Best Muffles Poems
The waves calm me down as I sit and wonder
For my love is lost in the stormy scurrilous sea
And I know my hapless heart to be torn asunder
As I wait for my true love to wash back to me
~~~
The clouds move in to hide the paralytic pain
And the thunder muffles the beat of my heart
Within entangled emotions that silently drain
Toward the wounded waters that keep us apart
~~~
Perhaps in the deep distance, there may be hope
For the shore surrenders its secrets of the mist
I’m sinking in the sand of eternity trying to cope
Digging upon dreams of the last time I was kissed
~~~
Thus now the Earth begins to shake and wobble
For it brings forth to me, my message in a bottle.
Nov.01.2018
Tell Me A Story 2
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
Placed 2 [4'th of 4]
Categories:
muffles, fate, loneliness, lost love,
Form:
Sonnet
life is a guesthouse,
no one overstays their welcome.
As background music
slowly muffles into softer tones,
breaths struggle to appease.
Deep painful faint sighs,
fall like crumbling leaves -
I'm vulnerable like a naked tree.
Autumnal eyes gaze
towards my looming winter garden.
Heart is a paper bag of emotions,
now full of leftover crumbs -
where spring once merged with summer petals.
Mind is a vague collection of
recollections and reflections -
forgotten memories, unfulfilled promises,
words lost in silence.
Destiny tested with her games.
I am still a humble child,
with no care for winning, nor losing -
settling for her stalemate.
Regret is that untraveled path,
not following the signs - reluctant
to feast from the garden of her Eden -
pondering if it was worth the sin.
Now
so many watery eyes,
resonate like violin tears.
Brown, green and blue -
but I do not see hers.
Motionless with shivers and chills,
Lights are dimming, silence is manifesting.
In haziness, silhouettes appear,
as life begins to disappear -
I can barely hear the music.
Our life is a poem,
each beat of our hearts a drop of ink.
Some leave behind words,
some blank pages.
Simple Musing
Silent One
20 September 2020
Categories:
muffles, assonance, death, goodbye, sad,
Form:
Free verse
I am winter's nemesis.I fight it tooth and nail.
In my youth it declared a war on me.
When I licked that icy rail.
Winter has many weapons to choose from.
Fear not for so do I.
A call my shovel Excali-burrr
My Ranger has four wheel drive
But winter's arsenal is no laughing matter
Icicles sent to impale, and black ice is its deadly device
But the human spirit is not that frail
I am winter's nemesis, and though it muffles all sound
This war is raging with bitter disdain.
My driveway the battle ground
I shall not relinquish my parking spot
to your mindless rabble of flakes
So bow to me you wretched season
For I shall never tire.
and my staunch ally will soon be spring
and together we will force a cease fire
For I am winter's nemesis
And these walls shall not be breached
Until my tour of duty is done
and I retire to Miami beach
Categories:
muffles, funny, seasonswar, war,
Form:
Free verse
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
~*~
Away from all the city's noise
my body sinks into the marsh;
as birdsong trills of whispered hymn
I slide away among the trees.
My reveries in forest deep
are well concealed and hid from view--
with jazmines pinned on hair, and then
disperse like fringes in a breeze.
While my voice hushes, quite profound
I trace northwinds, balmy and strong
when evening spreads its velvet cloak--
and muffles any wail or blare.
Here I dream of family's lore
the Sunday feasts, the mourn of deaths
beyond the place where moonlight glints,
where field of life drifts...warm and still.
All the Little Pieces Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France 8/31/2020
Categories:
muffles, introspection, memory,
Form:
Blank verse
a foreboding sound
echoes in a thunderstorm....
mourners at a grave
--
a torrent of rain
muffles the sound of crying....
watching crows scatter
--
one wet crow hunches
on branch of the brittle oak....
dark clouds hover low
~ ~ ~ ~
For Skat's "Dark Rain" haiku contest
Categories:
muffles, funeral, sad
Form:
Haiku
Chartreuse moss insinuates itself
into cracked brick as leprous eucalyptus
line the path, fallen leaves contorted
into coral spines on weathered terra cotta.
Traveling between the trees I stumble
upon one sinewy stalk in a lithe tuft
heralding the second coming of a lily.
May's slate gray
muffles the air until I hear
the chameleon trill
of a mockingbird.
