Hobbling out of bed
Half dead
I'm led
To the bathroom
The shower a vacuum
Of my powerlessness
But first i ****
Then get in
**** out the contaminants
Of my ***** habits
And i scrub
I scrub off
The plastic love
The mean mug
And tug on my ****
Plant a vision til it pops
And drop
To the shower floor
Tilt my head back
And gurgle to the gods
For more
Scrub the grill
Lay a towel on the floor
Suit up for a war
Two sprays of cologne
And im out the door
Headphones on
Angels atoning
To the morning
As im floating
Through the fog
Descending in my grog
Along the path
Like a lab rat
For a slab of cheese
Through the swamps
And trees
Trampling
Dead things
And leafs
And im seen
By nobody
As i ascend a hill
To the corporate power
Where ill cower
For nine hours
Before reporting home
Going to bed
And waking up
To do it all again
Its blue collar zen
And im bored
So fraking bored
With my chores
Id rather scribble sounds
Into forms
Verbal storms
Visual cores
Implored
To explore
The tortured
Terms in torrents
Of turbulent
Talks with dead gods
And im born
Into the horns
Ive sworn
To protect
In widows peaks
And deepened
Speeches
I'm infected
With my perfection
Torn
In the muffled traces
Of noiselessness
Among the space-less
Distances
To my sentences
Taking out the crackles
And recording
Over the blemishes
Relishing
The fragile moments
Of eloquence
In **** jokes
And threatening
Gestures
Jesting
The restructuring
Of molesting
Verbiage beat
Over the mic
Delusions enticed
In my writes
Of fights
In long sleepless nights
Of rhyming
With bad timing
And mumbling
Of slimy things
Bubbling in the cuts
Dubsteped to **** fits
Sunkissed in lacking curtains
Disturbing the certainty
Of sleep
And cheapening
My dreams
Rolling over
Planting my feet
Upon wood floors
Hobbling toward
Tomorrow
Sorrowfully
Repeating
The same thing
Washing away the sleep
And fleeing
My creativity
For the rest of the week


(in progress)

It was a Wednesday
The September weather impersonated summertime shine
But my eyes were barbed wire to the shimmer
Twisted and tied shut to the summer
Refusing to adjust to the glow
I entered that classroom alone
An intruder
I thought we were all intruders there
Social Work 1140- Minority Perspectives
Peacefully confined to the classroom blackboard
Caged up reality for protected heads to understand
We all sat situated in straight lines
Staring at chalk too bright to comprehend
Silent minds creating the kind of noiselessness only known to tiptoe
We all tiptoed there
Wiggled into tiny seats small enough for suffering
Yet large enough for complacency
The pseudo-summer heat peaking through the curtains
Draped over certain advantages we dare not speak
We all closed our eyes in unison
Wondered when the suffering began
Wondered when the wondering would end
Avoiding chalkboard glares and awkward eye contact
But the chalkboard glares started staring contests
And the eye contact was too awkward to ignore now
I was a sophomore
I wore freight train headlights
I was a trojan warhorse in broad daylight
I was an intruder there

My professor excused our intruderness upon her entrance
Transforming foolishness to fuel the mood
She must be an intruder too
It was noon
And this room of undercover drummers
Marching to different tunes was nothing new for her
She saw the truth in us
Stared the vulnerability away
Spread sunlight sanctuaries through our brains
Our eyes no longer wandering through oblivion
Wondering when the wondering would end
It all began when she said
I think it's time we all open our eyes
We looked confused
Eyes expanding to bite size balloons
Placing helium time bombs at the foot of her news
I stared at the fuse
And she stared at our staring daring us to make the next move
But we refused
Cause it was barely noon
And that's too soon for collective movements
No time for any inch of improvement
We all refused to move
Thankfully she resumed
I want you to look around this room
And understand one thing
Your story is the only proof you bring here
The only sword you swing here
And this is no home for fresh bruises
We are all safe in this room

I sat there in silence
I've always been an overabundance of riches
A treasure chest filled to the brim
But in this moment my gold is good for nothing
My sword is null and void
Skull and crossbones to understanding
My Excalibur belongs permanently stuck in stone
I never opened my eyes that way before
Only saw what I assumed was true
My once royal empire collapsed around my desk
Tears dropped like fallen gemstones crashing the class discussion
I sat there in silence
I sat there alone
Refused to tell my story
Refused to feel so low
It's a tough pill to swallow
Acknowledging you have lived with privilege your entire life
So I sit here in silence
Choking on my silver spoon
Looking for the way to say
I don't want to be an intruder anymore

I am suffocating in your library house
persons occupy each corner
each with his own set of headphones
restless teenagers eventually napping
melancholy faces in whisper
the unspoken rule of noiselessness
to you, consideration matters more
than togetherness, and as long
as I offer to cream your coffee
you have found the perfect marriage
meanwhile,
our neighbors laugh loudly below us
and we think they are the odd ones

The boats in the harbor
flirt with the pilings,
their sails have trapped
nothing
and are flaccid,
the gulls scream at the masts,
scream while they lift
their spindly legs
and tiny feet
escaping
the noiselessness.

I sit with the sun
as it bursts
and the cirrus clouds,
like cotton,
are filled with blood
or tears,
or some brutal combination
of both,
as the needles
poke through the house
and the sun
is pushed out.

In the sea of voices she remained silent;
Among the whining tunes, the screaming sounds.
She had always had a quiet soul;
She wept in the absence of anybody else;
Manned of her own will;
Laughed in her own freedom;
Loved in her silent heart.
She had faith in her own thoughts.
There were people she had not met for years,
There were those who had forgotten her,
There were those whom she had forgotten.
They brought this noise she had not comprehended;
The noise that had perforated her thoughts;
Punctured her vision;
Pricked her confidence;
Drugged her with poison.
She had never longed to look back;
This village had always been her nightmare
yet she had been compelled to return.
She had always preferred quiet time;
Her solitude, that she would feel free;
A seclusion, a noiselessness, a silence.
Surrounded by unsung melodies,
With her love for unwritten lines;
She would write poignant poems,
Dance to lively rhythms,
Live among scattered paint, and
be basked in her peripheral visions;
Her hearts touching the sweet roots of poetry
Swimming in the green arts they could not see.
Her arts were her honour, her triumph
As her fingers touched archaic poems;
But she found unjustness, danger in noise
That she had longed to go;
Not wanting  to hear their smug voice.
She would run away, she knew
and as she stayed, in the pouring seconds
Some talked to her, while some
Remained silent;
Some wept at her feet,
Some cursed her with hate,
Some pierced her ears with noise.
She remained silent still.
Now and ever.

They say He
is in the stillness. The calm
after the storm, the quiet
before the noise, any tiny
moments of rest scattered
throughout the day. Maybe He
is even here, right now
residing in the cool cessation,
calm silence, living where
no words will thrive, the deafening noiselessness
pressing down on me- maybe
I should be comforted that
in the absence of you, He
has come to fill the spaces
our words have left behind. Darling,
I must apologize yet again
for my consistent inability to perceive
the divine. Please, understand
when I try and tell you, here,
I see only emptiness.

Timpanic membrane mumbles transform into
Crescendoes, dumb  except   within skull walls.
Not quite like a burn, not quite like a sting this
din deigns to drag out old heartaches and new
failures and fresh ideas and stale aspirations but
stuck in staccato can any one idea stay  or   are
they doomed to rattle, to deafen?  They come
and go and is the thought  even  finished  with
these streams  of   consciousness  up  against
dull  tasks,  wasting  commands  and  ­all  these
commands waste so much energy. When I just
want the world to  stand  still  is  there any
one – yes it is                                 who  weaves
back in and               YOU                 that resonates
in overtones.                                 have made the
mental madness manageable when  you quietly
                          stop the leaking gap.
A plane on which to  balance.  A  grip  with   which
to bolster stronger blisters.
                            A quieting yes to block out
out the trembling timbre.
You are order out of chaos.

In the evening’s repose,
My silent film dreams
honor you, and
in the morning
I wake to noiselessness
and a thunderous heart

Barely 8 in the morning and already thoughts of you dominate my mind.
When I think of you, I smell citrus and see summer.
I see warmth and lazy smiles.
I see clear blue water, like the colour of your eyes.
There's a second son on earth and I know that that son is you.

When I dream of you, I see winter and wool blankets. I see the frostbite melt away in the warmth of our intertwined fingers.
I hear the silence, beautiful in all its noiselessness - like your voice.

When I speak of you, I see spring - where everything must blossom again.
I see bright colours and they remind me of your soul.
The words that tumble from my lips are 'beautiful, tender; strong' and although I describe the trees, in my mind I see only you.

While autumn being being beautiful and all, I don't see you there. I don't hear you there either.
In autumn you are summer and in winter you are spring.

Its you, and only you who to my heart on any day can all these seasons bring.

Silence sometimes is suffering unsaid….
Silence sometimes means a mountain of words utterly unspeakably unorganized…
Silence is a recipe for misconstrues
Silence is also a relief from the burden of words
Silence is a veil of the mind and it’s contents
Silence is anything but silent noiselessness……
Its a loud or soundest expression which can never be known till the pact of silence is intact….!!!!!!

The night is still,
A silent cold hangs crisply in the air,
A quilt of noiselessness encases the world,
Looking up upon the stars,
So dazzling in the pre-dawn air.

The moon hangs over the Eastern Horizon,
Just a sliver alit along it's bottom edge.

As the world slowly begins to stir,
Slowly cracking the sky and setting it aflame,
An all encompassing blaze that kisses upon my brow,
Warm and caring,
Loving and tender,
Like that of a mother to a newborn babe.

It is here that one can be at peace,
Where the current troubles slip away like steam from an exhaled breath in this crisp warm air.