Best Inactive Poems
A fire blazes behind the veil
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This veil I wear
is not made of cloth
for no fabric could withstand
the incendiary passion
I command
It's self-imposed
not forced
no man's hand
would dare cover me
yet here I am
swathed in these layers...
folds of security
you see
it's easier
much easier
just to be like the rest
not a subject of discussion
or the brunt of derision
with meanings misconstrued
by the crass and the rude...
thus,
anonymity allures
I finger the veil
its threads: religious doctrine
its dye: denial
its paisley patterns: protocol
culturally appropriate
I stand:
~chaste~
silence simmering
with actions inactive
I stand: quiet, demure, serene
but my thoughts burning, unseen
and behind the veil
I smolder
passion flares through my eyes
the only indication
that I'm alive
I pass you by
another woman
unseen
unknown
unacknowledged
I pass you by
you...frivolous in your freedom
you...unappreciative of accpetance
I pass you by
and yet, inwardly I smile
warmed by inner flames
emanating from my core
I know…so much more
There's potential...
potential this woman has in store
for this I know
when the time has come
when I'm ready
it will fall away
by my own hand
unobtrusively grand
and you will see the sight
the walking, breathing delight
of the unveiled woman
confident
sublime
a woman
calmly, gracefully, purposefully
passing you by....
Eileen Manassian
This is not meant to be offense to anyone from the Islamic faith. The veil has symbolic meaning.
Catching sight of unwanted reflection
through my eyes I observe my murky mind
lifeless, inactive, defying action
just a blank canvas, raw, pure, unrefined,
desire to inject substantial color
inspired pastels to brighten the darkness
eyes opaque though restrict light, much duller
impulses, brain requesting less Starkness,
my poor mind is without shape or structure
until my thoughts turn to the one I love
blissful images, colorful picture
changing this abyss, no more mourning dove,
she changes my thinking without restraints
such beautiful colors my mind she paints.
Mastered Puppets
Of the voices thrown and never shown their cries travel well
A starving sewn with a bitter bone of their life a quiet quell
With larval lips that are losing grips where echoes only dwell
Their smile drips as they use their fingertips in a yielding yell
Left alone with a grunting groan their silence slaved to seal
Ruling the hunger zone a thirst on throne with a musty meal
Voices held captive and anguish adaptive with souls of steal
Their reality refractive with dreams inactive they still congeal
Mastered and strung with a tangled tongue they begin to pray
A heart hung and death unsung, wounded words they convey
With tears they wash as the sorrows squash their moral display
The sounds that swash in their postured posh soon fade away.
June.18.2018
Ventriloquist Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Ideas Trapped By An Inactive Mind
Your mind is hidden in darkness
Thoughts trapped in deep crevasses
Their screams echoes through deathly shadows
Attacked and strangled at their every move
The struggle against invisible shackles
Drawing blood as they fight their captor
Demons search for ideas ripping them apart
Stripped skin strewn across an evil world
A world created from depression and mania
Leaving the ideas disemboweled in the frenzied heat
Blood, skin and guts boil under the demon’s breath
Screams of torture and pain fill the void left by random thoughts
Still alive they choke on the stale sulfuric air
Waiting to die while hoping to be saved
A quick mind lights the darkness
Giving new life to near dead ideas
The strongest fight while the weakest wither and die
The rise through the darkness
Rising into the light they look back
They see the lost ideas dying beneath them
They care about what was lost
What ideas will never see the light of day
And they grieve as they come to light
And they will be told and retold
For that is what ideas are meant to be
Shared by the entire world not killed
Murdered by an inactive mind
She is a scryer, a seer, prognosticator;
but no crystal ball for her...no.
She uses her blue eye instead;
a dragon’s eye.
Found in an inactive volcano,
former dragon’s lair;
three thousand years of age
still unmarred,
still functioning.
Revealing
past, present and future;
hiding nothing, eye scans time;
beware, it sees all you do.
Nothing’s hidden.
Seek out the scryer,
ask any question;
even before your first utterance,
blue dragons eye enters your mind
scanning crevasses of your brain.
you harbor no secrets.
Morbid gloomy night in the middle of fall,
Sitting on the window waiting on your call.
The skies are kicking and punching;
Throwing a tantrum against the wall.
My heart breaks with your absence,
But there is more to you than just your presence.
I now lay on your side of the bed,
Searching, tracing the last bits of your essence.
It’s all now coming to an end,
And it’s up to the solid grounds to comprehend.
Rain is always needed in order to grow,
Love is a plant and must ascend.
The coast is clear inviting morning to appear;
Chirping birds and colors coming from the rear.
A ray of sunshine enhancing a rainbow in the dark;
Soon we will be together, maybe just another year.
-Inactive Volcano
Walking past the ashes of what once was a dancing fire,
I stare coldly at the greying ground.
Demons unleashed to uncover and expose the ruthless remains
Of unscrupulous beings disguised as mortals.
Rejects from hell that have been kicked out,
Not a single door hasn’t ejected them.
Destruction in their blood, thirsty for revenge;
Unfortunate are those with a pure sweet soul.
A skirmish unraveled embracing the innocence of the impeccable.
Before I knew it, I was unable to move and being held down.
The mighty sword of truth was out of reach, until I managed to stretch.
From left to right it slayed through air eliminating anything in my diameter.
As the tip of the sword ejected them from Earth,
An inevitable explosion was heard.
The atmosphere was covered in falling dust like particles,
While I slowly inhaled my first breath of freedom.
-Inactive Volcano
I must make the right choices, I must do this everyday
Physically I'm struggling but mentally I am ok
Inspiring my peers, i know this will be my profession
I have many strategies that will help you defeat depression
If you're struggling right now, this does not mean your weak
The first step of recovery is the ability to speak
Open up to someone, get it off your chest
Trust me when I say that doing this is for the best
In the long run we're at war, each day is a battle
Deciding that you're gonna fight will make your Illness rattled
When it comes to writing poetry, every day I've been active
157 days my depressions been inactive
Before entering my recovery I found myself lost
If i would not have fought back it could have come at quite the cost
I won't sugar-coat this, depression is very real
It can turn a good day to a bad day, we don't like the way that feels
I have a shield and a sword, I hold both to the sky
The tears that I've shed they have finally dried
I'm offering my hand, let me help you up
Allow me to demonstrate the art of never giving up
The me today thanks the past me for deciding not to quit
I owe so much to that man, because of him my mind is fit
I'm getting stronger every day, momentum has been gathered
When its me against my illness, my depression ends up scattered
It's true I've been to hell, it's true I almost died
My depression told me I was weak, it continued telling lies
I hung in there, I picked myself up off the ground
I was searching for so long until my inner strength was found
Writing has enlightened me with poetry the remedy
Let this stay in your memory, my name is Liam Kennedy
A broken indecisive shape roams the ends of town.
It is said that with his hat he covers up his misery.
No one had ever seen him before, or so they thought.
No one thought it was the evolution of what once had been a heart.
Before, vibrant and red in color;
Passion compared to lava for its fiery intensity.
Now, a grey cloud follows his every move,
In attempt to rain and chase anything that might spark a smile.
Han was once a soul,
With a princess as his goal.
But time proved wrong and his essence was not enough
To keep alive a fire while she buried it with sand.
Her last strike was a fatal one,
Without mercy the last flame died.
Laying there submerged under the sand
With no chance of ever lighting back.
He now then picked up the ashes and burnt logs,
Parted with what was left of his all.
Little did he know that things would never be the same.
For little Han Solo had lost the game.
Unable to erupt,
To keep himself alive;
An Inactive volcano
Now became his life….
Hypochondrial Delusion
A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
In schizoid arrest
A hepatic paranoia
of dermal yellow
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy
A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession
Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia
Comatosed by
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria
When are we gonna leave this mood
You keep dreaming under the roof of imagination that you are with this person
And for how long are we gonna keep snaping in our head
The sounds alone keep making it real and steady active
We are now busy with imaginariness
When is this fiction transform to non fiction
We have the master plan and we haven’t taken a step into action and we keep wallowing.
Al Quran is the manual, a roadmap to follow
but it is not easy to see these treasures, we only saw them once and since then we ve been in imaginary.
The birds are pilot, they are nimble they go boundlessly and they are kings in the air
who create creat them if not ALLAH SWT
We are left with the option to consult the birds if they could help
We are now objects of mockery and ridicule in the eyes of birds
Because they are full of actions and we are the shyest of creature
They tagged us “Existing but inactive”
And they said
Hope you aren’t jaded of this your unsure awaiting love
We would avail and we hope your unreal burnishing love will not reverse to waning love.
Truly love is found but it must be followed Islamically
Deep in to the woods by spring
my quest by daybreak for croaking,
frog croaking, nature enthusiast‘s song,
hit upon by the *** end, a puddle,
frogs, a few in high spirits hopping,
something took the winds out of my sails!
whopping snake, old inactive by water,
these frogs take the snake a worm,
took me back to an old proverb:
when the snakes get old,
the frogs get him by the balls!
laughing I too tried some croaking!
great nap my song all around!
Cold dark night,
I look up with fright.
I see you flash,
Tearing the sky with a gash.
Faster than lighting,
Your transformation was striking.
Something I had never done,
Wishing for you to come.
I made nothing out of it,
A lost wish on a universal pit.
The moment I had you before me,
It was then I knew you had to be.
You are everything I asked for,
I would say even a bit more.
When you wish upon a star,
The universe knows who you are.
-Inactive Volcano
I lay encased in darkness, in loathing,
With twisted visions, my mind betrothing
My dried lips with a lustful, moistened hue.
In that blackness moved a slender figure,
Its shadowed frame increasingly bigger,
As it coiled tightly around my senses.
And into my ear I felt a whisper,
So surely of some forgotten sister
Released to tempt one upon his Garden.
This serpent lady, she but kissed my throat,
And claim of my soul this seraph could boast;
Into her cold grasp, my consciousness sank.
Breaking from that kiss, I felt her slither
Beneath my spread, her sweetness turns bitter
As she encumbers my mind and my bed.
Upon my neck there's a burning trickle,
Her fangs no longer a sweet, soft tickle;
She licks my waist, I fall into a death.
----
Note from the author:
Lately I've been very inactive with my poetry. I've had a severe writers block and my mental health, usually a fuel for my writing, got to the same smothering inevitability as putting too many coals on an open fire at one go; my writing was starved of some form of oxygen that helped it thrive. To be honest, I'm attempting my writing again, but just where I've got to it compared to some of my other poems on this site I just don't know. I hope you all can soon appreciate and enjoy my writing again, and thank you for your time in perusing my poetry.
Like a tulip in spring,
I open my petals to embrace you in.
With every strike of the wind,
Vigorous color flushed through my skin.
Splendorous blooming fields,
All laying to form a bed.
Awaiting your sway,
All to emit their lovely scent.
-Inactive Volcano