Categories:
muffles, nature,
Form:
Alliteration
The deception of “free verse”: Dreams II, Translation of Etiemble’s “L’imposture du vers libre” by T. Wignesan
“Free verse, free not to be verse” – Audiberti
My love is not blue like a lake
my love is not blue like a sky
but red swollen with blood
and of ire
No lapping sounds of oars
playing out a nocturne
Bienne lake or that of Bourget
ever beat out the loping of my heart
My love’s neither blue nor like a lake
nor like a sea of oil
In the cauldron of boiling oil
a witch throws in a thumb
and the formula
My witching love
sputters and bursts out
stinging these busts and this lip
red
Vehement like a she-demon
it dances in a mad whirl
My left temple
wails
with the furious ocean
which rumbles under my pillow
What ships wreck in this sunken heart
still bleeding
of all the hearts it peeled
bleeding bodies of the young girl
And this heart weeps over its deaths
Like those on All Souls’ Day
the old hoary woman weeping
twisted up into wailing somersaults
which pad the cries of skeletons
clinging to rapacious granite
My heart beating on the pillow
muffles the voice of the friend
which begged the evening gone by
“Tell me it’s not over yet!”
And like the ocean cowardly
I collapse into my bed
to better listen to the tolling
of my temples and my heart
a delusionary
song of joy.
Signed: Jean Louverné (pseudonym)
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2014 (Translation
Categories:
muffles, heart, love,
Form:
Free verse
Stoplight Fireflies
Stoplight fireflies blink yellow
over vacant intersections
Owls whisper on the mist
mime-like field mice listen
Soft surf muffles side step
clatter of crab legs
Feral eyes swallow
waning moonlight
A possum waddles beneath
blinking yellow fireflies.
©John G. Lawless
4/3/2017
Categories:
muffles, night, summer,
Form:
Free verse
I've never heard the sweetest sound.
Until this little friend I found.
He calls his girlfriend through the window.
And now I've heard what he must know.
The sweetest sound a heart can make.
It starts out loud, walls almost shake.
Then he begins to call so sweet.
In hopes his and her hearts will meet.
So many different syllables.
A symphony of little yells.
That come straight from his little heart.
That melt your heart right from the start.
I've come to love this little boy.
Who's filled my heart and life with joy.
I never knew there was a sound.
As he can make, this friend I've found.
Note: my little friend is my stray grey cat I've taken in who I call Muffles.
This is for the, Your favorite animal contest of Gregory Paul
Categories:
muffles, animal, appreciation,
Form:
Rhyme
My friend came home to come inside.
Where he knew that warmth and love abide.
And he could sate his appetite.
And know that it will be alright.
He knew his human worried so.
Each time he said he had to go.
The back porch light would soon be on.
To know he shouldn't be too long gone.
The world can be so very scary.
When he goes out and dawn is nary.
And winter weathers on the front.
As he goes on his evening hunt.
I know it's just my neighborhood.
But things can happen, you know they could.
So each time that my friend comes home.
I hope that he'll no longer roam.
Since that one day when he came in.
I feel that he is now my kin.
So when he's gone I feel alone.
And wait to hear his crowing moan
That let's me know he needs to go.
Back out into the rain and snow.
You see he doesn't seem to mind.
He's truly just that sort and kind.
To keep him locked up in the house.
Just doesn't work as he starts to grouse.
And starts to call his feral friends.
In hopes imprisonment soon ends.
This isn't what I hoped would be.
The first time he seemed to like me.
As he just came right in the door.
To mark his spot and to explore.
I guess I'll just clean up his mess.
It's the best I can do, more or less.
Letting him out when weather's bad.
Is not an option, and just makes me sad.
So here we are together and warm.
Where grousing and rousing is now the norm.
But what else can a human do.
When one and one add's up to two?
Note: Muffles is my stray cat. If anyone can say a stray is there's. :/
Categories:
muffles, cat,
Form:
Rhyme
Do you know how much I love you!!!
Do u know how much I care!!!
Why don’t you love me!!!!
She screams
She throws the vase at the wall
It shatters
She walks towards the small little boy
Until there face to face
The little boys body trembles
His mouth opens
Mommy I do---
Smack
the little boy sniffles and begins to cry
The woman shouts
Then why don’t you do as your told..!!!!
The little boys muffles a question
Then why does tommy get to sleep in a bed
And I have to sleep in a dog shed?
The heavily rounded woman
Bends down to the little boys height
She then smiles and whispers in his ear
Well you just happen to be my favorite child
The woman looks the blue-eyed boy in the eyes
And smiles
I am ??...!!!
The little boy smiles
I knew it
I was the favorite child
Categories:
muffles, abuse, deep, emotions,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Setting: a cafe, chamonix, in hand a tea.
Across- a woman, seated, not seeing me.
Embarrassed I am,
that I, a questionable I,
like a lamb: 97 and 1 kilogram,
am engulfed by her,
like Noah by heavanly mer.
Can I help it?- No!
That this Helen
this doe
or maybe Annabel of Poe
has transfixed me so
No!
For she, unbeknowest to anyone but me,
has -- like a jockey to horse--
narrowed my vision, my every decision.
My goals, my independent roles,
are all now but foes
Dürers'crows
to that of this woman,
to that of this Syren;
A homeric vision calling my name,
my thoughts [set completely in frame].
