Best Mumbling Poems
"Sweet child in time,
you'll see the line
the line that's drawn between
good and bad"
Having cold sweats again in this godforsaken ninety degree heat. Shivering uncontrollably. God, what I'd do for a warm comforter right now. Zombies all around me mumbling incoherent poetry no one understands or even cares to hear. Young people half my age or less without souls, without heart, without vision.
Nam 1968. The nightmares won't stop even now, fifty-six years later. Nineteen years old. Just a kid. What did I know about good and bad, right from wrong? I did what I was told just like everyone else. When I was young, I used to dream of Eden.
"See the blind man
shooting at the world
bullets flying
taking toll"
Deep in the jungle, trying to rest but sleep is elusive. Out of the corner of my eye I espy a young child, a girl I think. Or is it just a dream? She looks ragged, hungry, sad. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she stumbles through the brush toward us. The air is suffocating, a train is rolling through my head when suddenly I hear a blast from an M16. Sarge yells "Everyone down!" Then an explosion, but this time I can't hear a thing, just debris flying everywhere. And then the child is no more. When I open my eyes, a tiny hand lay two feet away. So delicate, so precious. What the hell am I doing here?
"You'd better close your eyes
bow your head
wait for the ricochet"
Kensington avenue is hell in the real world. It is here I exist and it is here I will die, homeless, sick and alone. The needle is my one last and true friend, for when I am high I am free. It is then that the dreams of Eden reappear, if but for a moment. I am seventy-five years old now, but I never really got to grow up. For you see, back there, in '68, I was just a child in time.
dreams are illusions
white lady offers solace
forgiveness denied
*Kensington Ave, Philadelphia PA
**Song lyrics from Child in Time by Deep Purple
Categories:
mumbling, emotions,
Form:
Haibun
I listen to the sighing
of the wind, as I sit
in the cool shade
of a sprawling carob tree,
wondering if Basho,
in heavenly abode,
next to Elysian Fields,
is mumbling agitatedly
under his breath – possibly
grimaces, wrings his hands
as he flips the pages of
vain anthologies where
writers sell their wares…
Stuck in comfort zone
deprived of achievement,
wary of new horizons,
surprise ends and twists…
they cling to restrictions
and Mother Nature’s skirt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
© 24th August 2020
Categories:
mumbling, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
a wisp offered him a small bunch of her soul
duet of florets dandelion with lavender
purr of petals and silent reminder
fragrance in whispers and love
a window of shelter rose from her words
tranquil tender and soft they reached out
tinge of seduction and glimmer of hope
voices sore from shouting and sorrow
‘I love you from the depth of my heart’
‘my mind needs a vessel of kindness’
‘mumbling essence will heal our pain’
‘together cacophony turns into music’
calmly bespoken a hush left her lips
offered a bouquet of serene kisses
blown from faith and surrender
and the earth started to move
inaudible at first a single sound blossomed
a volcano erupted in a show of hot lava
tsunamis weaved turbulent waves
as their union overcame hardship
no scripted audition no dress rehearsal
only embers and sparks of crackling heat
mumbled desire butterflies and nectar
revealing that all will be good in the end
the two lovers threw caution to the wind
far too loud was the chorus of truth
peace sung in harmony’s tunes
serenaded balanced emotion
they smelled the sweet melody
embraced visions of sound
touched dreams in abandon
tasted promises of caress
it had started with one whisper
but the message was booming
climax repeat and crescendo
a symphony of eternal bliss
14th June 2020
Categories:
mumbling, encouraging,
Form:
Free verse
she walks into the room
the same way she has for 40 years—
half-asleep mumbling about the price of eggs
but crap, she still makes my heart stop.
you’re the last busted payphone
that somehow still dials home.
you’re the only damn thing
that still makes sense
in a world full of unpaid bills and
broken air conditioners.
your heart’s a busted radiator
still kicking out heat when I need it most.
The cigarette burn on our old kitchen counter—
scarred in, not going anywhere.
hell, you’re a rusted-out truck that
still starts when the whole damn world’s frozen over.
we aren’t perfect but we lasted.
and that’s better than any damn valentine poem.
Categories:
mumbling, love, true love, valentines
Form:
Free verse
A whistling wheezing hamlet, whispering and emanating, tunes euphonic,
In a remote isolated valley, far-flung from the abode of the temporal,
Warbling quietly to whistle scads of tranquil cryptic songs;
Lying spasmodic, a sparsely inhabited mellifluous hamlet, Kongthong!
Not to hyperbole, a singing utopia, uncustomary to the core!
Where innate and mellow are the naive dwellers' rustic tinkling timbres!
