"unhearing" poems
I haven’t written you
poems in days,
and I feel as if
my bones are going
to break, with
all the soul I carry
within my chest
I miss you.
harder than you
would’ve thought
even when I shouldn’t
even when I haven’t gone
even when I have kept
you within the confines
of this prison cell,
held back by
a bony cage of ribs
I miss you.
and I do not know what to do
with my hands, because
you are the only thing
they want
is you, is you, is you
– it has always been
my life has always been defined
by your person, and it
has been built around you
missing you comes like
the cold gust of a November wind
…like the way coffee smells at three
in the morning, warm and comforting
but never, never enough
and missing you is like the way
my voice breaks when I tell you
i love all of you to
unhearing, useless ears
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
the reticent bard sits,
strung on a fence.
his fear of leaping
one side or t'other
has given him a sore ***
he's sat there for years.
his songs, sung to the birds
of the field, fly softly through
the air.
and not a one hears him
and not a one cares,
the reticent bard reflects
his contemplation lost
to an audience unhearing
the birds of the field,
hearing his sighs,
wing their flight
to places unknown.
our dear bard,
in solitude laments
his yearning
the reticent bard has forgotten
the majestic ministration of words.
that mysterious music
which sings into the air,
and returns magic,
far and near.
--bruised orange
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
I long for things that I cannot possibly express.
I am like a blind girl, running headfirst down a hill, trying to see the light through wide but unseeing eyes. I'll run through the world, but I can't see whats right in front of me.
I am like a deaf girl, sitting quietly with beautiful headphones on my ears. I can imagine what might be coming from them, but what do you imagine sound to seem like in unhearing ears?
I am like a mute girl, reading black ink off the creamy pages of a book, but I can never speak them. Their tones fall flat and lifeless without a voice to say them.
So the darkness and the silence press in on me and I fear I am unable to speak the key to my longing.
Trapped by desire, I long for wondrous things.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 7:07 PM UTC
the reticent bard sits,
strung on a fence.
his fear of leaping
one side or t'other
has given him a sore ***
he's sat there for years.
his songs, sung to the birds
of the field, fly softly through
the air.
and not a one hears him
and not a one cares,
the reticent bard reflects
his contemplation lost
to an audience unhearing
the birds of the field,
hearing his sighs,
wing their flight
to places unknown.
our dear bard,
in solitude laments
his yearning
the reticent bard has forgotten
the majestic ministration of words.
that mysterious music
which sings into the air,
and returns magic,
far and near.
--bruised orange
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 9:06 PM UTC
Standing here in the present of peers is "love"
The word
the knife
the fool
the deceiver
A tyrant filled to the brim with good intentions
Only to leave confusion and chaos in it's wake
The accused pleads no wrongdoings
But evidence proves otherwise
The dying heart
The unhearing ear
The voiceless pain
The witnesses to the marauder that disguises itself within a word
Here stands "love"
Charged with extortion
Robbery
Vandalism
Assault
Crimes of passion
But crimes nonetheless
Claiming it's victims with a poison in the thorns of a rose
The shiv made from a pen
Slicing through their better judgement and sanity
Here stands "love"
Barely containable
Roaring, foaming at the mouth
A twisted creature unrecognizable behind it's mask
A mask of a word that abounded in wonder and grace
That was ripped from it's seams in a world of horrors
Here stands "love"
We the jury find the defendant....
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
How do I always love more
Than I am loved in return?
My best friend, who can't even
Look me in the eye
And can't bear
To speak to me in public
And won't tell me why.
The mother, who can't
Even really love at all
Consumed in her past
Her silver hairs and loss of grace
She feels so bad for herself
I don't know what to feel for her.
The father, my childhood idol
My companion --
But now that's done
As soon as I became a woman,
All I am is "not son --"
Not quite what he wanted
Not the physicist to take his place.
My brother, ADHD
Incapable of having a conversation
Or keeping friends
Or understanding kindness
Supported in everything by
His father.
The world, unfeeling
Trees, unseeing
Wind, unhearing --
I love them all
Even my stupid hamster
Who I save from her own
Suicide attempts --
She will only bite me, but
I hold her more than I hold any
Living human
Close to my beating heart
Because her teeth are not as sharp
As the silence
On the other end of the phone.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Too much noise, too much misery;
Fake beauty, false flattery;
Feigned tears, faint hearts;
Mock presents, dainty pasts.
Too much singing, too much song;
Far too empty, too wrong.
Too regular, too feminine;
Too much constancy seen.
Too insincere, too blind;
Too raucous to one’s mind.
Unhearing, unloving;
Unknowing, unseeing.
Inconsistent, ravaged, savage;
Not aware of youth and age.
Not knowing sins are fatal;
Not knowing worlds call chaos.
Not seeing lives are mortal;
Not seeing value, nor loss.