For she is Femme French,
whose lip, whose tongue, whose
unequaled gaze,
melts hearts, muffles minds, and
spirits sets a daze;
She is a picture Romaine-
a poetic refrain-
a Cloud Loraine-
Tout l'univers(se), turning perverse-
all those once sane.
And when you, pardon- she
speaks; «please, more tea»
she, unknowingly, speaks to me,
wow, she trully speaks to me.
Votre langue francais,
what can I say.
We in the west, at our best
butcher and hack at our speach,
yet you- lyrically spue- a harmonious
coo,
a ventricular breech....
Our « (c)(h)(o)(c)(o)(l)(a)(t)(e), »
americanized, anglasized,
Is not as sweet as your---
« chocolat »--- taste that
mmmm-hmmm
tis better, the way you pronounce every letter
as in decrouver, or illuminer.
To think, that this, your verbal kiss,
turns me so amiss.
But lets ((focus))- back to the Now,
sitting in chair, starring at her hair-
tied back, pulled back, let's get abstract:
lips parted, bangs parted.
Her cheeks lifted- my heart uplifted.
Facial confusion!
Her eyes whisper, « mister, »
maybe sinister?
Who knows, maybeee... the nose!
Striking a pose-
Running, twitching, creating true woes-
in a heart that weeps, reeps, but rarely sows.
Now you can see what she does to me.
my mind is adrift, but who cares- What a Gift!
To be lost in her presence- a humble
peasant- in the present is a present.
So- I'm sitting in a chair,
staring, glaring, intimately at her,
seeking, searching, for our eyes to
meet, to greet, in lustful heat,
for her to return my gaze
and to be lost in that haze till the
end of my days....
But wait.... What is this.
Something is amiss.
A realization, a *****?
OH GOD....
I have a *****...
****. I'm just another creepy loner.
Categories:
muffles, beautiful, confusion, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Beneath the low muffles
Pedestrians shuffle
An average city day
Of hustle and bustle
A lovely days stroll
With no place to go
Still the worlds moving fast
But I'll remain slow
Because theres no movement
Unless I stand still
To give my heart a chance
To understand what it feels
The brilliance of designs
Engineered by our minds
And yet we lack passion
To save our own lives
Surveying the pavement
To the edge of concrete
When I became overwhelmed
By this vision I'd seen
It was for a brief moment
Yet I was surprised
When I saw her blue eyes
Staring back into mine
Butterflies came to life
It was love at first sight
Our approach became closer
And once again were her eyes
I felt a connection
Free from suggestions
Connected like dots
Lost in translation
But what I seen was a world
For this boy and that girl
Behind a white picket fence
And all this from a curb
Could she be the one
As the cat held my tongue
I brought the words to my lips
But my voice became numb
Them damn butterflies
They took me for a ride
I may be made of steel
But Im like butter inside
So without knowing her name
The light color changed
Then they all crossed the street
Moving on in their haste
She disappeared in a blur
Blending in with the world
And there I was standing
All alone on the curb
But with a smile I left
Without chance of regret
Or what if I spoke
The words my heart said
Still overjoyed with delight
It just wasn't our time
And she was gone from my life
In a blink of an eye
~ JJF ~
Categories:
muffles, girl, spoken word, woman,
Form:
Free verse
It's past midnight; the witching hours
softly creep through the darkness.
Music muffles out of an open doorway,
shadows thump as hearts beat.
Seeing fluid bodies merge in time
I'm the wrong piece in an incomplete jigsaw,
watching chargeless as giggling electrons
attract and repel, weave an
intricate dance amongst pulsing protons.
Chemistry was never my best subject,
much less the murky peripheries
where chemistry meets biology,
the hormonal collision of chemical bonding
with fusion and reproduction.
Walking home, constellations map the sky.
The moon cycles its rhythmical shifts.
There's safety in physics, cause and effect,
bound in formulae, logic and reason.
Categories:
muffles, age, growing up, identity,
Form:
Free verse
The typical intro,
A moment of reflection,
Philosophical conversation with my glass veil is ago,
I swear she's the perfect audience lacking in cognition but excellent in reception,
Shameless in anonymity and thoroughly content being one-dimensional,
An afterthought emerged from reverberating echoes,
Rationalizing a fantasy through demented reality and an appeal to logos,
External concern expressed through intellectual opinion against a majesty outside the realm of scientific convention,
A slight ringing in my ear,
The hazing of the eyes,
My hand presses against the screen and a genie appears,
her technicolor smoke-screen muffles sound and blankets sight,
Far beyond my mortal boundaries I reach,
Into the land of impossibilities ignorantly called "make believe",
Calling upon my polygonal masters from this pulpit I beseech,
That your realm of tangible thought be opened to me,
Allow me to apply my humble craft in hopes of conveying your magnificence to the world,
So that they too will experience your wonder,
Before they grow too old.
Categories:
muffles, age, computer, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme