been enough
but spoke i
to deaf-mutes, clayey forms.
and every uttered little word
faded like receding undertone.
and then
conspiracy of silence,
misquotations,
sharing of once
too friendly shoulders.
a nod would have been enough,
or a pat,
or any like gesture;
they turned askance
and i fled… fled away.
iv
back to my chambered shell
back to my cradle
where there are many whispers.
and every fateful swing
of the pendulum
i reel and ride the wheel of fancy,
embrace false idols
like one fearful of his god
if only to escape the haunts
of conscience;
tremble at approaching footsteps,
shriek at every shadow.
v
i shall walk barefoot again
past leafless stumps
windborn, heated, and bowed,
‘cross an oasis grown desert dry,
past anthills now dunghills,
‘neath rapid flutter
of widespread murky wings,
past cliff edges
where resound pampered echoes,
while arched in deceitful hues
a rainbow.
…i scan the blue… i pause…
vi
i await a lily-white stork
or there shall be no curtain speech.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
1.
seeds of crimson, slightly sweet
alien pods of ruby meat
like exoskeletal teeth.
scores of crimson, holding in
like breath, its babes of sin.
little beetles; ****** tears.
one swarming conglomerate.
as if in fear, they huddle close
to await their fate in quiet fits.
2.
the
unfurling!scarlet!starfish!mothership!
sprawls out
fleshyfingers, fatwithfruit.
seedling children populate her innards
like a red-skinned race of juicy mutes.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
Wind swept
Wild places the grass it puts on a veritable orchestra of movement as it undulates to the power of the breeze that passes
Mountain meadows splashed with a profusion of flowers they jiggle as if there tickled about something or other
The crest of the hill bordered with trees sloping down the hill children are running reminiscent of Jack and Jill
This utopia of nature sets aside the hurly burly the curvature of the hills still the wind hold the sun just right you it invites
Cross these pasture lands the feeding ground of many cattle and sheep the pride of the farmer who keeps
Inexorably bound by breed and creed for centuries this way of life flourishes among these native grasses
Tender shoots these roots give of their riches the sun and rain gives them a time to reign with joy all reaps
Pleasure in the walk letting fingers glide over the heads of tall grasses the silent telling of harmony filled poise
Future generations will be brought to these shadowed grounds they too will by their lives express and know contentment
Hourly they hold in sod that has known the breath of time as it has passed time and time again it enlivens breaks fourth
Sturdy and resplendent it shows all its dependability the same respect settlers knew is found the builders of this continent
Long shadows grow upon earths shoulders she knows the good and the bad but through resilience remains unconquered
The distant mountain stands eternal guard, it affects rainfall, mutes the winds force guarantying a peaceful valley
Perpetuity is taught in this land tomorrows unfold from days gone by with regularity they build and keep the way open
Stewardship the blessed hope working in harmony with all that surrounds at days end this will be the final sum and tally
The herdsman knows the time he invests it well always with broad vision does he act in this wisdom all will be victorious
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
Scintillating depth paints the luxurious fabric
In a vista that drowns in
Its own sophistication
Thick, spicy flavor drips from the petals of
Soft indigo ink
Wetting the paper (that sweats with
Hard work and furrowed concentration,
Eyes do not waver
External cacophony mutes
The only tunes being the hymn
In the skilled artisan’s mind)
Art materializes into
Real beauty- an irrational, existing,
Hypnotizing magnificence,
A piece of pure worth, ready made-
To be sold cheaply in the local market.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
This kiss is the last word tonight
It mutes your soft whisper
And the comfort of your voice
Leaving musings on my side of the bed
This noise of a thousand thoughts
It drowns out your breathing
And the silence of the night
As words toss and turn inside my head
This secret is locked in my heart
It veils all our untold stories
Like poetry behind closed eyes
Dreaming that it won’t remain unsaid
This evasion of verbal confrontation
It quiets the bemusing pieces
That would come out misshapen
Making unspokenness easier than regret
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
Deep fried asphalt crawls beneath my wheels as I pedal on, pursued by buzzing flies
and salty drops of sunscreen sweat sting my squinting eyes.
Caffeine coursing through my corporal chassis fuels my weary legs
and mutes the screaming mind that wants the same respite for which my human vessel begs.
Be the road before me treacherous, the hills before me steep,
God heals my aching body every night with fitful sleep.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Increase The Pace (Side A)
Rhythmic pulsations invade comatose receptors
Lingering in the thick summer smog
The onset of tribulation commences-
Increase the pace.
Reverb ripples through
Hot wet lungs,
Love and Hate
The beats resonate...
Scared vinyl skips:
Repeating visions of angst,
Violent red chords
Rolling off shredded steel strings,
Acting as mania’s fingers…
Feet trapped in rebel rubber soles
Draw on littered concrete floors
Lonely like before
Noble souls abandoned this
Scene of raunchy rust,
gravity grabbing
as our wrists touch.
Increase The Pace (Side B)
Rush to Eden-
Greeted by harsh halogen
Bleach, eating out your sinuses,
water swirls as it slithers
round the basin
heavy door mutes the static,
holding back waves of thick smoke.
Blood shot eyes soothed
By branded potions,
Clarity cleanses
Dismembered demons
Crazed revelations infect the night no more
Forced silence seeps into aching eardrums
Breath forced from lungs
Adolescent epiphanies
Swirls down the drain,
Flying around chrome chains
Dust worn as protection
Drips into the sewers,
Flushed away
Forced silence reigns true
Voice of the bass-line
Forgotten anew.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
There is a beetle on the high street,
pushing the sun along at a fraction-
0f-a-mile-per-hour. He is pondering
his plans for the summer.
Perhaps different venues?
Perhaps different dung?
But he knows it's all foolishness.
He never goes anywhere.
Then a god falls out of the sky.
Not a particularly large one,
a medium-sized god as far as
they go. Roughly human-
shaped. Not counting those
streaming banners of fire
that pour from his eyes.
Few humans have burning eyes.
A dagger drips from an open
wound and he clenches his
blood (it is his own blood) in his hand.
More are coming he realizes.
All of them. And he's quite
correct. Without trumpets or
lights or choruses or bowls or
scrolls, it starts to rain.
The beetle pauses in his
pilgrimage to survey the
man underneath the god's feet.
A hand in a crater of asphalt
with a keen, nigh-inaudible
wheeze of breath. A cough
and a choke.
And the beetle scuttles on.
They fall from clouds that aren't,
I mean, actually in the sky. They crush
buildings and businessmen, They
eat fountains. They descend into an
unthinkable and unthinking
age like a dizzied chorus that cannot
pick up on the beat. Purple sash
and green helm, They build mountains.
Teeth chip around the clay- the men
and women- like fireworks.
The gods' great works resolve
like a finished slider puzzle, like the
back of the sun. Mannequins watch
the moving marble for a moment.
But the Mutes eventually find a voice,
they shout, they run into the fray.
Tantalus' mouth fills with
wine. The beetle walks around his
head. Sisyphus' back was broken
by a boulder. The poor little fellow
descends into an inferno and
climbs the devil's back like a
Purgative mountaineer. Such struggle,
thinks he, to have to take a detour.
Sky sets fire to the shell pink
sun at night.
The liquid spheres engulf ideas
on a dry stretch of ocean.
Clouds splinter in a victor's hands,
are frozen shut.
and everything sinks back home
in the middle of a wor
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.
We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.
We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
The Muted Commoner
You don't see them,
......Just past them......
Speak but unheard,
perforce, thus, muted,
against their will
blogs bread unread uneaten,
poem orphans better than us,
vine ripened unto death
Truly dare you say I/you the better?
Shamed heat, you spit,
outed, no penance offered,
non granted,
the forgivers are muted too
**so this be your charge,
so this be your salvation:**
free the mutes from the trance -
exhume, exhort find them
in the back pages, then
acknowledge that we are all
Muted Commoners.
find the poem unread,
revive it with a read, a heart,
and then you can speak your
Peace.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Red mutes hurried through the passages, underneath
They mewled in a soundless frenzy — straining
Mania drove their bodies against the walls, and broke through
Rain, a drowning curtain from prejudiced eyes
Stop! and stay there, down below, together
So the caverns may echo, but no one will know.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
The times are so normal and peaceful.