Too defined, too thin, too fair;
No curious touch nor flair;
Not jubilant, nor merciful;
Not knowing arts are plentiful.
Not voice, nor titles, nor vice;
Not pictures, nor pride, nor lies.
Too soothing, too tedious;
Too apparent, too obvious;
Too gracious, too grainless;
Not an emblem of happiness;
Not distinctive, nor charming;
Not distinguished, nor loving.
Too engaged, too dim, too forgetful;
Too separate, too disgraceful;
Too priceless, too sensuous;
No realness is to them, wondrous;
Too unbecoming, too wishful;
Too known, too gay, too sinful.
Too delighted, but evil to me;
Those boasting beauties of thee;
I am not part, nor flesh of thine;
I live with the voice in my mind;
I love in silence, in seclusion;
Only mirth salves my delusion;
Too sparkling, but mean still;
Unknowing towards those I feel;
I cannot be, nor shall I be;
I shall not place my soul in thee;
Thy voice remaineth loved still;
But to love thee, I never will.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Her silver watch glints at me
So smugly, and cherry red bracelets
Shake from the proximity to
Those hands. Hands that move
Like jack rabbits on hot
Asphalt, like bubbles popping
In grease: she's snapping those
Sticks up and down, in and out.
Wrists and fingers are all the
Rhythm and rhyme I need.
She keeps time effortlessly.
The snap, the tap, the beat
Deep-seated in her soul, the music
Buzzing in her unhearing ears
Swallows me whole. I'm just
A shell caught in the tide
Of her swells and the trough
Bottoms out when she
Stops, slamming her hand to make the
Steel rim POP. Like a witch-
Doctor she casts a spell and
Though now she is gone,
I am bound still.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 3:33 PM UTC
This sea is non-believing, filaments unhearing. So, magic in hand, i become tremors in the waves, rust in the walls.
Doll snatcher, let me down.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Let me put you into words,
let me rhyme you into feelings.
With each breath that passes by
I seek you, stay into my life;
etch you into my dreams,
carve you into my eyes.
I reflect you into my soul,
and ecstasy is all I find.
Let me put you into words,
let me rhyme you into feelings.
Let me touch you without my hands
and dive into your spirit.
Let me bleed through your feelings
and tear apart the pain.
For, our love is sensual,
unaware of the conscience.
It's chaste as a bride,
waiting to be explored throughout mortality
My existence is aware of you.
Your absence is aware of me.
Ignoring the mob, unhearing the babble,
crossing the mountains, beside a river,
our love will rest in peace.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
I flung my screams over the gunwhale
Into the unhearing sea
And lowered my anchor, weighted
with an ignominious plea:
Just as a single dark wave
Costs the vessel its course,
So did my evanescent joy
cost me you;
Even the riverbank is changed
minutely by its waters,
and so my life alters
with you
The storm stirs wildly,
but sobers, from thence
coming ashore
and so does my spirit for
you
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
A plane of faces turned upside down,
Somewhere along the trail to the Underworld.
The long corridor stretches indefinitely,
Torches spread sparsely along the walls.
The spiraling stairs push deeper on.
“Do not look back, he said
Do not looked back!” He thought.
Terror struck, for he remembered clearly
the lessons the hushed voice had taught.
A grief struck chord plucked from within,
As his sobs began to form.
“Oh, the fool I am!” He cried,
“Why could I have not held my gaze,
Held my vision steadfast
To the closing morning rays?”
As he reached the bottom,
He readied his lyre
And stuck strings in frenzy dire.
Rounding the corner to the banks of flowing Styx,
He saw the same creatures he once tricked.
Determined eyes and sure hands,
He struck the chords at the essence of man.
But this time the creatures lining the Styx,
Were not so surely bewitched.
They closed nearer, vicious growls upon their lips.
Back met stone, an exit long gone.
“The song had always worked,” cried the desperate man, words falling on unhearing ears.
Yes, his tune had always worked,
But not twice tonight.
To mortal love you have given your life,
For you cannot fool Pluto twice.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
Beneath my vision it weeps to be released
but is a prisoner behind pearly gates, the
key never within reach. Teased in essence
of breath,but incoherent on the whimsical
yearnings that is evading it timely release.
Screams fall as gestures on inanimate thoughts,
but these wonderings are a façade of what
features imitate to release. But even palms on
an unforgiving throat, throttling the necessity
to release upon unhearing perceptions.
Silence is a virtue of unconditional control,
It yearns just one outcast verbal uttering.
But all is withheld in the abysmal threshold
of suffocation. To gesture a word upon the
world is erratic in its oblivious wanting's.
But still it deflowers its being, as what resides
is rendered useless in the palms of its predecessor.
And silent screams venture in tears as they collide
with this appendage of its prison, flickering in
Movement as if tears were spoken then stillness.
