Best Deaf Mute Poems
She came back like she said she would.
Great grandma was not a typical ghost
She was a kindred spirit guiding for good
Just when we needed her the most
She saved a life by invading a dream
Until uncle was woke and went to search
How she did it from beyond a mystery
Like a bible story from church
She insisted that he get the baby
That she was very ill and could die
Even though he thought it crazy
He took action from his bedside
Across town baby was found
A deaf mute she was you see
Also brown so hospital around
Took her straight to surgery
The infant child's appendix burst
And her sleeping family didn’t know
What pain the babe must have hurt
That grandma’s ghost came and told.
Now this story is true that I tell you
But there is no fear on my face
For this ghost was grandma so true
Full of love joy and grace a ghost with lace.
*This really happened in my family in Charlotte, NC and the babe who was saved has the scar from surgery till this day. The then colored hospital site was Good Samaritan Hospital. Now it is the site for the Carolina Panther Football Stadium. Great grannie’s name is Mary McGee and she was seen by another aunt as a bright light playing peek a boo as that aunt was then a tot. McGee had always told her kids she would visit one day beyond her grave. I am Mary McGee's great granddaughter.
10/16/2021 WRITTEN FOR GHOST LACE CONTEST
SPONSOR Chantelle Ann Cook
There's a reason by my rhymes, but the angles acute,
Read inside of the lines, I'm only heard by the deaf-mute
The dead truth, is questionable you ask me for a fable
I'll let you respond to your self, see if your mind is able
'Cause Cain and Able, solved the first problem with violence
Violence will always be an option, until the devil is silenced
Let the violins, string on but there's never gonna be peace
We're missing a piece, unity is what we need at the least
Let the beat, roll on so you can vibe out in your zone
Let it provide you with privacy, so in the beat you're alone
And know, that inside of the beat is a million thoughts galore
Walking into those thoughts, is like opening up a locked door
You clocked war, within time the battlefield will immense
You're in the mind of a writer, and the war is intense
In past tense, it was hard but you made it and you slayed it
You knocked on a writers mind, so the writer portrayed it
In A Writer's Mind, you see through the Earth's core
In A Writer's Mind, you boil the lava and you destroy
In A Writer's Mind, you're a warrior in an innocent frame
In A Writer's Mind, you turn the alphabet insane
Brought back from the world of fantasies
By the 8’o clock warning device
Raised up undesirably at a lazy pace
Retrieving the welcoming hateful whole day race.
Jaded by the whole day lecture and ruined by assignments
Projects got to be compiled and pending PPTs
Next week’s above mentioned tasks
The lecturer did a job on my weekend plans.
Beetling of from the blue mind
On the way back paid for a RS pint
The evening amiability
Then changed my midday adhor.
Desirous roomie on my glass
Extended my evening all to night.
Budget hashed out and yet a penny left
Contribution counted to three
Held back for the late-night hour,
Program scheduled just after dinner.
Prepared nuts and crisped chicken
Horror flick lappy screen and encircled auditory sensation
Filtered flake lit up and welcoming the upcoming
Pollyannaish mood.
Three ready glasses and poured down first small pegs
Mixed with soda and measured cold drinks
Awaited Cheer up, is now appraised.
Valueless gabs and college couple scandals
Tittle-tattle few lectures and against soul mate’s lambasts.
Last sip downed
And the empty glasses quashed.
A bit stronger second and third
And the time seems to date-back.
Bulge out blushed eyes and orbing love stain bed
Latent hostility and fags myriad.
Enthroned activities
Except time none to put an end.
Deaf-mute fourth and last
Heedful sore past
Lonesome few moments and
Unenviably brought back.
A maudlin reverie expression
To see the past back to present
If matters could be deepened
Would endure the malign again.
Roused up from blues and faced the benighted
Sleety mezzanine and beetle-browed breeze
Yet stood placidly
To face the agony.
Mere empty thoughts
And faded memories
Seemed to calve a baseless spirit.
A sudden wink,
Out from the world of miasmas
To a reining state –
Caught up with existing faith
A new time ignited.
Bibulous state and duple images –
A feel to fly
And uncivilly liberty,
Did a moment time
An unexpected eternity.
The night to welcome the dawn
And unwished obscurity nap
Impermanent few hours of morning
Lasted till…….
Retrieving once again the hateful whole day race.
