Best Deadness Poems
Yes, the moon is dead,
Yes the sun is but a ball of gas and fire,
billions of stars, other moons
and other planets all the same.
Yes,
but what if all that deadness
were a living universe of you
reflected upon a sightless eye
that only looks outward?
We are not alone, we never were.
We are the living lights,
we are the known and unknown.
We are the never dead.
What we consider alien
is the very elemental construct
of an infinite reality
always blossoming,
while our eyes seek
alien Gods or demons
elsewhere,
everywhere but within the living.
The flowers are blooming
along with the trees
and the sweet smell of blossoms
are blown in the breeze
The warm winds that blow
shake the new little leaves
where the ice and the snow
once had their freeze
It's Springtime again
and its beauty is grand
though it may not remain
long o're this land
But while it is here
it awakens the earth
giving winters cold deadness
a glorious rebirth
Be happy my friends
and sing with great cheer!
Let all hearts be thankful
for Springtime is here!
Written Spring 1978
I hate the essence of you
Killing I shall not do
I will have babies a many
Teaching them my hate
Tutor them to swing the sword
You shall be beheaded
Bloody and red
Better of dead
Soon to be
I will stare into your begging eyes
As you gasp a last breath
I shall spit upon your fears
Whispering see me? I see you die
Feel my hate, the hotness of hell upon you
Your deadness I shall kick into the desert sand
There, people shall see your suffering and loss
As we dance in joy, hate is our fiesta, our raison d’etre
We love, we love to hate, if feeds us like black cancer
Now maybe your tribe shall return
You shall seek justice
Punishment
You wish to prevent my hate, the bloodshed abate
Go ahead try
Kill my babies
All of them
I shall make more, many more
My lust for hate shall create more human venom
I will fill them with the wine of my bitterness
Eternity shall be the circle... bête noir
Killing and suffering
Let all the babies die
Mine and yours
I must win, and taunt you
Hatred shall burn open the gates of hell
One day.my dream was shattered
You tossed a bouquet of flowers
At my Child's feet
He looked me in the eye
The sword passed through my soul
In shock and disbelief
As blood fed my grave
My hate faded
My life faded
My dreams died
Nothing mattered any more
My child lifted his sword
With his tongue he licked my blood
Tears became a monsoon, drowning his heart
He fell to my breast, and murmured
Dear parent
The hate must stop
I one day will dream of a child
Whom I promise you dear parent
I shall love him far more
Than I hate my enemy
I love you
I know I’m going to die
It’s just a matter of time
Till my body catches up
With my state of mind
When the deadness of my heart
Will make its beating still
When my mind just shuts down
Almost against my will
When every living fiber
Like my soul gives up the fight
When my body finally slips
Into that endless night
The blood coursing through my veins
Is slowing down its race
There is that tinge of death
That's reflected on my face
Shutting down every function
My body is giving in
Sensing there's no desire
The battle of life to win
It's clear all of my tissues
Have finally come to see
That there is no breath of love
That can give life back to me
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The ballade of life....
I strum to its tune on my electronic guitar.
The tune of it goes softly....
The sound travelling afar.
It awakens gods angels...
As their harps play along.
It even awakens the devil
And the hells fires burning so strong.
A waltzing a dancing....
The beat pacing up with each strum..
Even the devil sits and bangs along
To the tune on his drum.
The ballade of life I softly play on my electronic guitar
Awakening all of the living...
And even the deadness of graves...
A travelling so far....
By Anna Sabrina Tate 13th June 2017.
Post Mortem
Did you hear them sing dirge:
When the world comes crashing down on me,
Did you hear those voices across the divide?
