"voicelessness" poems
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
20.6k
Truth enamored of itself...based upon
the forever following.
Flow's entrails--the
seven circuit labyrinth pends the
recollection that yielded it.
Thus, the unsound voice pouring
voicelessness.
Minotaur's digestive sound bite.
Where Once, as only Once allotted
the victor of Truth.
As told, as held...now confounds
with a self-fabricating prophesier,
profaning all telling.
Disconsolate swipes of emotion
make and remake the barren.
Pray tell the lessening visage of thee,
where by and by shall deem thee
bygone.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
I know this woman well
from the curl of days
each day I write
a love letter to life
I strive to allow anything as
it is unfolds emerges
aliveness deadness blindness
foolishness fright ignite
the gloaming of thought
the expiration date for
the hade of dreams
I welcome every pain with a smile,
white hair and a glass of wine
this kind of love nested
in the voicelessness
of uncanny zoons
hues tunes lagoons
in the silence of soles
when you step so carrefully
not to disturb the unformed truths
pain love, neighbours
in the flow of synonyms
they taught myself to me -
the density of ribs
the depth of skin
the electricity of muscles
the tautology of heart
the logorrhea of thought
the temptation of beauty
moon is to blame
it hid its unforseen tales
inside the blueprints of
songs under the skin
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
And know that these streets are irresponsible,
and that you are too. And that no matter
how bright your eyes and headlamps may be
you will always find something you didn’t
see before. Life will always be throwing at you
curveballs. And car insurance. And the ungainly heft
of police officers leering in lustily at the watch on your
wrist and the hollowed, hungry eyes of your companion.
Do not answer them, I beg of you, when they ask
you too for your name and your father's,
for they truly care not to hear
its sound. They only want to add to the noise -
continue living beneath its dins. Not after money but the
fear, the control that from you stem. Now, yes
I may be over-exaggerating (after all, it was but one
slight dent in the bumper of the car, but
there is no exaggeration to the voicelessness of they
who queued before me, no companions guiding them,
no voices shouting for them.) He, they, there, by the streets,
only has in his hands a car horn. And so he honks.
And so the siren wails. And so the chaos reigns.
And so do they - officers - living silently beneath it all,
urging us onward to yelling and screaming and shouting.
And yet we can’t. And we don’t. And we won’t.
And yet they, for all their damages, do not - scratch,
refuse not - to do so.
They only can look down at the pavement,
dotted yellow, black and white dashed.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
§
Voices may be silenced,
heads may be severed.
Hearts may be infected,
and overwhelmed by hatred.
But love can never be overwhelmed.
Love can be censored, and enslaved,
and deranged, and mismanaged,
but never fully eliminated.
I would slash out at the fascists,
fire shots into the face of the tyrants,
but my arm has atrophied,
my eyes have glazed over,
my vision has dimmed to shadows.
If it were not for the love
I myself have already spread,
and for the love I carry, like a perfect parasite
clinging to my essence, like a loving tick,
I would already have quit.
If I could shout out my anger,
if I could give voice to the voicelessness
I would.
But all I have the energy to do
is to simply state,
that while my words do not ring out
from the shadows like they once did,
I am still here watching, and one day I will speak again.
I kiss and curse, and caress and slash, and sing for and spit at, all of you.
I love all of you.
I need some time alone, to refocus
my art, to stoke my anger, and distill my love.
I am stepping away,
for now,
but I will not run away,
I will return.
We live on through memories,
whether our own, or others.
Your memories linger upon my senses,
even as I pen these lines.
Even If I wanted to, I could
not, would not leave.
Calling what I feel for you
love,
is just applying a symbol
to something that is too powerful
to be defined.
My feeling for you all...
it transcends.
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
.
Beams of light are entering shyly
into the darkness through
dungeon bars
Carried from the bridge are resounding
Screams and chains and wailing cries
Confined prisoners the defiant
The suffering paying their price
The walls are echoing
With whispers of the final prayer
Falling down the tears of blood
Frightened by the ferrous tide
And the Infinity’s deadly voicelessness
Perished the wholesome
the innocent the hungry
Against the injustice to rebel
To their children bid farewell
For the freedom of their children
when they drew
that final breath
Drawing close the final moments, my life
May you never forget
That moment of horrid death
The innocent could not object
The prison drowned
in tempestuous sea
Immersed the dungeons
in sharp water entirely
To pieces scattered victims hearts
Bodies and souls torn apart
With a screaming cry
Heavens let out a painful sigh
Saša Milivojev in Venice
9.11.2012.
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
www.sasamilivojev.com
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 7:14 PM UTC
Remember the headrest—muted
and pasted to your arms.
How it felt to smother in voicelessness.
Remember hair stains, decade-weary leather.
Remember the revolutions around ourselves.
Remember as inky sky purples from sunlight;
Confront the oppressive curls of memory.
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
the worst part is that tightness in my throat
all the voices i ever was, shredded and stored in my voice box
the worst part is that there's no place to scream
no place, that allows that impropriety, without being deemed insane
when it's the sanest thing to do.
the worst part is that there are no words
that fit the messy ins and outs, smooth passages and hard ridges,
the worst part is that the tears come less staged,
they aren't for the reflection of some adolescent sorrow, a figment of what pain could be
the worst part is that it's real
not a commercial for voicelessness but finally the real thing
the worst part is, I can't speak anymore,
the worst part is, those shredded voices are all the worst parts of all the strangers I've come to be.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
this is the loudest of all your silences
and to allow you to thrive and thieve
the moment from beginning to end
is a tremendous task.
to let you pullulate from the first letter
up until the (exalted) last, to permit
you to brood and intrude like a stranger
abounding the train at midnight and
a shadow alight in the next, aching stop,
to watch you move and regret your
motionlessness as i hunt for a trace
of movements in the last room that
you have been in and to desire you
still in the following room
only to find that the voicelessness
in all of the world is the loudest
of all the silences.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
good morning
good afternoon
good evening
good night
all across the sea
always remember
the poem inside of you
can change the world
it's time to express
it's time to share
it's time to speak for
the voice of voicelessness
thank you for your contribution
the almighty God will bless you
starting from here to there
blessings blessings blessings
Jean C Bertrand
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC