Best Impassive Poems
Nor thunder in the dark, nor flash, nor fire,
nor other pyrotechnics that, they say,
accompany all such events, nor dire
phantasmagorias, going astray
in the unconsciousness. I’m all alone
down by the river which impassive face
turns gold with dusk. The other side is grown
with willows. A bit cloudy; a quick trace
of water striders, playing tag; a heron,
hiding among the reeds; a leaky boat;
an empty planked footway. But where is Charon?
The obol I have brought for him to float
me far away lies on the riverbed:
the tricky death as usual misled.
05/14/2019
Favourite Poem from May, 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Sometimes quotes are all that we leave behind... quote by poet
I told them I'm tired now
time stands still a casual acquaintance without breaths
death is not gracious just an unfaithful companion
sorrowful sombre soul slumbers
bound to uncharted waters I'm drowning..
loyal morning birds chant mournful melodies on repeat
strumming to heartbeats
mishmash medley of images reverberate repeatedly
regretful reminders
leave an emptiness behind
echoes float like ghosts..
I can hear a billion souls but I'm deaf free from those
bitter and remorseful ignorant uncultured
without realisation of words unspoken
what could have been should have been but was not
it's too late regret is an unfaithful belief
loved ones stare upon my grave shivers and silence
anguish and grief pain and relief
I'm paralysed
unable to rise
to wipe their tears and fears..
craving to have one more chance to make amends
to express my emotions to show greater devotion
it's too late nothing is immortal love we share only a memory
in times when my scent reappears smile that I existed
love with all of your heart..
I was never lost never found
misunderstanding led to impassive pretending
I became too preoccupied building walls
they failed to overcome and conquer
yet I was no fortress..
legacies left behind reveal with time
words written words unwritten surreptitious or controversial
unimportant for remembrance die with me
maybe grim reaper will listen...
invert & impassive,
moon reflective like.. shadow"
taste blossom; copper chablis..
“Le lacrime del Cuore”
As the tears faithfully fall on cedar wood
A chaotic still thru sacerdotal sky where it stood
And blood rapidly runs down on cypress veins
Where the palpitating pine sadly shows its pains
The birds of prey perched perfectly passive
As the heart hinders to their words impassive
Nazarene nails reveal their tenacious teeth
And the sands of sorrow bellow underneath
A bludgeoned body from east to west
As the wounded wood is gently blessed
The heavens hibernate with clouds of grey
To meaningfully mourn this degenerative day
The cryptical cross now stands surreal
For a King is crowned with thorns that seal.
(March.24.2016)...June.6.2016
Jesus Contest
By Anthony Slausen
*Author's note. This one was inspired by some lovely yet sad pics by the artist destinyblue. This was very sad and emotional for me to write. Here's the pics that inspired this. Hope you enjoy the poem.
http://t01.deviantart.net/PT4gysSpsSUExkUce60aKwsl3Ps=/300x200/filters:fixed_height(100,100):origin()/pre03/49a7/th/pre/i/2012/292/f/4/behind_the_smile_____by_destinyblue-d5ibfov.jpg
http://t06.deviantart.net/OR87RThVOWvGdS2hbtAXGDJeVmI=/300x200/filters:fixed_height(100,100):origin()/pre02/50ab/th/pre/i/2012/197/4/6/i__m_fine___lineart_by_destinyblue-d4yvarw.jpg
http://destinyblue.deviantart.com/art/Depression-534485738
What do we see when we look at people?
Oft times people say seeing is believing
Yet what they see most is but a mask
A stoic impassive face, seemingly emotionless
A gentle smile that doesn't reach the eyes
A quiet gentle voice saying I'm okay
We oft take these at face value
And believe the lie of the mask
But what would happen I wonder
If we were to dig a little deeper
And watch a little longer
What I have seen too oft
As I've searched a little deeper
Is a lonely heart beneath
The exterior mask they wear
They might be saying "I'm alright"
In a quiet tender voice.
Yet as I've watched them carefully
I've seen a trembling hand.
The mask hides our deepest hurts
And our most bitter memories.
They say on the outside "I'm okay."
When inside they're saying "Save me."
Tis the world that teaches us
To hide behind the mask
Boys are told while very young
“Big boys don’t cry”,
“Crying is weakness”,
Girls are told while still a child
“Crying is manipulative”,
“Don’t cry, they’ll laugh at you”
What we most fear as little ones
Is the mocking jests and jeers
Of the people around us
We learn to keep our tears inside
And say within ourselves in pain
“Maybe tomorrow will be a better day”
Thus we see the sad tale
Of a world filled with people
Being taught to wear
The mask of loneliness
I pray that we may have the eyes to see
Beneath that cheerful mask
And see that lonely soul inside
That needs a friend, a kind word spoken
And that we may have the ears to hear
The painful cries of the soul beneath
When they say the words “I’m fine.”