A rover's riddle, the natives' pride, a unique heritage, their blissful strains!
Ringing with an ancient tradition of tune-giving in honour of the root ancestress,
Customary to the matrilineal surviving unknown folk of the thorp!
The chirping region's dispositions and practices outlandish, vague and obscure,
Primitive and bizarre, mere to merge with nature's absolute accord!
Voices buzzing in whistles, murmuring and chattering, lilting,
Arcane, pervading the virgin thicket of the sacred thorpe!
To entangle, passerby and wanderers in dream like metaphors!
Those magical murmurs in quirky tunes, mingling the breeze of the secluded hamlet, intoning own tinkles!
Blessed are the tuning terrain's offsprings, nameless!
Rared by ditties, hailed sacred by the clan's conviction!
Outlying, by the uninhabited enchanting wilderness of East Khasi Hills,
Sleeping quietly the untrodden, nature's lulling lullaby, the whistling Kongthong!
Yell! Immaculate and serene, the saga of their undeciphered airs, mumbling in exquisite ethos!
Inimitable and gripping to eye, how the denizens of the tribe,
Are crooning to dub and call each other by indigenous intonations!
Pitching and whooshing, to tune their melodic identities unique!
Whew! The picturesque terrain is tweeting, whooping, and whizzing!
Heaven! Bless anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
The ringing Kongthong, God's own whistling hamlet!
Categories:
mumbling, community, earth, education, encouraging,
Form:
Alliteration
Old Jack hated Halloween night.
The constant ringing of his doorbell
he didn't like. So he turned off his
household lights.
His wife said, "Why did you go and
do that, Jack?" he replied "They
won't see the house, and I'll get
some rest!"
Little did Jack know that the Trick
or Treaters were determined. They
found his house, rang his doorbell
and Jacks anger just worsened!
Every time Jack got up from his
easy chair, you could hear him
mumbling to himself, and start to
swear!
The little kids would yell, "Trick
or Treat!" Jack would throw the
candy in their bags, and say half
jokingly, OK now let me be!
The doorbell would ring over
and over again. Each time the dog
would bark and Jack would cringe!
His wife would say, "Jack why
do you have to be so mean?" His
reply was, "These kids drive me
insane, non stop, that's why I hate
this Halloween!"
"Every year it's the same old
thing. The doorbell rings, and rings!"
His wife said, "Jack can't you
see the joy you bring?" "It doesn't
matter if the doorbell rings,and
rings."
"My parent's never took me
Trick or Treating. So, I never did
experience what little boys and
girls are feeling."
She felt sad for Jack she took
him by the hand and said," It's never
too late Jack, if you are willing."
They joined a group of children,
as they stopped and got some treats.
The homeowners looked at Jack in
wide- eyed disbelief!
He noticed all the fun the children
felt, as they went from door to door!
And he felt a joy overtake his heart,
and something much, much, more!
He and his wife said goodbye to
their little friends that night.
And Jack became a little boy, as he
relived his boyhood side.
Every year since he changed his
ways. Jack can't wait. To hear the
footsteps of his little friends, come,
Halloween day!
His house lights are on, and his wife
is by his side. With a great big smile
he answers the door, and acts
frighteningly surprised!
The children love Jack, it's their
favorite house to go. He fills their bags
with so much candy, their bags just
overflow.
Screwed IX Contest Rob Carmack
Categories:
mumbling, halloween, happiness, heart, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Born To Walk, A Dark Path Of Jagged Stones
Born to walk, a dark path of jagged stones
too oft full of mistakes and ragged moans,
lone flying feather, blown in raging storm
black-hand of death, tis but our aging norm.
Begging for more Time, with sorrowing pleas
doomed within forest of narrowing trees,
searching for some hope, its reckoning halls
forest echoes, with our beckoning calls.
Bereft of light, tumbling as desert weeds
in abject darkness, mumbling out our needs,
forever seeking more, that fleeting dream
yet we live as a lost, retreating team.
We exist, much like constant flying birds.
We resist, hesitant to seek truth's words.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-21-2018
Sonnet, ( The Dark That Holds Its Prey)
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 100
Categories:
mumbling, art, creation, deep, perspective,
Form:
Sonnet
All is well
Cocooned within.
Just the steady beat,beat,beat
And gentle familiar sounds.
Comforting,warm,so safe.
Unease-noise-confusion.
(Pushing,pushing)
Panic,unfamiliar,
What is happening?
(Pushing,pushing)
The beat now throbbing,pounding.
Faster,faster
And comes-the light, the light.
So this is LIFE!