A yellow leaf can fall freely to the earth
without any obstructions and die peacefully.
Rivers flow at their will: sometimes calm
sometimes furious.
Everything is perfect, following a masterful design
They invented a machine to keep peace and order
The machine wiped out chaos and dissent form the world
The machine pushes the misfits into under ground
Look around you: there is no one with a scarred face
A world so perfect
The machine emits a sound while it works:
An army of iron boots stomping the ground
And the machine's sound mutes all other voices
All other music
And a perfect world is born.
Now, the machine is turned on
I hear the sound of iron boots
They march ahead....
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
I wanna wisk you away to a Tropical Paradox
Run a Risk filled Forest Gump Chocolate Box
Wear your flip flops and your Crocs with Socks
We’re all in the matrix , so don’t give any Focks
Where if someone talks **** tell em to lick Rocks
Roosters tend to grow hard just like Fort Knocks
Soak up that Vitamin D while you ride for free
Try and hide those lies, while you Moisturize
Shampoo & condition me, with Pantene Pro V
Face mask your cries, with a Creamy Disguise
Throw me 21 salutes, I’ll catch them 22 times
Even a group of mutes, feel my spoken rhymes
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
they do not speak
mouths sutured shut
their words, thoughts, appear on their skin
like some curious cuneiform, deciphered not
by those who wield the scurrilous scalpels
that maimed them
they do not speak
though their screams appear
as a rapacious rash of cocky consonants,
their whispers as smooth vowels
on their exposed hides
they do not speak
but hear the flapping of butterflies’ wings
the blinking of a dead dogs’ eyes
and the sound stars made
upon colossal collapse
they do not speak
but emit eerie odors in fecund olfactory code
“lesser beasts” read with feral snouts
and see on the breached breaths
the silenced try
to conceal
they do not speak
though they see the mocking mouths of their captors
and their words that fly through the air
slicing through these mutes, as if
they were never there
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
Entangled in this lost love this
New trust all wrapped in
New lust this gray scale
Between being alone and in love
The enigma I am,
Existing between the borders
Of feeling enough leaning up against that hard line
Marking off space for the insufficients,
Deaf,loners and mutes and
All those awkward adolescents,
Loitering on the far side of sanity.
Any body ostracized for being different than
what ever normal means.
Or those lonley people like me.
your meek and vulnerable,
Dyeing
For something on the other side
I fiddle around somewhere in the middle
Sometimes I’m so sad
And I just don’t cry.
It just wont work
And then when you have me laughing
Side aching gasping
I think of all the little things
And now that I feel safe
I can take a breath,
I want to cry about everything.
What the hell does that mean?
There finely something to feed
the ache in my chest.
I feel livelier I feel brighter
And sadder in the same ways
But I’m like a beacon shining through the broken
Hanging to the notion that broken dreams
Can heal too and when they get together
They can transform like a caterpillar
Into the butterflies in you.
When you smile it’s like a glimpse at a truth
I keep chasing after but have never really seen
Heading contrary to this person I became.
You excite me into being something I am but have never lived
And I’m fighting to see who she is
I’m pinning myself against the answers to the questions
About who this new person really is.
And wondering the part in it you will play,
Kicking my self for my uncertainty in the claim
Of being broken or brave
At this silent admission of my wanting you to stay.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Blue eyes
Hold mine captive.
Sweet scent of sunshine
Mutes the light traffic as
shadows play in the vibrant green
of the overhead maples.
His laugh
sudden though musical
Fills me with satisfaction
This boy with the blue eyes
and the pondering lips
Harbours a magnetic pull
The north
Which attracts my south
His mind a lacework
Of thoughts thought far too much
Far too often
But always real, always true
which is rare, in any blue eyed boy.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
The movement of her body was entirely too loud
She is desert throat gasps
When the water is so good
She doesn’t stop for air
Can hear her comin’
Her rusty train wreck tremble
On loose tracks
Her collapse is a cinderblock rain
The crumble is so much quieter than the crash
Her crumble is so much quieter than the crash
Her hands shake as she swipes her EBT card for the fifteenth time
She puts back the bacon this time
Throws down 5.50 for the Marlboros
She talks to herself
Angrily
Slams ever door she enters
Every door she exits
Her children think she is crazy
She is crazy
She is a body built
On passive aggression
And the threat of a shaky foundation
When the earthquake hits
Any day could be my last day you know
Her son turns up the tv
Her daughter plugs her headphones into her cd player
Do you all think I am talking just to hear myself talk?