Virtues of reverent past no longer rhyme
With sense of now rushing through time
As troubled voice shudders in forlorn sigh
While remnants of yore earnestly decry
Vigor of life passing by, smiles gone awry,
Powerless to console tribulations of outcry.
Bankrupt of morality, of goodwill sublime,
Arresting freedoms, restricting path of life,
Streets and communities riddled in crime,
Echo bawl of grief, wailing indignance rife,
Imposed on tranquility perturbed in strife,
Since bells, benevolent, ceased to chime.
Sadness and anguish relentlessly bemoan
In solitude of feelings ~ impassive, all alone,
Dwelling in remorse, as memories replay
Friendships and kinships now gone astray;
Searching explanation, struggling to cope,
Saying a prayer, longing blessings of hope.
February 10, 2023
Placed 1st: Acquaintance and Neighborhood Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Soto Poet
Canvas, calm, grinning. . .blank
Had words screamed, scarecrows trapped on the poles of their creators,
Had words formed psalms that barricaded the strongholds of the heart,
Divine despair would desperately take hold again,
Embellishing the muse
To smile, the impassive smile. . .confuse
Enraptured by your tail,
Coiling, boiling in the hot and hungry sun
The eyes, clouded, caught in a moment of inexorable suffering
Death glistening in the confirmation of tears and groans,
Shading the dialogue that never surfaces
Justice in pale focus. . .constant, still held in out-of-the-blue faith
Please,
Do not allow your perspectives to dull
Waiting so long, I deafened the cries
The very cries I so blindly expressed. . .
Words etching existences imagined
I want you to take the hand of uncertainty
For as I have, I forever feel the tremors that have given me shape
Those very hands create what you dream,
And not what you fear
Take that hand,
Squeeze it tightly
I promise you, once you touch. . .I will never let you go
For I love you,
Oh, unexplained hold. . .
Help me escape the newborn deaths of today
Teach me how to step over the carcasses of calamity
Where the innocent die to inspire the remaining
Learn how to lead me into the lights of your eyes
Please,
Give me your beautiful hand,
I will take you to places you will never understand
And it will be okay
Because where I go,
The scarecrows roam with the roaring ravens
Making music with the pulse of their wings
With the sharp click of their beaks
Where I go,
Psalms of serenity's back way make love with impending day,
Spinning despair into the golden hairs of suspended May
Where I go,
innocent flowers freely giggle arrays of life
And his tail whips mightily,
His black velvet purrs arousing breaths of caramel verisimilitude
Where we stay,
In the forever grip of the trust you and I made,
Justice is pure water,
Cool and refreshing. . .ever smiling
Please,
My love, please
Hold onto this world with me
Give me your needs that I need. . .
And I promise perspective will prosper
The canvas, one blank, filled with detailed destiny of Color Surety
October 19th, 2014
Mid-April evening, overlooking Clear Lake
at Chelsea’s Wine Bar, a party of one:
Sipping white zinfandel, I feel the chill
of my half-empty glass while fancy-free
flatware clatters impassive pageantry.
A moment. An hour. Another, until,
on the wooden veranda, I see you take
a familiar draw from your lipstick stained
cigarette. I thought you had quit awhile back.
I couldn’t - and step outside where the
unchanged breeze holds a subtle hint
of perfume. That hasn’t changed. I hesitate,
but then say “hello”. Turning away, you say
“it’s late”. I nod. Unnoticed by agreement.
5/1/2017
For Fancy Free Poetry Contest
Purposeful thought leaders, empowering intellect they reign,
In disposition phlegmatic, indifferent to pleasure or pain,
Rejecting emotions vain, impassive within taciturn domain,
Questing for mindful contentment, virtues of reason ordain.
Missives tolling of rectitude, emanate from heart and mind,
Guiding sanctity of awareness, wisdom virtuous aligned,
Maximizing positive thoughts, amplifying tendencies kind,
Of knowledge and understanding, spirits tranquil designed.
Freeing from distress, achieving balance in purity sublime,
Reverberating in noble song of life, echoing through time,
Strumming happiness, where refrain of reason is prime,
Where goodwill of speech, and actions benevolent rhyme.
Enlightened people find harmony in realms of self-control
Overcoming disturbances that in silhouettes of past troll,
Vying aspirations of tomorrow, enamored in sanctity of soul,
Consciously shedding negativity, passions imprudent extol.