What are screams of silence but fear not worthy
of expulsion, but a tether of a mind consummated
what is now writhing in over whelming ecstasy.
Trapped in utter oblivion never to be rendered in
Vocal liberation but to stay forever inhibited within.
"I am silence,
"I am what is unheard,
"But all will hear my deafening,
"Though not uttered my features will expel,
"And all will read my silence,
"Even though no syllable is uttered censorship are my words,
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
"Wind is like breathing" he says to her,
"Like our very breath this wind it is",
Her eyes hold magic deep within their sparkle,
To him, she breathes life,
Her voice as a soft gentle rain,
His a deep rolling distant thunder,
Some deep spell is lingering here,
With a sparkling trail of stars between them,
Wishing stars they are,
In a night world that whispers darkest dreams,
To their brightness,
They stealth away into an unhearing inky night,
Winds blow strong in her heart,
Stirring these stars,
Turning them into dust,
She breathes deep,
Her wind calls him by name,
Calls him to dance,
Somewhere in night, a cry rises,
Catching stars unaware,
They blink and dance
Now wind stirs echoing their cry,
Into their eyes,
As they breathe,
Ripples of wind like water,
Drench their crystal forms,
As they breathe themselves into night sky,
Wasted wishes fall,
Like a cry,
Into an empty dark night,
Rain begins softly falling,
On her hair then down her face,
Wrapping her in power,
Of thunder and lightning filling her night,
her skin in blue reflected flashing,
While she restlessly breathes,
Winds begin to howl,
To sing of rain under these stars,
Breathing a breath connected,
Becoming wind, becoming rain,
Turning stars, those empty stars,
As their breath turns them to dust.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
There is a man
I notice sometimes
From classroom windows
Across the school
Who rides a raging
Metallic beast
With a razor reach
And craving for cuts
Of grass that never stops growing,
He’s soaked in a midday sun
Peeking around a sea in the sky
Dotted with whispers of white,
And drenched in his thoughts
As the hum of the engine
Shrugs off the blurred haze
Of traffic close by,
And he ponders:
“Does this grass feel pain?”
As his blade sweeps away
The shagged green fingers,
For sometimes among
The clean straights he trims
And behind the static of
Mindless television too late at night
He imagines the grass
Sprung from the ground
To be himself,
Lost among a crowd,
Nothing more than a hint of color
In some dizzying hue,
A hair on the Earth
No one would care to lose,
And while he sighs
Once every week or so
And shifts into gear
The lawn to be turned slick
And shiny,
Well kept
By some unsung hero,
The subtle acknowledgements
Chime in hushed admiration
To his unhearing ears.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
it is a small thing
like sand in my shoe
this grief that wears
away my soul
but it is there always
in small moments
of wanting
in words lost to the
unhearing ear
in laughter that echos
thin in empty air
i still see you everywhere
but you are a year gone
from here...
your scent fades upon
your clothes....
your voice dims within
my mind.....
but your kindness remains
forever stitched within
my heart...
and your smile, before
my eyes,
it is a small thing
this grief within
my soul...
like sand in my shoes
both pleasant and wearing
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
No god ever spoke to me.
Not because I never tried!
There were times I cried
And begged to hear a word.
Nothing seemed to be heard.
There was no imperious voice
With avoiding not being a choice.
There was no burning bush;
Nor gentle or heavy push
One direction or the other.
It remained for me to get together
With some paid hack with a book
Who preferred not to look at me
Because he wanted to deal with
Easier sins than I could offer
Then, I was to add to his coffer
For rebuilding his den of thieves
But that couldn't relieve my worry
Or my problems. Maybe the Muslims
Could chant from their book of mysteries.
But no, I had already read their history
And large hunks of their sacred poems.
I recognize double-talk when I see them.
I got plenty of that in my upbringing.
I can still hear the songs they were singing
About eyes on sparrows and loving
But the poor are still naked and dying.
The poor are all nationalities and colors
And they lay in the gutters together
As the godly brothers pass; spit at them
And demand they get up and move away
And take their misery to another doorway.
I, the unhearing, could find no endearing
Reason to put on costumes and dance
To some four thousand year old romance
About gypsies and witches promising
To keep on doing what I was doing
And I would see the kingdom of heaven
Or maybe even six or seven, to suit belief.
Meanwhile here I am on this reef, at sea
With no deity to talk to me and explain
Why none of the miracles remain today
But have been washed away by time.
Or did they ever really exist at all?
Me? I’m still awaiting that divine call;
For my schefflera to catch on fire, or
To receive from god a Western Union wire.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
There are thoughts that become questions in every mind.
Some must remain thoughts.
Others are spoken, but not for all to hear.
Such thoughts can be enlightened to the receptive.
Or simply noise to the unhearing.
There is always the postilion where no driver is there to speak.