You see just behind that sight there's nothing
you can't see, you can't look, you are blind.
and just beyond that sound you can't hear,
not a snap, not a whisper, or a chime (deaf and blind)
and when all your secrets are told you can't talk
no sound, no wind, no words, (deaf, mute, blind)
and just past that chill up your spine you can't feel
no emotion, no sensation, nothings real.
some people say when you die you will see,
but others say it's a version of hell,
that you go to when you try to see too far past your realm.
inulgence, self righteousness, worship, and kill.
so that you make and feel what you choose to be real.
some call it sweeping dust under the rug.
others call them skeletons in your closet.
but they'll soon catch up with you
if you do or don't want it
cause karma's got it's own clock of vengence lists
and kid, you're on it.
Silk scarved words; silver lined apocalypse-
A distant stars regret will not ever
Surmount rash amounts of emotion, this
Disgusting leak of Heart, preyed on. Never
To match sunstroked day breaking; wint'ry
Fragments protrude strangely from corpse smiles
Which speak speak drifting incantations with me,
A deaf mute, caged by the shine of your eyes.
Traversing a circle of little Death,
A cycle of red and blues: cardiac
Arrest of the sweetest sortings; now to mesh
Touch with sultry glances that counteract
Vocal chords on the offensive. Nothing
Beyond other's whispers, not worth hearing.
"Silver Lining"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith
(Disclaimer: I could not find a correct, per-se, form to put this under. The rhyme scheme and syllable counting match Shakespearean Sonnets, but I would consider this more of a 'Free Verse' Sonnet. As there was no proper category for me to submit this under, and I do not want readers to believe I am submitting wrong or falsely promoting my work.)
you can have your Mr Sorbo,
men about, i doesn't dream,
but that big dark girl in sandal's
who wields a sword so mean,
could get a deaf mute Camel,
to utter words obscene,
mind games hey baby doll,
no one comes here in between.
Don :(
The bars of my cell are fastened together with the loud barks of combatant's screaming dimwitted noise.
Discouraging whips scar my will, leaving seared brands of indignation, attempting to disrupt my poise.
Plagued by thoughts of being 'freed', becoming a slave to the wallowing whines of emotional boys.
But escape from this prison of censoring will be the only way my words I can fully and freely employ.
This is what it has become, the majority rules even if they are fools in search of something to alleviate their pain
The primitive verbiage selected has infected the beautiful dialect poets once protected even in mitts of being slain.
The dumb lead the blind, the blind lead the deaf and the deaf mute the truth-Sayers; calling them insane.
Talents and time is wasted for the hopes of being accepted by the mob with it's self imposed mask of compromise and shame.
Resented for the refusal of the acceptance of the blatant deception that has construed the greatest minds of our day.
Minds are swayed not by logic but the acceptance of fallacies brilliantly constructed for the weak to silently slay.
Leagues of terrified voices leave the obvious, humble truth inaudible; vocally gagged, tied up and hidden away.
But rue will blanket the day when truth is released for it's wrath will be justified; leaving their debt fully paid.
But till then let this lyric be the breath that fills your exhausted lungs; inhaling the courage to carry on.
Lighting the glorious flame damped by the deceitful words that doubt and fear harmoniously sung.
May these word spark, and electrify your creative minds; resurrecting the beat of your poetic heart.
Jolting life to your unique, unadulterated poem worthy of nothing less than a glorious depart.
She seeks Mr. Right
Someone who’s simply awesome
A strong, intelligent man
Tall dark and handsome
A King or a Prince
Healthy wealthy and wise
A good conversationalist
With come to bed eyes
Generous to a fault
Patient and kind
Devotedly attentive
And domestically inclined
A constant companion
A lover and a friend
A man of substance
On whom she can depend
But if a man seeks a woman
Then a deaf-mute, with no sense of smell,
Large breasted nymphomaniac
Contortionist would suit well
She had to use sign language being she was born a deaf mute; but when she showed him her homemade heart all was understood.
4-5-18
God … Is The Greatest Poet of All
God … Is The Greatest Poet
God, Speaks … And Leaves Us In Awe
… Astounded and Author-Devoted ! …
Yea … We are Humbled and Thunderstruck
and Sublimely Mesmerized
on His Sacred Utterances … We Have Drunk
like Raindrops of Soft-Mercy-Cries …
… While Angels, Sing in Quicksilver-Skies
Even His Son, is Called: ‘ The Word ’ and Wise ( John 1: 1 )
and Every Will and Syllable, and Vowel, Which Rise
… Begins, with Wondrous Words, ‘ He ’ Vocalized
And His Words, Are Strict-Forms and Bright-Joy-Colors
or Sometimes, Warnings in Stark Black and White
Yet … Articulated in Glorious Auras
from He, Who Called, The Darkness … Night ( Gen. 1: 5 )
from ‘ He ’, Who Said: ‘ Let There Be Light ’ ( Gen. 1: 3 )
‘ He ’, Who Orated, Birds in Sun-Flight
‘ He ’, Who Orated Sounds, So Right
Spoke Words, Worthy of ‘The Copywrite’ …
… Like, ‘ Let Us Make Man In Our Image ’ … ( Gen. 1: 26 )
… and Humans, have been Echoing, Ever Since
For His Words Are More Than Vintage
They Are Epitome of Love and Law-Sentence
… Yea … We Emerged from God’s Epiphany
We Should Recite, What He Spoke First
in Such Beauteous, Lilting-Poetry …
… God, Spoke Forth ‘ The Universe ’ ! … ( Gen. 1: 1 )
… Called, The Dry Land, Earth ( Gen. 1: 10 )
Called, The Waters … Seas ( Gen. 1: 10 )
Pronounced Eve, Mother of Birth ( Gen. 3: 16 )
(tho’ She Stole at Speech-Trees) ( Gen. 3: 6, 13 )
Yea … God Called Forth, Flashes and Flowers
and The Breath of Life and Swarms of Honey-Bees
And with Dynamic, Inspiration Power ! …
God … Even Called Forth … me
… and You, and You, and Your Voice Too ! ( John 3: 16 & John 10: 16 )
And Refreshing-Dew and Dawns, Brand-New
And The Rare-Edition – Chosen Few ( Matt. 7: 14 & Matt. 22: 14 )
… Each Bound-Volume, Ringing, Amen-True ! ( Rev. 14: 5 )
Yea … God, Is The Greatest Poet of Them All !
So, Let Us Catch Each Poem-Pearl, in Free-Fall
and Collect Them and Gather Graciously, as They Call
to Conjugate and Climb O’er, Deaf-Mute-Stanza Walls
… to Applaud, The Greatest Poet, Ever and All …
Morality and self-fulfillment
attainable without belief in God
similarly yours truly
would figuratively crane
his credulity to ascertain Ichabod
mentioned in first Book of Samuel
as purported son of Phinehas,
I reject entire Biblical text,
and prefer to remain sacrilegious
eschewing faith no more,
(cuz doctrinaire versus
epistemological paradigm)
disagreeable, thus essentially
resigning yours truly
as token scapegoat gussied
up as heretical nimrod
metaphorically winkin blinkin
nonverbally giving nod
even if deaf mute blatherskite
reduced in one sentence as an odd
ditty, I spout gibberish
while travelling finite orbitz,
whereby one metrical foot
in front of thee other hide doth plod
me along tried and
true value schlemiel totally slipshod
thru and through,
though no po' tightwad!
Growing up amidst paternal
skeptical and cynical dad
in retrospect, I feel moral less glad
to avoid orthodox precepts
foisted when juiced a wee lad,
who peculiarly enough
resembled Alfred E. Neuman
if only yours truly
a figment of imagination,
rather than experiencing being sad
sack these days purposelessly
shuffling within ma rented pad
i.e. one bedroom apartment
listening to spouse more'n tad
annoying if oft times
knows exactly what childlike behavior
finds me getting stark raving mad.
Familiarity breeds contempt,
and the missus (unlike other gals)
unconditionally accepts her sir
vile counterpart (me) unkempt,
where neither of us
once upon a time dreamt
that each the other
would survive foreign attempt
to pledge troth (courtesy
justice of the peace
also known as
Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson of Lower Merion
nsync with fame of Kobe Bryant
Verizon router won't connect to internet blues
(alternately titled: ma bell heave hubble
telecommunications gone south).
Best sung courtesy rotten dull liver:red worst
after words which, I gotta quench mine thirst
whereby think Botox lips zipped and pursed
hence impossible linkedin mission Mary Jane
and Buster Brown kisser darn it result socked
hermetically resigned, resealed and cursed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Atheistic credo fuels (fossil)
jeremiad ordaining undevout
finds me cybersurfing phishing
for poetic effort to tout
March sixth tooth house sand twenty two
presents reasonable rhyming lit writ scout
herewith risk averse longfellow
on his figurative er... route
along information superhighway.
Netizen (generic and garden variety) Cain
not, nor able to don virtualtourist Lausanne
guise, nor Kiev hen twitter among Ukraine
literati earlier today (aforementioned date)
afflicting me courtesy GMO webbed strain
iambic phantom metered node hissing drain
analogous to evaporating Lake Pontchartrain.
Cuz unwitting byte size complicit accessory ghost
haunts micro electronic components machine most
culpable, feasible, n invisible Internet Protocol host
laryngeal mucous phlegm wreaks (think) burnt toast
esophageal acid reflux analogous metaphor, I post
downplaying feeling any reason to rhyme or boast
spun words masterly sharecropped along east coast.
CHORUS:
verse one:
Now, I gotta cure dem rascally misbehavin
data packets between computer blues,
cuz internet fixation yaw truly craven
lobbying scattershot spewing colorful hell raisin
lingo (awk curse) strung expletive epithets
extraordinary Luddite across cyberspace will lose.
verse two:
Hence dial up local kindergartner to troubleshoot
while he/she whistles Mozart's The Magic Flute
or visit nearest zoo to hire nasty, and shortish brute
critical electronic hardware, cuz aye got absolute
zero ability and even less legal tender slangy loot
thus Internet loper feel handicapped as deaf mute
unable to hear auld Donald trumpeting slo vac toot.
I do salute your Irish gall. 'You' have the balls, I should say,
Among Western hens that lie down false super-cocks to obey.
Let them cluck, wear beards, have moustache to pretend they, too, are men.
'You' and the likes of 'you', Lady, mold the future peace today.
Let others think of their bellies and what they have beneath them,
Rise and fall as dust motes in winds and be happy with their way.
Let them pop up as heated corns for the blue-eyed, blond-haired folks
And ignore the dark-featured souls now as they did yesterday,
Shamelessly choose to be deaf-mute when their lands invade others,
And blind to their own 'legal' crimes, impudently turn away,†
But for the others' invasion of a land their fusses rise
To the heaven's seventh region. A black man's a castaway.
We should rage against the liars of the West till they go gray
And their old hypocrites' empire reaches its fated decay.
March 12, 2022
* Lady Clare Daly is a member of the European Parliament
† From 248 military operations in the world from 1948 to 2001, 201 cases (%81) have been initiated by the USA.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=TfyeJSfGrnw
No comments, please!
Did you ever read
the hope in folks' eyes
when they worship?
It's like watching
the homeless
wait in line
for some pea soup!
I see that hope
as gigantic
as a big base drum
being drummed by
the deaf mute
who plays it
feeling its sound.
I hear that hope
in the low
of the cow
who runs to the farmer
as he feeds her.
Hope in worship
happily comes from
the desire to be
close with God
like we'll be
for eternity.
SKB
Why me father/daughter relationship
important to this papa
Fourteen and a half years
since death of mother (mine),
nary one iota of communication
in general and compassion
in particular while
she lived, now wears
heavy and yokes
mantle fostering tears
indirectly sabotaging rapport
with eldest daughter
futility doth arise uttering
feeble secular prayers,
cuz interaction with mother,
whose vehemence more
deafening than banshee killdeers
exceeding threshold of
decibels tolerable these ears.
Now comeuppance came
full family circle, yes
that's her within picture frame,
when young, innocent, and beautiful,
decades before terminal
illness rendered her
incapacitated and lame.
Her second of
three born offspring,
and yours truly
that singular boy
figuratively tethered himself
to her apron strings,
which near omnipotent
biochemical bond her
rancor would destroy,
when lonesome son
failed to employ
purported adult responsibilities
solitary without any
even one homeboy
never knowing how
to maximize potential
rather totally tubular at loss
advantageously to deploy
supposed ducks in a row
always imp pond
durable feeling cast ahoy
shore lee within alien nation,
whereby village people
observe an exceptionally
unresponsive immovable
lad - qua zee decoy
analogous to stonewall,
albeit socially withdrawn
emotionally, physically,
and socially retracting
exhibiting no joy,
nor any audible,
tactile or visible life
stockstill like an
abandoned broken toy.
Silence spoke volumes mainly
I don't wanna be alive
antithetical to that basic
instinct to survive
protestations arose deliberately
minus figurative parachute,
I took kamikaze nosedive
a couple years after two times five
orbitz astride planet Earth
ne'er did amity, comity,
fraternity ever jive,
nope not even pleasant hello
would fake deaf/mute contrive
interaction between kith and kin
affection toward parents
and siblings (two sisters,
not twisted) I did deprive,
whence fast forward decades later,
a metaphorical wedge would drive
roughshod o'er kinship,
when fatherhood did arrive
though "star student" did connive
him (me) to test discomfort zones,
yet more often than not inclusive
integration abandoned among
linkedin with kindling explosive
smoldering volcano found
wicked volatility expressive.