Volatility of perturbed life calms, embracing thoughts divine,
As sapient ways of erudite mind, on arc of cognition shine,
Triumphing over negative vibes as dissonant distractions decline
When goals of reason and acts of virtue inextricably entwine.
To catch a sunset cresting low over the sea
as the winds are blowing clouds above the waters
while the waves unfurl and curl to shore so gently -
something regal catches your breath and it falters.
Rising sun is burning the morning mist away
flowers open to blossom in exquisite grace
the world welcomes the warmth basking in it all day -
something regal wraps the earth in tender embrace.
At night the darkness shrouds the heavens with silence
a lost corner of paradise spewing stray dreams
melancholy hovers disrupting violence
something regal promises a dawn with sunbeams.
Mountains sit impassive, aloof, cold in winter.
Something is regal in icy whiteness weather.
Jjote 010821
You capture me with your radiant smile
Hearty bold laugh impassive and vexing
Little grey hairs in your barely there beard
Needling your chocolate chin for years
Your artistic style and fashion sense
In a suit that could pay purple rent
Of course you write and to my delight
You include me in the story of your life
There it was,
Slowly drifting
Above the blue waters.
Abandoned.
Emotionless.
Lifeless.
There it was,
Laying still
Under the cruel skies.
Stagnant.
Alone.
Apathetic.
There it was,
Sluggishly floating
Amidst ebb tides.
Directionless.
Hopeless.
Impassive.
What lesser mortals?
What lesser mortals
than Rimbaud
claim themselves
a poet within
another self,
for there is more
than just one self
depending on the
time and day
and nothing
is as it seems
at first,
we are born
from abstract
firmament to the
Infirmament
arriving
planned and unplanned
in the in-between
swaddled in skin,
a nude shade of blue
turning pink
and revolutionary
the most sincere
we've ever been
we are slapped to
make loud noises
to prove we are alive;
we are small noises
for the most part
of our continuum
as we evolve
we reveal our
true colours
our different dimensions
bleed like water pastels
we are shades
and shadow of each,
easily morphing into
the will of others
less than
and more than likely
just to keep the peace
or challenge
subterranean night crawlers
from their obligatory big sleep
silent scarabs
black hats wearing
white hats
guarding gates
of ruined castles
like red caps
pacing the watchtowers
like laughing hyenas
for their better
bleached masters
who are small noises
for the most part
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“As I was going down impassive Rivers,
I no longer felt myself guided by haulers:
Yelping redskins had taken them as targets
And had nailed them naked to colored stakes.
I was indifferent to all crews,
The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons
When with my haulers this uproar stopped
The Rivers let me go where I wanted.”
“And from then on I bathed in the Poem
Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,
Devouring the azure verses; where, like a pale elated
Piece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks”
Even the dead reject this blasted earth.
The ground, such as it is,
Is freshly Antidiluvean,
The corpses swim within its tumbled, heaving masses
Blood and mud the mortar
Holding the chaos together.
The sun is weak,
Ashamed to break the haze
To bring to light the obscenities transpiring here.
The whistles blow
The troglodytes emerge
From their respective holes,
Staggering towards one another
Through watery craters
Over the mincemeat of comrades
To add themselves to the swimming sacrifice
Constantly on offer
To the insatiable, sole diety of this place,
The Mud-God, Futility.
They are men no more,
Those who struggle 'neath
The leaden skies
The wan sun
Of the sodden moonscape
That is Passchendale.
They are only raging beasts
Trading pain for pain,
All trace of cause or reason
Lost in the maelstrom of their collective misery -
The only escape
Is to slay and to be slain;
To join the bitter shades
Ascending with the fog and smoke
Through the wall of cloud above,
To vanish into the icy deeps
Among the far, impassive stars.
Centuries of lies, a hollow myth
Perpetuated by charlatans with great ceremony
The Greatest Show, the living bread
The crowd sustained and animated by necromancy
The will is fused, the body dismembered and reassembled
Eager dehumanization, they tread the path
An ancient instinct, hereditary chains
Lift the chalice, a cannibal rite
Commit the body to the fires
They burn all sin to purest white
Like bones they glisten in the sun
The heart is woman, a harlot's course
Chaos bound to ritual law
A book to strangle, the human vine
Withered fruit, none shall eat
A brittle parody of True God's design
The Word of sufferance, spread like plague
Prostrated before your False God
An empty gesture before his impassive gaze
Power channels, below the surface
Christian mind cannot detect
Stabbing empty, fever pitch
Turn the blade, release is now.