A cacophony of tormented brain
All dead and moldy like forgotten bread,
Dust to dust,
Ashes to ashes;
Their lives begin to wan
As ashes from their burning hemp bush
That is just about what it is,
Their lives nailed with needle and shot away
And all the dark sores,
Spun a tangles tale of million arms
When this madness finally settle like death,
And after all the soaring
High up like a bird,
After all the falling, sprawling supine
And whimpering, eyes dilating,
Groaning like tired door
After all the hours in the back-rooms,
Of walking nights In dark corner streets
Of knives that flash deviance
To stark-eyes victims
The spiting cough from over laboured guns,
All for propitiation for the spirits
Of their consuming gods, After all of these
Someone still got his addict soaking brain splash
Out to foul the air
A tormented, yet a nice sleep.
Then commence that shout across the divide,
Help! Liberate this soul from
That which diminishes
From this quagmire, the deadness;
Of imprison moments.
And that is just all
With tip of match sticks
They measured out their life
And got filled up their nostrils
Exploded into the abyss
And a dirge: when the world comes Crashing down on me.
Lord,
freedom I seek in life.
Freedom from religious war,
Freedom from self centered restlessness,
Freedom from self destruction within,
Freedom from spiritual deadness,
From guilt, discipline; and unbridle ambition.
Discipline is such a dirty word fouled.
It brings image of pains and self-denial.
Make me fly in joyous flight,
Run to the beach without the care of the world;
Without the care of what is behind me after all.
Let the wind carry me above principalities,
Let me soar higher like the birds in an endless world.
Though the bird's high in flight is not free from the
Law of nature but they are enjoy free of displines.
Freedom to be who I am made to be in life,
Freedom to explore like the Eagle not a fowl.
The freedom to stand tall and look at the sun
And send it back door within a minute in a day.
The freedom to excel in life among my peers.
Just a piece of freedom when the air is suffocating,
When the milky moon is blank and could not feel.
Freedom I seek to redefine the man in me,
The thought of the me in me terrify my being.
I wrestle not with you just as Jacob did yesterday,
My plea is of genuity and love to conquer.
Freedom I seek over wealth and riches of the world.
Through the eyes of the earth watch I sanity,
Through freedom shall the righteous call be made.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Neglecting spouse
on tempting lover
lavished
champagne and roses
luxury car... caviars
blue pearls on satin
perfumed embracing
on burning sands
of passion
on meadows bed
asleep in arms
of vices
deadness hidden
by green
of wrapping vines
like tree
when dead twice
night of heat
turned ice
from corpse
in horror
running
weightless will
untrained to resist
sucked in by vacuum
despairing in
God's mercy
immersed in pride
to pay unpaid bill
Love required
on its descent to fire
looked up to see
resplendent more
than sun
The Spouse
springtime of ages
reflecting in her gaze
opening gate
of Paradise
her smile
divine
then shutting.
Sixth Place Winner: Brian Strand-No 1240 Unplaced-9/2/23
sometimes staring at a wordless emptiness of white
hesitant fingers hover over keys like a fox ears over snow
It's there reflecting in time's vibration smelling of salt and tar
Lines twisted taut by steady wind firmly anchored at full sail
Lights flash erratically through shouldering smoldering clouds
Then thrusting forward on the turn of running tide
Anchor lines severed as one by two well swung axes
Left to float loose like yacht club moorings
As the ship heels and dances over slower whitecaps
Free as a hunting hawk and just as deadly
Sometimes the rawness of aggressive creativity has fingers tip on wrong keys
twisting wording and thought lines in frantic search for continuity.
Sometimes she wallows on following seas bilges sloshing in frustration
as the helm sluggishly stubbornly refuses to obey
Other times the winds die and fog consumes all thoughts in clammy clutch of cold deadness
Where in hell is that damned coffee?
another human’s art
affects directly---it
drills down into the core,
lifts up from inside,
inspires behind the eyes,
burns away the tears,
creates tears of smiles
when a deadness & a
numbness was though to be
all that remained,
stirs up a group of angry
folks into compassion,
riles up the stagnant &
supposed hopeless into fury,
relates one to another,
stops time to involve only
sentiment & experience in
memory, communicates
where nothing else shed
understanding, gives a
soundtrack when imprisoned---
a resistance of the heart
that can defeat all those
who did the locking up,
sings each of us into that
final deep sleep when the
flat line finally arrives &
ushers in the next generation
accidentally, like a spark
from a friction fire stick
burrowing into the
tinder.
Dead works...
sown to profit with grandiose worth
midst carnal motives of utilitarian gain
lurking in the guise of selfless sacrifice
yet awaiting futility's harvest...
Woe unto me, and my vain effort!
Dead faith...
persists to please the Almighty
while vanquishing lingering angst
guilty conscience inflicts
in overcoming challenges
for mankind's advancement
yet gaining no spiritual merit...
Pity me, and my well-being!
Dead to sin...
as adversary keeps on mocking
for hell's condemnation due to iniquities
gripped with pride along covetous cravings
yet seeking redemption through divine grace and mercy...
Oh God, quicken me, and my soul!
Dead to self...
now conquered by the Saviour's love
strives to reach-out with kindness, sharing peace, compassion, hope
challenging deadness' venom with reverberating
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
But thanks be to God, which giveth us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."*
*1Corinthians 15:55-57
August 28, 2019
Edited on September 27, 2023
1st place, "Mocking the dead" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 9/29/2023
it is Mothers’ Day
and all they wanted is a flower
for their mother but guards
will not accept flowers in the facility
maybe a card with a word or two may do
to tell her how much they love her
there’s nothing much to add
except to say they miss her
she has been away for decades now
birthdays weddings have come and gone
many births and deaths came and left
without a word from her
and they too have grown up
without her a deadness around their lives
maybe a card with a word or two
can tell her how they wished
she were at the window peeping
to see them sleeping nicely
Protest everywhere in the fighting streets
Applauding with erected fingers call
Gypsy dancing in all the fighting fleets
Feeling beyond any doubt could change all
Stancing and whooping with numbness hooray
Without fulfillment re-satisfying
Social order in total disarray
Faces are turning, never stop crying
Yowling fierce, until the deadness excites
Tis the fire, that is say, the jubilee
Fuels the all screeching spirited lights
Thinking upon the way things it should be
In the end, the challenges they shall face
Won't run away, but instead they shall chase
Beneath blossoming, neat rows
Spring thoughtfully seeds
Once inchoate, now transformed
Were they visible, naked.
Coaxed or neglected
Into more important things --
Their outgrowth substantial
And beating, alive.
A pounding or downpour,
The influence prized
Insomuch as it aided
Propagation. Spread.
The seeds, so once tiny,
Their outgrowths majestic.
A flowering of ideas
Sprout from little, buried thoughts.
You get on your knees
To try getting at them.
You think that their sources
Matter most, hold the souls?
And as you dig deeper
You murder my flora
And leave me a bed
Of deadness and dirt.
You're killing my garden!
Yet a death temporary:
There are plenty of seed packs
For purchase and taking.
I witness their death
Until nothing's left dying.
You expire malnourished --
Then shall I begin.
Hate me, but for goodness sake
Don’t be indifferent
At least hate is a testament
To my power over you…
A warped and deranged compliment
To my importance…
For it takes passion to hate
And none at all to be
Indifferent
Hate me…but for goodness sake
Don’t be indifferent
Yell at me, spill out your anger
In vehement words
That wound and burn
I will use it as balm for my soul
Instead of being fed
The poison of your indifferent
Silence
Hate me…but for goodness sake
Don’t be indifferent
For what is hate
But a step beyond love?
Rejection's retaliation
Self Preservation's warning call to hide
From a power too great
Too strong
Too deep
Too life threatening
But what is indifference but
The inability to be loved
To care
To hurt
To want
To desire
To feel
It is nothing but the passionless state of
Love’s deadness
Hate me, but for goodness sake
Don’t be indifferent
I will welcome that hate
For I know that it belies
A love in pain….
A love still alive…
Yes, hate me…
And in your hate
I will find the secret
To make you love me again.
Eileen Manassian Ghali