And if you don’t stop sleep talking
*Telling me you’re going to **** me*
I am sending you to the hospital
The boy mutes the tv
Dries his eyes before they’re wet
He shakes his head
Begs her not to do that
Says he doesn’t know he’s doing it
Says he doesn’t want to **** her
She walks away
And he is left wondering
I remind him later
That we were not raised on truth
So it’s hard sometimes
To trust people
I put a lock on his door
Tell him to shut himself in at night
As for the mother
We don’t talk anymore
Like I said
She’s crazy
And I’ve got too much of that myself already
Somewhere a door is slamming
Somewhere cinderblocks are crumbling quiet
There is a sizzle like slowly cracking glass
I feel it crawl my spine
It crawls his
The girl misses it
Head buried in pop culture
Going deaf in trying to drown out
Her mother’s noise
Do you think I am talking just to hear myself talk?
As a poet I ask myself the same thing
Ask how far the apple can fall from the tree
If any one of us are lucky
It will be just far enough
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
Hotel room a/c fans faded red curtains
Lamp shade mutes the generic glow
Side stepped your way into something so certain
A dance no one means to learn
Yet, everybody knows
Yeah, you used to want something and you lost it in your lover's eyes
Fatal to acquiesce
No you can't acquire the original wonder you gifted him the year he said good- bye
You were too young to fathom
Now the monopoly houses in the suburbs look like geriatric wards
Easy blueprints to dispise
Cheap siding to realize
You dream of nothing
Your thoughts aren't your own
I promise that I won't wait
There is nothing I would change
The parts of me that I don't know
City to city
Continents and languages
One woman alone
I promise you nothing
P.s. you can have my bones
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
The automaton
Encrypting a nation
Heaven
Hell
Gods
And devils
A bio-mechanical equation
Living in circuits
Under pavement
Enslavement
In eternity
We
Are the angels
The demons
The adamant
The legion
Cursing from bended knee
In the triviality
Of truth
Are we
Not to be
Anything
But seen
Between the seams
Of perceived reality
Feeding
Off children's dreams
Breeding the themes
Into memes
And scattering
the practicality
Amongst
The capacitors
Magnifying
our hurt
Synthesizing
The whispers
Into blurts
For the world to hear
Not my words
My word
Wordless in itself
Silent as the film
Serenading
The filth
With the music of my youth
Leaking doubt
from the roof
Rerouting the abuse
Rescinding the ruse
And rebooting
With the other
7 billion fools
Aloof
As toothless mutes
Sparking mutiny
Amongst troops
Pursued by armadas
Of savage sonatas
Of cleaners
Meaning to
demean us
In the cleavers
That be-heave us
Or our humanity
Self created
In the slated
Boxes to think in
To tinker
Is sin
Repeat
and again
Condemn
The denser
To death
In breathless
Conviction
To the addiction
Onset
In step
To rest
My head
On the *******
Of your disbelief
I'm still asleep
Counting the sheep
Counting the creeps
My sub routines
Obsolete
In a sea of snakes
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
She’s the girl who’s like morning first light,
He’s the boy who loves mornings,
He waits for her the way morning waits for it’s first light when all birds leave her,
She’s the girl who’s like the moon,
He’s the boy who loves nights,
He embraces her the way night embraces the moon, when all stars leave her.
She’s The ending number of numerology,
He’s the beginning number of numerology, together they’re end & beginnings of numerology.
Her crystal clear voice mutes all the voices in his mind,
He knows that if he gets too close to her ,
she’ll destroy him much like a storm,
but he have learned with age that he don’t need much, but one thing he knows, is he’ll always need her.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC