Best Muted Poems
I'll hold this place for her loving faintly-
fragile, and tepid outer layer veils so thinly
a gorgeous core shining bright and quietly
Her eyes say more
than lips betraying her thoughts
as they swirl to intriguing depth.
I dive, plunge deeply-secretly
wading in thought's waters
loving the expanded borders
hidden beyond your rippled surface.
As birds singing, primp their rehearsed tune,
your diamond shines reluctant
from realities igneous tomb
I wan't to know the words she's trapped in blue
fluttering chests locked tightly when nervous
posture tells of something more.
Hushed often before, and muted now conditioned
to repress your heart...it's hard to breathe
as you selfconsciously hold your breath
Move those lips to mine
and whisper each trapped caption
your mind froze but never lost,
open the soul to feeling once more
like blood reddening air exposure
freeing the absence of feeling
...replaced with this tuned in euphoria
blaring melodies warm and familiar to our ears
*Inspired by Nathan's "Diamond in the Rough" contest
Muted Echoes
The echoes of piano notes
play softly in my mournful mind
as melody so gently floats
like ghosts of songs she left behind.
My memories are brought to bear,
the echoes of piano notes
forever floating in the air,
as lumps well up in saddened throats.
This winter day we don our coats
to lay her body down to rest;
the echoes of piano notes
show sadness in our hearts expressed.
The instrument sits dormant now;
its presence quietly emotes
her playing, as our thoughts allow
the echoes of piano notes.
Not this day
No
My mouth shall not say
The words that linger
Trailing broken syllables
From memory bay
Without meaning
I cannot form them
Even as I pray
Turning in guttural acidic taste
By bitter bile way
Fumbling resentment
Phrase to phase
With no sway from sentiment
Shall I dare?
Shall I say?
Nay!
Struggle thought
Drowning heart turned grey
Oh how heavy they drag
And scuff the floor from their weight
I look at them there in utter dismay
Clutching my heels as I walk away
I left them there
Begging!
Just as they left me that day
Those words...
Once meant for you
That I will NEVER again say
Old age
Muted rage
Broke hips
Bitter lips
Happy thoughts
Are Fought
Sunny Days
Turn away
Why lie
Will die
Nursing home
Swallows groan
Speak stronger and louder with outrage assert
Right, Left or inane, it keeps us alert
Our First Amendment rights
Can be shorn overnight
When the Man shouts “quiet and you won’t get hurt!”
And so
The words lay idle
Mumbling
“Not me! Not me!”
For we could be
The catalyst for
Verse,
Or worse.
Let us be
But words
Un-gathered logs
Afraid of fire
Soundless stones
Rolling
In sunrise surf
A wind
Without purpose
A rooster
Tapping the farmer
On the shoulder
Whispering “psst”
A muted moon
Fading silently
Into a day
Without
Poetry
On Sunday, the sweet soft tone of the choir was muted
The church pews were brimming with dust
Ushers were unable to give directions
For even the congregation was stuck up in isolation
Preachers had to minister to the echo of their own voices
No trace of humanity has witnessed such a calamity
A pandemic with the propensity to spread faster than fake news
The entire globe is bleeding a single wound
We have to stay at home to avoid the blood stains
Meeting friends and family seem to be the good old days
The latest trend is keeping a distance and washing your hands
Who knows?
What's in the air or exactly how this thing spreads?
The beautiful feeling of just going out and getting fresh air
Now, it seems like a bad idea
This Plague, like a fiend, feeds the earth thousands of righteous victims every day
It's striking a newly sharpened double edged sword into the hearts of mortals
This is not just a virus, it's fear itself
Take precaution!
They never predict the consequences
Of their hurtful words;
To them, cruelty is a way
In order to make all pay!
You all have witnessed how it goes;
No need to tell you how;
Just rewind in mind the old days
And try to figure why!
We think we had it all,
Reached the end of the road
And believing we should stop,
We miss ourselves behind!
It should not block the path;
Life really does go on;
Yet, once it is all said out loud,
Can it be turned down once more?
She fired her comments in cold blood,
Kept stabbing with a smile;
She never thought of hiding the venom
Of her so-called advice!
He sat there stunned;
Aggravated by all means;
To him this was the final halt
Crawling with slow steps!
You all may be wondering,
And questioning about
The truth behind the identity
The poem talks about!