(Blue skies,sunshine)
A child's laughter,
A mother's arms
And a loved one's kiss.
This is life.
Celebration, happiness.
Families united,
Friends together
And the gift of sharing.
This is life.-
(Yet dark skies.chaos)
Nature's beautiful face
Twisted in rage against the earth.
And man -
Bloody,cruel,insensitive.
So many acts of hurt
And tumultuous violence.
One to the other.
This is life.
The addict on a bed of filth.
The habitual drunk staggering to oblivion.
Cries from diseased bodies
Tormented by pain.
And a small white coffin
Laid gently in the ground.
This is life.
Learning,growing.
Stumbling-yet learning,growing.
Struggling,hurting-yet learning,
With each uncertain breath
A heart growing.
Learning-love revealed
Within each and in the world.
THIS IS LIFE.
Tears of pain,tears of joy,tragedy,comedy.
Insanity,absolutely ludicrous.
Mysterious,awesome,
Compelling,thrilling.
Thriving,striving.
And having the will to live.
This is life.
All too soon comes weariness.
Old bones aching.
Mumbling,bewilderment,forgetting.
Time to let go
And to return to the stillness.
Mist -everything fading,
(Cold,so cold) all going.
No sight.no taste, no smell.
No feeling, just silence
And yet-the light.
Categories:
mumbling, life
Form:
Free verse
Headed home from a business trip
Tired, spaced out, grouchy and impatient
Pushing the limit to beat rush hour traffic
Fast closing on an old jalopy van
Suddenly blue smoke and debris flying
The back tire must have bounced twenty feet up
My first thought, 'Stay STRAIGHT you bastard!'
Careening violently left, it flipped many times
(Several objects were ejected from the doors)
My next thought...'This is NOT my problem!'
'DAMN!' Slam on the brakes at the last second
Then it hit me. I was the first on the scene...
I would guess it took a full minute to cross over
Cars whizzing and blowing by in both lanes
Obviously it was not their problem either...
(Someone else has stopped, they'll handle it!
Besides, there's a game coming on tonight)
I waved my arms, shouting and pointing…
A woman was lying near the wreckage,
wailing in robotic, shock induced screams
Left arm beneath her back with her right arm
twisted at a bizarre and unnatural angle
One man was thrown at least twenty feet off
Ironically, he seemed the least injured
He kept trying to get up for some reason
I rushed over and asked him to stay down
"Okay, but the baby!...Where is the baby?"
(A baby, you mean there's a BABY??)
"Yes, our BABY...Please go find our baby!"
(Oh no dear God please, no, NO)
The median was a wide, steep-banked grassy ditch
The van was tilted slightly sideways on its roof
Legs rubbery and trembling, stomach churning,
sweat streaming and stinging blurry eyes,
I staggered over to the wreckage, knelt down
and peered through the passenger side window
Empty… (Oh no dear God please, no, NO)
Stumbling around back and then alongside,
scanning the grass and then around front
I almost tripped over it. There he was
Maybe five feet from the bumper he sat upright
still tucked safely away in his baby seat
kicking and cooing, giggling and drooling,
obviously having a wonderful time
I collapsed to my knees, bowed my head down
and feverishly began to unbuckle him
but quickly thought better, fearing unseen injury
Instead, I took his head gently with both hands,
kissed his forehead and nuzzled against his neck
(Babies have that particular scent, you know)
I recall glancing upward to clear blue skies,
muttering and mumbling incoherent thanks...
Categories:
mumbling, car, travel,
Form:
Narrative
Friends humor and play me
(They know I'm chra-zee)
Patsy sings blue
God I miss you
So lone-lee now
Never knew how
without you to cope
Losing false hope
that keeps me stumbling
nowhere, I hear rumbling
and mumbling of wraiths
Fading blind faith...
Need your cozy croon
Your comforting tune
Your old fashioned song
Don't seem to belong
anywhere anymore
You ache to my core
Why be so cruel
Why leave this old fool
alone with his fears
after too many years
Why leave me behind
to fumble and find
that smile in the den
that wide joyful grin
Can't look long your way
I wrench back away
to wander the tomb
of one vacant room
one made up bed
Are you really dead...
Tell me what to do
to replace my lost you
how to turn off our light
and sleep alone tonight
"Crazy": Written by Willie Nelson and performed by the late Patsy Cline
*This poem got an N/A in the contest 'Any Poem #32'
Categories:
mumbling, bereavement, wife,
Form:
Couplet
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
Categories:
mumbling, adventure, art, beautiful, boyfriend,
Form:
Free verse
Weakness
It is said that he was weak because he would not
conform, could not subjugate his will, would not
let them imprison his mind, cage his spirit. Weak
because he stood alone and not with the milling
mob. Weak, because he would not speak the
words they desired to hear. Weak, because he
smiled when others wept, laughed when others
wailed, stood tall when others bent beneath the
toil of life.
They prayed for him to come to his senses and
become as they. He, though he didn’t pray as
they, desired the same for them. He knew that
there was no strength in the coalition of the crowd,
no truth in the mumbling of old truths, no love
in the demands of unconditional love.
He appreciated their prayers, they did not so
much appreciate his. He would listen as the
sound of the choir filtered through the air and
caressed the trees and wonder why the
vibration stopped when the hymn ended,
why the sermon stopped when the preacher’s
voice stopped echoing in the apse.
He would sing the song in silence as he walked
the village roads, roll the preacher’s words over
in his mind, smile at soaring hawks and old
barn cats, straighten a fence, remove a stone,
bid good-day to those who thought him weak.
He was not rich nor was he poor, neither wise
nor foolish, he just was. And so he shared his
weakness with all who thought themselves
strong, his loneliness with the friendless,
his thoughts with those who sought to teach him,
his spirit with those who allowed their spirit to be
caged.
It is said that he was weak by those who never
dared to share his weakness.
John G. Lawless//10/15/2014
Submitted to Verlena Walker contest
My shortcomings are overwhelming; however, my strengths are defeating them!
Categories:
mumbling, growth, passion, society, teacher,
Form:
Free verse
Written by Gail Debole on
April 2, 2013
She, on her near-death bed
Face grey as she faced what is inevitable.
I, sitting to the right
And Death floating to the left.
She, mumbling that it was her time.
That she was to leave.
I, forbidding her to go.
Told her that it was NOT her time.
She needed to stay.
The nurses, came to her rescue.
One on each side.
Death and I moving away.
Her face becoming pink with new-found life.
It was a miracle, the nurses exclaimed.
She, with eyes awake.
Death moving on to another victim.
I, again seated to her right.
She told me her truth.
She smiled and explained
That she was still here
Because God had said
that it was not her time to go.
And I, who knew my truth,
And who never pretended to be God
Knew that NOT to be true.
And could never tell her my truth.
And she, who lived on
Told that story many times
Of the miracle that she was part of.
And I, never said a word.
Then years later after her passing
My mind’s eye opened.
Could she have been right?
Did God tell her to stay that day
Speaking the words through my mouth?
Categories:
mumbling, death, god, life,
Form:
Blank verse
Mirror mirror on the wall
I went to the beauty salon today
Silver strands ~ gone
Long dark wavy hair ~ beautiful
Bet you're jealous ~ ha
Twirling away and singing "because I'm happy" by Pharrell Williams
Six weeks later...
Mirror mirror on the wall
If you keep showing those silver strands
I'm going to give you some cracks
Bet you won't like that
Walking away mumbling how people are talking to her but their eyes upon her head
Days later...
Mirror mirror on the wall
What is the meaning of this
Each day I'm seeing more glitters spreading
I'm plucking them out but they seems to keep surfacing
"Sighing" knowing full well
She'll never beat this medallic battle
Weeks later...
Mirror mirror on the wall
I've come to realize these silver strands are the enhancing highlights of my life
For every silver strand had its own enchanting story
So color me away
They say she's too young to go silvering
Maybe they're right
Today...
Mirror mirror on the wall
Keep calm
And go authentically silverlicious
My hair
My beauty
My silver strands
Smile
Akkina R Downing
1-5-18
Categories:
mumbling, emotions, hair, humor, mirror,
Form:
Free verse
When you're walking
Scuffling along in trouble's shoes
Head hanging low
Mumbling moody blues
Well me, I'm making lemonade
Why can't you
Taking bitter adding something sweet
Maybe a smidge, no a heap full of hope
Heck, by days end I'll mix it up
Movin' straight to, getting crazy in root beer floats
When all you see is red
Awful thoughts pound your head
"Honey do this, honey do that"
I'm sitting back
Feet up, sipping lemonade again
You look my way and say
"Boy, he's got it made"
Not so my friend
I just taking my lemons
And making me some lemonade instead
There's so much "other time"
To have your little gripes
Or your petty cries
But, now let's toast away the grind
And partake in some lemonade on ice
You've come this far
"And guess what? You've got your health"
Check your pulse you're still alive
So change your ways
Brother, embrace the lemons
Squeeze fresh into winner ala mode
And "live baby, baby live! in lemonade days
"Ahhh ... such sweetness"
Categories:
mumbling, funny, happiness, health, inspirational,
Form:
Narrative