Best Deadening Poems
I stay close to the ocean.
Its wild waters surround me,
And the thundering waves
Rant and rave around me.
I see the leviathan,
Screaming at me,
Charging feral,
Like an enraged beast.
It snarls at me.
It howls and yells.
In its deadening roar
In its pouncing gait
In its sweeping rush
In its pounding thud
I hear the wail of a banshee,
Announcing death.
I become so small.
I become so powerless.
A helpless doe,
Before a mighty foe.
At another time
The sea lies quiet like a babe.
Its violent tantrums lulled to sleep.
Its bosom heaving in peaceful slumber.
Its rhythmic beat, its magic, and the charm,
Its depth and beauty all combined.
I see the gulls in the air.
I hear them squeal.
I feel the waves over the sand,
Lapping around my feet.
I listen to their murmur and shout.
I glance at dolphins over the surf.
I watch them dance.
I behold ships over the waters.
I see them glide.
I hear the night air sing.
I feel the spray of water,
And sense its coolness,
I notice seashells,
Half buried under the sand,
I pick one from the strand,
To tie it around my neck,
As an amulet,
With the ceaseless whisper of waves
And the sea’s undying commotion
Shut and encased within!
I stood amidst the maddening crowds
drowned in cries of disarray....
Something about this gentle captive
Encouraged me to stay.
Through the crimson rivets flowing
his eyes they pulsed with love.
And through the swarming sea of fists
His gaze was cast above.
They kicked him down, with every lunge
a vicious spite fuelled taunt...
They marched their prey atop the hill
to torture kill and flaunt.
I braved the writhing mass of spite
as i was in his debt i felt.
I shuddered at his broken form
every open wound and welt.
His mouth grimaced in sheer torment
as nails were driven to his wrists.
Blood thickened on the sun scorched sand
trickling from his tight clenched fists.
They mounted him on the cross
As he was raised for all to see.
Anger toiled deep in my heart
as the high priests howled in glee.
All silenced by his final cry
his broken chords in lamentation.
He wailed unto the heavenly Father
The God of our creation....
Father God forgive them.. for they know not
what they do ...
Love was spilt from the beams that bore
The man so pure ... so true ..
And as he hung his deadening glare
which faded in affection..
Death had lost its mighty sting
as he awaited resurrection.
and thus that thing….
it came again….creeping
……..creeping
………ever creeping
whispering……
……..“what if”
……..”what if”……
………“what if….
…….it’s not good enough”
winged shadows of doubt
………….hovering dissention
….creeping…..
…….across the page
….challenging
……the pen
…..hissing
….”what if…..what if”…
…..nobody reads it….
cold shapeless clouds
…..creeping
…..creeping..
…..deadening the sky
….growling….
……in the belly of fear
…..growling…
…….…...you are not good enough….
….the doubts
…..the creeping
….doubts
…….were right….
……..so sits…….
……….a pencil
……..broken….
by the endless….
…..ever creeping
…..trembling hands
….of doubt….
John G. Lawless
1/20/2017
The sky turned stygian grey, violent winds blew.
From above, tears of liquid grief poured down.
Flood waters rose, pressure got built under the soil.
The earth erupted with rocks and buildings,
Coming down with a deadening sound, not once
But thrice in the wee hours of the night.
After the day’s hard toil, those who lay down to sleep,
Were swept away without a moment’s notice.
Two populous villages with hundreds of houses,
And public buildings vanished out of sight in seconds!
A landslide of horrendous magnitude came,
Shrieking like a fiendish banshee....
Sweeping away habitations and the belongings.
In the place of lush green vegetation and towering trees,
Nothing remains but a heap of rocks, stones and debris.
Their voices are forever stilled, their dreams, shattered,
Those who survived the tragedy face the greatest trauma.
With sobbing hearts and a vacant stare, they search,
For the dear ones missing, a grief hard to bear.
The sight of pet dogs sniffing for their masters
Under the slush and debris is so heartrending!
***** ***** ***** ****** *****
After two days, the pouring rain stopped, the sky became clear
Now the earth lies in dreadful silence like a graveyard.
The rubble lies heaped where homes and buildings once stood
Help is pouring in from all quarters of the country.
The initial shock has begun to wear away as reality has set in.
The dreadful numbness gives way as grief takes hold
People sober up from the initial shock and get ready
To have a foothold, knowing well that long nights are ahead.
Reeling minds with no balance, now regain some equilibrium.
With cautious steps through the ruins, they plod with resilience.
The affected people and volunteers work in unity,
To regain what has been lost, though it is a herculean task,
To darn and repair the torn land to make it fit for living.
Man has an ability to sober up and emerge like phoenix,
From the pit of ashes, healing, mending and finding his way.
September came in like a sombre whirlwind,
Eclipsing the deadening blossoms of summer.
Pallid moonlight coats glistening frost,
That coats the last strands of grass holding on.
Embers of a pagan pyre swirl through the air,
Mass ritualistic hymns ring across realms,
Breaching otherworldly barriers,
Evoking sacred cosmic rites,
Resurrecting scattered souls.
Falling bodies collapse to the slaughter,
As one soul is given in exchange for another.
Loss begets loss;
Lightning suddenly surges through the skies,
Signalling completion of an unholy ritual.
100 miles
It's pretty far
Feels like a loss
Not far by car
But Too far for a rock to toss
The deadening silence of your voice
Slices to my core, it's a salty wound
Made worse by your choice
I see your smile everywhere I roam
Its sincerity demolishes my pain
It convinces me that I'm home
Every minute I wish to see it again
when it's gone the hurt returns
And this feeling grows stronger
Feeling my heart, I feel it, it burns
Can't take this pain, how much longer?
Wish I could present you with a gift
Not something to make your heart rift
Something like a basket of oranges
My love language speaks gifts and time
Much different than yours is
Like an impossible rhyme
Too difficult to have faith for long
Everything our so-called god lets go wrong
Like a cut rope, tying it back, not as strong
That same fear of a loss will continue
Throughout the ages
How many times do i place my faith in you?
I fear ending up just one of your pages
How could he allow it to happen?
I swear he's terrible
Faithfully followed and obeyed
To me, he’s horrible
Too hard to have faith in my class
People say he works in a mysterious way
He’s more like a kid with a magnifying glass
On an ant that can't run away
I may be just sad
I may be just mad
I may just go back
To the day I had
You all to myself
God gave me that day
And you know what they say...
It's better to have loved and lost
-F*ck that!
He's the one that took you away
Too hard to find trust in god
Even Joseph Smith couldn't erase this heart
Like a stranger, you just give a nod
I don't know him since he tore us apart
I'll probably see you again someday
Only when it's my moment to shine
Faith is too hard to have today
Till then ill sit here and whine
Streaks of pallid moonlight
wash over blood-stained
burnt umber leaf blight.
Glistening stainless steel remains
within wilting noir roses
and blistered blades of grass.
Sickening hands shake my repose,
heart racing, sure to collapse,
feeling faint.
A revolting nausea elevates,
trying to find restraint,
as madness deregulates.
A heart separated
from a lifeless corpse—
death awaits.
Flashbacks play like static reports,
too hard to get a clear picture.
Splashes of splattered red fill
spaces in between scriptures.
Screaming echoes spill,
dirty visions getting clearer,
as the sacrificial lamb
becomes the predator, evaporating fear.
Fighting for the blade, fingers clammy,
spinning out of control.
How could you bring me to this?
Steel cuts against palms, foretold—
splatters of crimson spray, don't resist,
covering fear-filled eyes.
One last-ditch effort:
grab the hilt and arise.
On this deadening night, collect.
You became Samhain’s sacrifice,
a feast for the demonic nether, sanctified.
If the magic of the now eludes us,
it signals we are as yet fast asleep
and caught in a mind trap, dark fears nonplus,
deadening our sentience to love's bliss beep.
Ignorance borne of stupor is our sin,
whose roots lie in attachment to this form,
so to exit trance, the way to begin,
is to manifest within, a bliss storm.
Looking at thought forms as objects abstract,
our soul's nonchalant eye and tranquil heart,
disallows these images to distract
our focus to make bliss ignition start.
Befriending the void, we make it our home,
our consciousness aligned with gong of Om.
Our consciousness aligned with gong of Om,
ever present silence becomes the norm,
whence following scent of love, we so roam,
choosing with past beliefs, not to conform.
No sooner we relinquish our thought crutch,
shining as pure awareness, self-aware,
we imbibe clear wisdom, simply by touch,
as with love and light, our head and heart pair.
Soul’s choice to discard each and every ism,
enables heart to focus on our role,
which is to ignite the mind-body prism,
filling it with God’s light, scriptures extol.
As we can see, there’s nothing to be done;
our Self is living light, like yonder sun.
Our Self is living light, like yonder sun
and we see this clearly, when thoughts recede,
knowing now that as we so come undone,
we’re always complete, when love takes the lead.
The table is laid for bliss readymade,
if we but choose to trust the ways of God
and assigning love no grade, gently wade
in a sea of love that leaves our heart awed.
The path is easy and not difficult,
so dear souls, let us now embrace the truth,
lighting lamp of love, rejecting each cult,
beholding our true Self, here now forsooth.
Get ye, oh hermit, aboard God's bliss bus,
if the magic of the now eludes us.
Strangers undulating with rhythmic ease
Igniting the air with ecstasy
While lights flash in spectacular colour
Hot breath creates an intensity
Of steam rising up through delirious sound;
While damp, red silk caresses my skin
Sweat beading on my baking skin
As I slip through the spaces with practiced ease
I am captured by the rapturous sound
Of collective want and ecstasy
Immersed in a world of fevered intensity
Exchanging black and white for oblivious colour
Feeling the music radiate wild colour
As I slide across his skin
His gaze, unmasking my passion and intensity,
Holds me with confident ease
Contact sparking transfixing ecstasy
Our words are lost in booming sound
The vibrations of his voice, a captivating sound
My eyes temporarily blinded by colour
I am clothed in a shiver of ecstasy
As his breath strokes my skin
Pulled together with incredible ease
By impetuous desire’s intensity
Our breath shallow, we move with intensity
Lost in overwhelming sound
Moving together with unfamiliar ease
Overtaken by scent, sensation and colour
Passion radiates from our skin
Building in agonizing ecstasy
The particles between us electric with ecstasy
The pumping music loses its intensity
As we lose the barriers between our skins
Touching with breathless sound
I feel the rising heat and colour
As our lips come together with ease
Our touching skin deadening all external sound
In the intensity of dark-lit colour
Our passionate ecstasy gives way to comforting ease
As modern Christians, we overlook
the meaning and purpose of Good Friday,
when Christ was crucified on a dreary day...
to bear our sins on His shoulder.
From the Via Dolorosa to distant Golgotha
too heavy and painful was the wooden cross
He carried through the streets of Jerusalem
as people spitted on Him and laughed;
and with deep sadness and pity:
Jesus told the weeping women...
not to cry for him but for their children.
And one of them wiped the blood off
His pale face with a soft cloth...
to comfort Him in His final hours.
The mocking and laughter continued at the gate,
as Simon of Cyrene was ordered to carry the cross
to Calvary and before nine o' clock...
Jesus faced an excruciating crucifixion
by the Romans soldiers who had
the sharpest nails for his hands and feet;
and Jesus words loudly spoken in the Temple echoed again
in that afternoon getting cloudy and dark,
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who murdered
the Prophets..." But the wickedness of the crowds
was too extreme to understand their despicable deed.
And there crucified as an impostor,
He cried out to His Father, " Eli, Eli...lama sabachthani?"
There was no answer...only a deadening silence had prevailed.
But Jesus trusting in Him whispered," Father, into your
hands I commit my spirit." And in saying so He expired.
Soon after there was a powerful earthquake strong enough to shake
the Temple's foundations...day became night
as everyone ran downhill so terrified.
The astonished centurion, witnessing the horrifying event,
exclaimed," Surely He was the Son of God!"
Like good Christians, we must remember the long and agonizing hours
of Christ passion and death...oh, how precious
was the divine blood He spilled to redeem us!
And as He was resurrected, so we'll be resurrected by the trumpets!
Florence McLane
1889 – 1902
Psst… over here!
My toppled tombstone is the one
With the somber seraph carrying a cross.
My grave is the one that no one can see or find.
My hidden final resting place is in the digesting shade
By the willowy walnut tree.
Can you find me?
Olly olly oxen free!
Do you see me?
Will you now hear me?
I breathed my days on Pasadena Street
Inside the little white house with the horseshoe over the door.
I slept my nights under the stars
With dreams and visions and intense remembrances.
My cross to bear bore no semblance
To the old bloody rugged one
Borne by my Lord and Savior to Golgotha.
To my friends and foes,
Dead now for a multitude of minutes.
I sought no pain or revenge.
But your closed eyes never noticed
My own bloody cumbersome cross.
Never truly noticed the tiny ray of pure light
Deep, deep inside my singed soul.
Enveloped and masticated alive
By the deadening darkness of the faithless.
My final words to you all:
Olly olly oxen Free!
- By Olongapoet
Are those dragon scales, your reason’s hides?
That I’d need St.George’s lance to pierce thru.
Need I look for angry Odin’s lost eye?
To see through thy cynicism’s Stygian depths?
Why does the sweet ambrosia of my offerings,
Seem mediocre for your Asgardian gratitude?
I’m not too far away in this Olympian plane,
For mine eyes be blind to thy splenetic attitude.
There is no Trojan Horse in all that I bring,
And thou art no Helen my lovely dear.
Thou won’t launch mere thousands of ships,
It would be as countless as stars yet unnamed.
Why couldn’t my Persian barrage of gaiety,
Wither your Spartan recalcitrance away,
In this Thermopylean joust of wits,
And humourless tragic Greek play?
Is this task in all means Sisyphean,
The taming of your boulder heart,
That I couldn’t bring to a pedestal mount,
For oft it runs back to the ground?
Would it take a persuasion of Homeric scale,
To convince you of my pure intentions?
Am I an eternal Pygmalion whose efforts,
Means nothing to a Galatea forever a stone?
Even Apollo’s chariot is dimmed and tempered,
When I squint my eyes in perplexity and sweat,
In untying thy senses’ Gordian knot,
And slaying thy labyrinthine mind’s Minotaur.
I don’t have Midas’ touch to turn golden,
That stony and cold disposition.
Nor I in a siren’s voice soothe and calm,
The deadening intensity of thy inquisition.
gods damn it…
I only need thee to brace thyself,
And wait for all love’s arrow to fly true,
To quiver tremulously, finally,
Upon thy hard chest.
So thou might look up,
And see upon mine bloodied hands,
a worn bow.
While Cupid long after my relief,
Of his draining, Herculean task,
lies jaded,
Wheezing upon the ground…
Compassion does abound in this modern world we live
Where animal and man return ones love to give
An element we all do fear could have taken all their lives
But this was not the day, that fate could contrive
To enter a burning building where their lives take second best
Training and their bravery, a heroes form of zest
Within these darkened realms, aflame and spewing of smoke
Any life that's spared, we deprive the smoking choke
For outside this smouldering building lies a bundle of stirring rags
Blackened canine features, their lives in deadening flag
Whilst alone on the sidewalk a hero sits in thought
Despair hits his heart in helpless strained distraught
His head in his hands now lifted, stirred by whining sounds
Towards him walks the mother, he turns in total astound
Leaning down to pet her, compassion fills his eyes
She licks his face to thank him, all saved and so alive
hostile,
pungent,
nasty,
&
redefining the art of having a
chip on his shoulder
he marches through the last specks of his burnt out existence
telling us all how we should live our lives
(spouting his rotting “wisdom” at everyone he sees)
while
regretting
so very much of his
own---
with wrinkled ancient skin
flabby & sagging
dark blue veins popping out
just beneath the surface of his
decrepit self
lost in the deadening reflection of the polluted river he kneels by
wondering why his wife left him
wondering why he can’t get it up anymore
the dirty homophobe walking on the college school grounds
trying to flirt with young girls
trying to remember what it was like
when he could smell the roses
but
now
all
the
roses
have
wilted
& he can’t get past the fact that things are changing
that things have changed
and he’s lost in the moment
of really being scared,
terrified in the corner
flipping out with his pathetic attempts at wit
condemning us all to the hell he clenches on to
he has to believe that it exists
because it’s the only
justice
left for him
but with the reality that his
superannuated ideas
just don’t
cut
the
mustard
anymore---
trying to pelt us with his cane
trying to keep free from the rain
and yet all the voices in his brain
don’t allow him any peace from the pain
which really fuels all of this
disdain
and
narcissistic need for death to come
sooner than later
and some will say he is no longer loved
and some will wonder just how he got to where he is
and some will see that what he has become is simply
unsavory
and it’s just better to walk away when he enters the room
but
i have no sympathy for such bitterness
i have no sympathy for laziness that comes with self-pity
and
waiting for that clock to tick that last tick
i’m walking down a narrow street in st. petersburg
looking for
raskolnikov
cause’ i got this old bastard’s number in my hand
and his time is up
i think we’ve had enough
i’ll polish the candelabra for my young friend
hell, i’ll sharpen his axe,
and stand watch, outside the bastard’s building
ready to alert him
if anyone catches onto our
“dastardly deed.”
Delightfully dancing delicate doppio,
twirling the twisted turns.
Staccato steps, softly sublime
Reaching rich rapture.
Pausing, pondering performance parameters
Considering critical, controversial clash
Taking time to tackle the tearful troupe
Before breaking buoyant babble
Wizen words, woefully wrapped,
delivered. Deadening delirious delight.
Seeking solace; silent sobs slip softly.