I am the one who stuttered
And sweated with every breath
I know not why I stayed silent
All I know that I was forcibly
Muted by Authority!
© Guru Jad 2013
Silent,
nature's flowers
with which all senses merge-
become a dialogue with words
unheard.
I stroll leisurely along the avenue as silent trees stand sentinel.
Not one leaf rustles or whispers;
no branch breathes or even sighs.
No gust catches me off guard at the top of the hill
so that I pull
my scarf more snuggly ‘round me.
All is still.
The earth exhales its evocative perfume.
The birds quietly murmur
to each other among the leaves.
The squirrels merely mumble
as they scavenge for winter’s food;
their chatter subdued among the boughs.
The Crow’s raucous call remains unvoiced.
I wonder if animals are aware
of the change in the air?
How restrained they are -
how subdued the normal clamor.
As I walk, only my footsteps echo
in my ear - all other sounds are suppressed
to a subtle understated shuffle -
the day is like walking
through cotton – or a cocoon
of softest flannel- so subtle,
so serene, so restrained.
The autumn colors’ resonant pigments,
subtle as the ripple on a millpond,
hum an inaudible lullaby, rich and deep
to keep the noises at bay.
Today the burgundies, oranges
and yellows are muted,
their potency not diminished
by the absence of the sun.
I see each and every color created,
every individual leaf and branch
that shades the world;
and all the muted undertones
in between murmur their quiet hue.
The clouded sky of pearlized gray allows
the colors to emit the hue of their choosing -
burnished and buffed beyond recognition;
brilliant in the restrainment of inaudible
complexity -
on this muted day.
What if our dogs could talk aloud?
What do you suppose they'd speak about?
Rabbits, birds, chasing things?
What if they thought to tell our tales?
Stories hidden, behind the veil.
Secrets, scandals, Everything!
TLH © 06-12-2012
guard the garden (we are the only instructions)
faced with sand, glass, and mirrors… did you
hear that? (sounds of plunder) the fangs of birth
crying…waters demanding life…effluvia…spit
from the dragon we receive all our legends
and monsters (the preacher slams his fist down
on the podium) the bible (bound in leather) warriors
clash tongues swap swords (the sun prays darkness
upon the temple) painted eyes hand over what is left
(for honor the gods demand) another missed meal
for the dog sniffing refuse…the doors…muted…
SLAM
(dissonance in the lie words inaccurate the great vessel poisoned electric inspiration shock of authority dementia where is that sound the teeth open phrases unearthly esoteric splitting over the clay cliffs craving what it already lost…)
and walking through the town the ghosts see graveyards and hide in the blink of still photography…
I’m plagued with muted memories
that at their leisure will just wail;
It could be the song on the breeze,
I’m plagued with muted memories;
Meals disrupted by fallacies;
My peace they decide to impale;
I’m plagued with muted memories,
that at their leisure will just wail.
It occured to me the other day that nothing makes a sound.
It's the whiteness of the noise you hear when nobody's around.
It calls the spirit home to rest to understand the soul.
And brings a sense of peace inside in knowing that's your role.
The day is ticking slow but sure and nothings getting done.
When your alone, your just alone, it's really not much fun.
The absense of a loved one leaves the room a dull dim glow.
An emptiness I must confess, like this no one should know.
We live our lives trusting in God, that he is always there.
And now I know in muted silence that he truly does care.
For when you see your fellow man or woman on the street.
You've grown to have compassion for the people that you meet.
Frustration or elation tends to paint the tone of mood.
Sometimes it gets misunderstood and people think your rude.
So when you have these quiet times of peace and solitude.
Just know that it's important for your life to be reviewed.
Pleasant voices
I adore them
they are somehow tuned
those
mist negotiators
in half of strength
announcing your personal capitulation
pleasantly
holding cards laid in front of you
you
infatuated with spin of his tone
by consent taking the place upon his palms
became
a
Thumbelina
nop
he won't become your swallow
even though
inclines to the south
you didn't even pull yourself together
he scraped of that pleasant color of voice
those pieces
dispatched in absence
by testament have sealed the truth -
no more pleasant sounds
they are all deported to the south
story in the story
statement
my story and his history
one story
his story devoured my,
chewed
and
spit it out
sometimes it is happier solution simply
embrace the tree
either way, my hands are too small for woods