"sil" poems
Silence.
That’s the
First thing you
Can hear. The sil
Ence is just so loud,
So real, so close, so true,
What everyone needs sometimes.
That’s my favourite part of being there,
Underwater. The world passes away, and
You can hear yourself thinking again.
You can just simply: Be. For once.
The feeling of oblivion, the pressure of
Unreleased air, the escaping
Bubbles to the top
Of the pool, ocean, lake,
The clear water with sunlight
Shining through the depths till it
Reaches you, the feeling of
Oneness with the world
Its past, its present
Its uncertain future, the
Feeling that everything will be okay
No matter how hard it seems now. The
Feeling of weightlessness as your hair undulates
Through the clear water, your body buoyant, your mind
Finally clear. The stillness that overtakes your very
Soul as you stay at the bottom, holding on with
All your might, not wanting the moment
To ever pass, knowing it has to even
As you hope you can breathe,
Impossible as it seems. The stillness
Permeating every aspect of your being, from
Your previously weighed down limbs to your dancing
Hair to your stressed mind to your frazzled soul, giving the
Much needed calm from a busy day. Pushing off the
Depths, feeling the sunlight get stronger, the sur
Face grow closer, feeling the nostalgia to your
Second home where you can see clearly,
Even with your eyes shut tight, your
Breath held. Where you are you.
Underwater.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 9:42 PM UTC
Who cares if they watch our love?
— Fact they rather'd see:
It matters not in this cove,
In this sprawl of love and sweep:
Re-lose those eyes in this rime,
Then folds will lay and swap:
Then pink and red would stain our skin,
And fight we would to stay on top:
And whites of eyes will sil'ly appear,
Too busy we are enveloped in we:
In all this thing of our love,
Of kiss, and rush, and kiss, and flee.
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 1:46 AM UTC
Ciao baby, preggo
that means let's smooch under romantic balconies
and make lovely thick-haired multi-cultural children
I want a big ole belly of wine drinking zygotes
feta crumble eye *****
real live sculptures in my palace
jaggedy rocks with blood streams
trickling into the ocean
salty and brine like sewer sludge
let's go for a swim
could be amazing, or beautiful
most likely exciting at least
light bulb moment: I want to hear yours first
you're so dang brilliant like cerulean skies
fake but still pretty
tell me your story
teach me your lingo language
sil-vous plait?
Non?
Well fine, you're verbally redundant anyway
thoughts made of unsettling murky waters
no light can penetrate
and sweetie neither can you
not now
I'm 20,000 leagues too deep for your puddle of a conscience.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
Her breath forms beautiful icicles on the blood-stained window, her pale body lays in horrifying grace
Sunk in cheeks
Charcoal eyes
Her soul empty
gone.
Nothings left.
She feels only a slight tug as his fist curves into her fragile skull once again, smashing her petite figure into the window.
shatter
the beautiful icicle is exploded into a millon pieces and so the glass.
As her tired face hits the window sil
You can almost feel the break of her jaw as it crushes beneath the weight of his tremendous blow.
Her eyes are still open
But she is now completely gone
The last of her life shattered away with the icicle formed by her last breath.
v.v
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Faster, gambling
rambling Mother, glides
Laughing, Africa sailing smooth
Jazz lips, spit gold
Gorgeous.
I told you so.
Sil, never leaning, *********
his last basket of fire, Glitzy ****
box of matches, ashes
crowd and birth
Saturday nights, street
lights scattering a
boy sullen, smiles
rolling across faces
Another line down
dust flailing tubes of tissue,
The mirror steadies the
marrow, bones breaking
gums, blow another
let a little light
shine through, and he'll watch
himself
stone the silence of
Jazz and all that jazz
and laugh it off until
the sun illuminates
what god gave, *** and
sleep and smoke and sin
Every night, a gun explodes
and I've got to smile, I've
got a little white witch
swallowing, brass eyes to
the West, gold-- this has never
been so hot
Not like thighs lingering
for another second, pass
her around until we're
giggling and crossing our
legs as young ladies do
but, I'll save that
for Sunday morning.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
As I leaned towards the window sil on the white sheet,
covered in the blanket of luminous moonlight
Keeping my head on the hand ,
pressing it to tight
I mistook the pulse for a delightful heartbeat
I mistook you for the eternal love believe it.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
I'm caged
And these four walls
Are strangling me.
I've choked
On your pathetic
Neglegance.
Some friends.
My throat has been cut
By the blade
Of your arms.
A ****
I tumble like a rag doll;
Four walls pushing and pulling.
Find me an escape.
Become my escape.
Cut their chains
And save me.
Save me.
Save me.
Save me.
Another nosebleed.
Another lifeless weekend.
Go to your parties,
Go to your fames.
I'll sit and petrify again.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
More of a man at 20 than at 22
All of the passages about One, there were no others
Regressing into sin, no art without misery
That old cliche, right? Right.
I read somewhere that he wanted to be a writer
He wanted to be a great writer, Remembered
Taking, making great sacrifices for art
Alcohol, Benzedrine, Isolation
Checkmate, One and Two and Three
The night (this night) will be my Desolation Peak
For now,
Looking back through the pages
Who exists in this manuscript?
Who is Marg?
Who is Sil?
Won’t you please tell me?
Won’t you come fill my Head. I’m not asking
Won’t you come fill my bed?
So I need not pretend
Were it that I could let you in
Save for those rare times when everyone appears not unctuous
To my uneasy usurious eyes
In an act of desperate atavism I return to the roots,
To the past, to the Grass,
(Looking)
To the glass
Only momentarily half empty
Before it is refilled
Where will we find our answers honey?
When will we cease to believe this positive psychology ********
You don’t need to be happy
You don’t need to be comfortable
You need to Mean
to have
Meaning
to create a legacy
Not shrouded in shame
and neglect
and fear
It doesn’t have to be the same
New city, new hope, new name
Erase the stain with pen and paper
Evoke change
See the world through baby blue eyes
The bucolic beauty brilliantly beats and beads down, blooming
Bright flowers in early mildew sunlight
Or Big Sur - view from the mountains
Or the moon
Soon my love, soon
Swoon, sweetly suggest
The sight of a lover’s supple *******
And her name like poetry on your soft still whispering lips
Tantalizing and tickling tongues
Tickling and tucking shyly
Soft skin swimming in hushed tones, brushed bones and quiet sighs
Wide eyed, clenching belies
The beginning and the end of far more
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
i was foolish to believe that when you touched my skin flowers would grow, my cheeks would blossom and my stomach would become a garden, an orchard, a plant *** on the window sil of a grandmothers kitchen, i should have knew when you touched my face my eyes would sink and my lips turn grey, my stomach would cave in, my ribs make an appearance, my mouth go dry and my legs to become laden with white lines
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
the [ sight ] of a couple
here is the MAN
mid - 20ies
younger at a push
c/h/e/c/k/e/d u n b u t t o n e d shirt
lARGe looks-em pt y rucksack
on his back
a sort of sil very-mist colour
and black skinny jeans
every1 seems to where
I’ll admit
I have a pair - pair
but they’re not wright
for my job
he (sees) me
Ilookawayquickly
but He knows eye saw Him
arms (((locked))) in a ring
a round the waist of a gir!
exhausted and eyes <shut>
flower-crown droop:ng
down her $four head
as she drops d ee per
into sl ee p
murmurs some-thing
just muFFled syLLables
probably went to a ‘gig’
music still rrumbling
as an empty stomach
in her ears
so maybe not a couple
friends more likely
a girl and guy hhuggingg
friendlee
friend ship
whatever it is
the train comes
screeeeches to astop
and within a minit
they are gOne
I am gOne
and yet #goingnowhere
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
Twisted-life symphony
It seems so real
Brimstone meet misery
Balancing on oily steel
so glad you're not me
Namaste metal thunder
I have to leave you
vacant online junkies today
with your video eyes
and your mouths gasping
playing your games
Namaste reefer-headed rag dolls
You'll read a couple from Chechov
Admire the lines of Baryshnikov,
oil your friendly little Kalashnikov
under satellites and stations and junk
Namaste deaf, dumb and blind nighttime sky
You wasted your days with excuses
you played on your DSes
til they faded away like UFOs
carrying your doughyness
down, down
Namaste Friday night parking lot hometown
How large is the rock
Stopping my float
My rotten boat's making a
last trip from the dock
Promising ice-cold dark caresses
Namaste cold, crushing depths
How long is the rope
snaps my neck
So much loss of hope
in the blink of an eye
a bloated blue ornament
Namaste choking collar
Plug in now, oh wow!
Gigabytes in nanoseconds
Gigabods in nanomoments
Gigaflights in nanospans
What's a moth's life
Weigh dominion
Namaste my sweeter side
Why don't you join?
Are you scared of freedom?
Just flip this cosmic coin
Just a game, it's just a game
Filled with pain and ecstasy
Namaste en garde, sil vous plait
I think I might just play
lose without trying
play a freewheeling style
Nothing really matters
I'll come back hereafter
Namaste, hasta la vista
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
Why can't you type normally?
Is it really hard to do?
I find myself struggling to read
So I can reply to you.
Why Do You Type Like This?
Is the shift key your best friend?
Or d u tlk lyke dis
Nd nvr c n nd
Is this a new type of language?
I must have missed the memo,
Because trying to translate all those words
Would drive anyone ******
We've all been to English class,
And still you cannot write.
Dis sil iz kiln mi brayn
It's given me a fright!
So why, oh why, do you type this way?
I'm starting to really doubt
That English is something easy to obtain,
Well that's it--I'm out.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
Tu non eterna est;
sed nihil eterna ad tu;
ergo non male ad tu;
Sil celerale mortalis, ante mors tu ad umbra ferre
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Sydney NSW AU Luna Park as it once was
Tear shaped falling from the sky
Remembered dreams no need to cry
Childhood memories of large ferris wheels
Fairy floss mounted on long sticks
The jesters and their sleight of hand tricks
Roller coasters that seemed to touch the sky
Halls of mirrors in those mazes we did try
Luna Park backdrop to Harbour Bridge
Hyde park bands free for all to see
Northern Beaches before the developers came
Tore out the hillsides now not the same
Toronga Zoo Sunday outings so true
The HMAS Melbourne parked below
Those times the people where so few
Now urban density Sydney so untrue
Cross town tunnels tollways abound
Thick black haze of pollution now surrounds
Grid lock in peak hours always found
Am glad I no longer live in that surround
Living for the country air that I can breath’From the rat race I have taken my leave’
I wonder if all the computer systems failed
‘How many in the cities would survive bad Sil
(GE2014)(C) Reserved
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
This silence
Blaring
Between us
Within us
Is piercing
Into me
My heart
A thousand shattered pieces
Each reflecting mercilessly
The emptiness
Clear as day
I couldn't pretend
There's nowhere to hide
This is finally the end
This silence
Tells more than any words ever could
That there is nothing
Nothing left to say
To make you change your mind.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Oh yes mediating meditating medicating
Over blue baby guitbox
Tea and black Afghan
Remembering again
Old friend
Oh yass yass (imaginary drawl)
Memories come back stronger
I ask Sil 'hey Sil there a word for that?'
She stares back with icy eyes
(Steel blue) As if to say 'Why ask?'
And in asking this really asking
Wherefore and other trite inanities
Fleeting requiem distractions
Tired repeat eulogies
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
tchaikovsky's violin is so emo --- no,
it's sylvan undone, or
it's sylvia plath in
the hot seat
this isn't me being cheeky
-as if my jowl were up against that cold oven rack-
it's, obviously, me acting out, me being difficult, me wanting your
attention
ahem
i once got off to her in the school library bathroom stall
her Words
were hands that day
and i came unrequited blackberry skies
i sometimes wonder if
she hadn't realized, just then, how silly it all reallytruly was
and that -that- realization was a place she could, finally,
get to
and
in the sudden rush to pin it down with chikoffskii violins that wept syntax tor,
she bumped her head upon attempting to get out
and she was
going
to sing
i mean really sing
for you
too
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Time Passes
I get a reminder email
Who from whom I regale
Some poetry website
Reminding me that I used to write
As I look at the date of that work
How is it possible it was so long ago
Where did the time go
Was I too busy to put words to pen
Or what else has taken my Zen
To share what talent I do have
In relating what I know of life
Even if it cuts like a knife
Where have those years gone
When my light so brightly shone
Having lost three friends to cancer
I wonder what is the answer
Should I not acknowledge their pain
For I am the one who does remain
Their lives were my beacon of hope
Each providing a different point of view
Of how a life well lived can affect so many
Never asking for nary a penny
And with a tear in my eye
I look upward to the sky
Hoping to catch a glimpse of
Ian, Warren and Sil
It is a tough pill
To swallow their loss
One that I cannot easily toss
And with that thought in mind
I do not want to be blind
To the blessing that they were
For me and those they knew
And for helping me as I grew
Andreas Simic
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 9:40 AM UTC
Oh, That my heart could t h r u m
out a morse. code.
to my mind
so my eyes could
tear moistly, or WriNkle at the e d g e of humour
my ears resonating with
peals of lau g h t e r
or
reeling sil e n c e s
so my hand could reach
and pick the l o w h a n g i n g
fruit
from my brainstem
mouth to sample
the f l a v o u r/
and toss the bottled message
a l o n g the vein to my thrumming
.heart
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
ess eye ell ell why
i feel sil-ly
really really silly.
ess eye ell ell why.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
don't pull the plug
from the power source to my life
keeping me alive
making the single dot of light
that is me
go out...
Now all is black
and I ponder
silently in the dark
wishing,
wondering,
waiting,
for my dreams to come true.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
A few things which give me immense peace and happiness:-
1)Seeing a smile on the face of my parents
2)Being able to help someone
3)Reading
4)Writing
5)Watching sunsets
6)Giving shelter to pigeons on my window sil and window ledge
7)Going to bed at night,with the knowledge that i have done at least one good deed in the entire day
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC