Best Mute Poems
What causes those daft in the head
To hurt others with things they’ve said
If you must then vent
Your jealous intent
Perhaps you should mute it instead.
to capture the true
essence of what lies
behind my eyes
create a palette of
black pastels portraying
the shadow that follows like death
a constant visitor to my d o o r
nobody knows the
story of my heart
an artificial anecdote of
a l l i t e r a t i v e a n g s t
bleeding in metaphorical
ink stained tear drops
d r o w n i n g childhood
sanity in shallow rivers of
bittersweet s o r r o w
fate is a fragile wrecking ball
which has become too hard to love
soul craves to be free under horizons
of tangerine temptations
but all I find is twilight with
a filthy feldgrau sky
fatigue imitates the
last breaths of a
b r o k e n b u t t e r f l y
as 'spirit' becomes imprisoned
in sinister silence
yearning to sleep
forever in an unfolding
labyrinth hidden from the
golden colours of the sun
this smile cannot
continue to pretend
kismet is a
crimson clandestine
cursed t a l i s m a n
speech is my harbinger
of d o o m
miraculous ink
flutters in my pen of
p u r i f i c a t i o n
yet not all verses are
meant to be understood
cathartic martyrdom
sounds like poetry
but there is no remedy
for magenta manifestations
so I curse the poetic limerence
of my tongue suppressing
effervescent emotions
inside a garnet treasure
chest of blood-soaked
bruised and battered
invisible inflictions
I'm a mute masterpiece
drained from the pain
i told the Grim Reaper
i'm not afraid anymore
of all the lives we lived
this is my favourite
but he just smiled
then cried asking
"is this our last goodbye"
Where are you lingering?
you hide your fiery trail;
inspiration gleaming bright
grows dim and deathly pale.
Secret whispered phrases,
hand over mouth are held
captive in a stagnant soul,
pure drops in fountains failed.
Beyond release tormented,
behind restraining bars
waiting for the night to swell
and birth abundant stars.
Copyright, September 27, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
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
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
Shadows come creeping, silence grows trepid
Twilight so stark, not ‘beam of pale lunar
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
My thoughts become smart as my wisdom fades
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
I lone am the wolf whose fangs turned to stone
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Barren confines for this degrade machine
No solace comes for a soul like me..... so
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
I spied too late what I chose to forgo
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
No solace comes for a soul like me….. so
Shadows come creeping….. silence grows trepid.
A sad emotive
Blue ballad from
The broken soul
Of a mute man poet
His heart pounds a silent beat
From deep within
As he begins
To ballet with his fingers
Vocalizing his pain
To the world of blind and deaf
In the monsoon rain
Of his tears
As he express
His feelings and fear
About his future
In this cold world
Of insentient hearts
Being blind, mute or deaf
Doesn’t mean dead
This is the pain
That was easy to swallow
But hard to digest
So now I suggest
To take this fiery feeling
Out of my chest
Because they alienate us
They dig black holes
For us to find homes
Because all we are to the society
We lost souls
To those
Who got eyes to see
And ears to listen
We are just disable clowns
Because we are half human
But to those who got
Minds to think
And hearts to feel
We all human beings
Wordless and silent.
Verb archer on vacation.
Muse out for late lunch.
Before:
He waves the sea farewell
Is sure the shore will dwell
He wheels, hardly touching earth,
His arms provoke the sky
As wings about to fly:
Raising a newborn bird.
A swan, yet not about to die
a phoenix in disguise
Refuting every lie
Refusing less than high
He writes his muted life away
Remembers life on earth
A life of lack and dearth
A miss that always stays
After:
He keeps his words inside
They too will always hide
***
May 4, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Bloody windows grin with people looking in
Four empty spaces pulsating from within
So many dreams don't fit .. feel spasms in my chin
Those useless lips of mine can't tell me if I scream....
for Brian Strand's Contest
Bloody windows grin with people looking in
Four empty spaces pulsating from within
So many dreams don't fit .. feel spasms in my chin
Those useless lips of mine can't tell me if I scream....
for Brian Strand's Contest
Silence wraps itself around my senses
Soundless visions tiptoe through my mind
In my world, sound has been suspended
I hear your voice only with my eyes
And quietly, with my hands I speak
I do not waltz, betwixt this sound,
I cannot descry, your whispered amulet,
Hexed by silence, still I hear your lament,
as other birds chirrup, they too can imagine,
along these osculate words...
I try, to listen to the bells, sedulous nihility,
I want Mozart in my mind, I yell, demused,
I missed my train, another consortium delayed,
From Elysian fields, you call and call again...
Somehow, your words seem true to me,
Sometimes, you know, but you don't hear me,
Someway, the hindrance of my earthly epistles:
The painful, sly and poignant, missive envisage,
docile tones of your tongue, conducts satiny notes,
Palpable facial expressions, lead me on and on,
and the violin of my waltz,
sustains my love,
forevermore....
you are my mute swan
your flight path towards my song
let my tune seduce
25/07/2018
There once was a boy from Sauk City
had mandibles toothy and pretty
but when he spoke
his larynx broke
Parental-types said, “What a pity”
So they took him to a physician
who said, “This is an imposition”
he gave the boy a pill
which was designed to kill
and forwarded him to the mortician
The mortician built a long box
to entomb the boy who just squawks
To plug the holes
and keep out moles
he utilized multiple caulks
A most gruesome tale and quite gory.
Does a moral lie in this story?
Would you give me a shout
if you figure it out?
It may lead one into satori
for clarity, you may want to read the footnotes
the mute swan's song
has an ambiance
where motion moves naught
it hovers in an existence
where time becomes meaningless
lighting is aloof, a halo shining down
the white bed becomes a herald of angels
ready to move as the song fades
into Empyreal Heights never to return
lights dance in the mind
racing from red to blue into green
the machines are performing
appointed tasks, measuring vitals
in their ending throes
wires and tubes feeding each moment
a record of the battle
as life succumbs to the inevitable
your eyes are closed
breathing has become shallow
holding your hand, grasping at life
adding each precious moment
to a memory long embedded in happiness
we grew into this silence, holding hands
lost in a simple joy of each other's company
when our souls existed as one
i look up and the breathing has ceased
she is free of this mortal coil
i bury my tears into her hand
the lights are blue, red, and green
have gone silent
rising to my feet i bend to kiss her
whisper into her ear
please take me with you
Sweet Swan of Avalon, sing now for me
let your quill mark my wish in grief
please take me with you
life is an endless tide
that holds us within its laws
caught within the flood current
we have no power over its ebb
there exists no safe harbor
free from the tidal laws
mother's thoughts on this were
mourn a day and return to the plow
life is about the living
whose last whisper into her ear
please take me with you
OKC 9/22
The term “swan song” comes from the belief that Mute Swans (Cygnus olor) were completely silent until the last few moments of their life, when they would sing a beautiful song. Although this is an ancient myth and was proven to be false, as far back as 77A.D., the legend has lived on and the term swan song has become mainstream.
Shakespeare himself frequently featured this bird in his writing and was given the epithet “Sweet Swan of Avon.” He remarked that, although it was mute, it sang its swan song when ready to die. In act 8 of his play Othello, she was remorseful to similarly remark, “I will play the swan and die in music. “