No ears to hear
Just a lone traveller
Alone with their thoughts
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
crows feeding loudly in maiden hay field
in the noon sun
such a dark sound these creatures
such a ancient place they call to in the heart
'no good has ever come from this'
he recites to his unhearing heart
as he moves into the field
seeking the towering oak tree in the far corner
along the broken teeth of the field-stone wall
seeking the solace of the cool shade
and this feast of crows he must scatter
he must reap now that the devil has sown
must gather unto god
what man cast down in this dark place
this noon day sun of perils
this godless place with its ****** of crows
he shouts a prayer as he treads near the tree
to scatter these spawn of darkness
they take to wing
there in the shadows he finds the mans corpse
the plague had claimed him
madness of its fever had lead him here
so here he will be buried
by the village priest
taking up the shovel he digs a rough narrow hole
and covers the corpse
carrying the shovel and the plague back to his village
so it came to this quiet european town
so the black death spreads
so the plague destroyed europe
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
as the long coated tall man digressed
a spinning coin became her translucent globe
permitting a time stretch until a decision was made
the rhythm of spinning
arched her doubts
to a half smiling one armed body
that could pick it up remotely but promptly
in public space
an alluring method of an actress knowing the stage
unhearing unseeing her spectators
while permeating the act through their matter
this last adorably nonchalant grin
hanging the mouth half up and half down
spilled the words: ‘so this one is for me then!’
when the long coated man loomed
she was already holding it firm in her right palm
extraneous blushing thoughts with a long narrative
of giving it back
raised thousand rehearsals as polluted air
in shorter than a minute of turning the head to fixate
and dissipated
before the trash could handle the reforming flush
I reached out for her help
with my puppetheadedness
come on I said what is 20 cents
preserve it to recycle for my lucky star at least
she, relieved nodded
and placed the coin in a front section of her whistling memory
which finally today tinkled and jingled a street musician’s ultroneous hat!
:)
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
"Oh you people," I call to the living
"Why do you lament so"
"There comes evil, it is thriving"
you answered, though
I think good may be hiding
so I'll search to and fro
"Oh you people," I call to the living
"Watch now as I go,"
"I'll find the good you're craving,
under earth, sea or snow,"
"I'll return to end your crying,
this I swear I know"
"Oh you people," I call to the living
as I search near and far
my journey is not ending
at what I thought was par
"But I made a promise I am keeping,"
I said to no one there
"Oh you people!" I call to the living
"I know not where I am!"
I said it was you I'm saving,
But I am lost, a sham
But you are far away, unhearing
Out here I am a lonely man
"Oh you people!" I call to the living
but you never hear my plight
yet what is that I'm seeing?
In the distance is a light
Now my hopes are ever freeing
a smile is my right
"Oh you people!" I call to the living
"I have found what you may seek!"
"There is good here, I have found it!"
"Though now I am old and weak!"
They hear me, their faces lit
they hear me as I speak
"Oh you people," I call to the living
as they come seeking water and bread
"thank you," they call through the building
their towers high and red
Finally done is my purpose
I find peace once I lie dead.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
heartbreak hotel
sisters chapel
she slithers her hand into his
desperately clinging
spine goes breaking
adrenaline bursting
heartbeat shaking
her blue eyes unseemly, his
her smile aflutter
a place familiar
of saturated lies
ridden, desperate
and clinging
her fate masked not seeing
for she
lays on a graveyard
haunted, unhearing
hurting but not speaking
praying for a
lovers hotel
n.b.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 8:22 AM UTC
My mind runs empty
for the words that I
wish to whisper
into you unhearing ears
Yet, I do not need
words to give you
comfort in your nights
when your enemy is your mind
I only need to hold you
with the tremble of
my calloused fingertips
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
||||||
"""" """"
0
-------
•
the sun has set
Will the DREAM that is the World
Expose the dreamers to the
Wrath of the MAN ?
//
the long waterfall !
In the mountains in sheltered seclusion
It has been plundered
Death is everywhere
••
The sun has set
///
We ask:
WILL THE ALIENS COME AND SAVE US ?
WILL A GOD APPEAR ?
///
Will a lover come and can I **** my way into heaven
and slip away from Reality ?
••
The sun has set
The human race is gone
/////
Will I have the courage to evolve unto
The New Version ?
Will the DREAM that is the world
Reveal the Sanctuary
Where True Lovers dwell ?
////
I hear the crazed and lost children screaming
I AM BROKEN ! So BROKEN !
into an unhearing wind
///
The sun has set
••
Everyone stands quietly
And sees dead whales float up onto the shore
///
We hold each other 's hand
We cannot look each other in the eye
////
Love -- like a tuning fork -- reverberates
But we stand rigid and resisting
Looking for something else
////
Will the DREAM that is the World
Die out ?
•
I think a little moment of decision is at hand
//
If you would love me you must know me
///
The sun has set
And we are here
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC