Best Mutes Poems
Feeling smug about its certainty,
night anticipates the day's demise.
And as scattered clouds of grey gather;
blue finds sanctuary in your eyes.
As twilight colors a stained-glass sky,
a scarlet sun reluctantly sinks.
And dusk dilutes the essence of light,
scribbling silhouettes in blackened inks.
Vermilion tints the far horizon,
as flashing fireflies light up the night.
And nature inks magical moments;
choreographing their dance with light.
Darkness descends like a shroud of smoke,
snuffing out the last lingering light.
And in the fabric of time and space;
stars confetti an ebony night.
A golden moon shines down from above;
gilding ripples in a wishing well.
And silence mutes the beat of two hearts
held captive, in love's hypnotic spell.
Traditional Format
Compassion’s finger strums another note,
he listens as the angels start to sing,
recalling lines from what apostles wrote,
indwells the spirit held by Heaven’s king.
Succinctly spoken leaving soul in tune,
the gifts we need are never under trees,
mosaic mustard seeds lit by the moon,
aspires our gaze and prayers on bending knees.
Submits himself to love and sounds of grace,
mistrust no longer drowns and mutes his heart,
united song with Christ, him to erase
so many sins in mercy to impart.
In essence, life and hope beyond today.
Contrasts the world, as it dissolves away.
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Acrostic Format
Compassion’s finger strums another note,
He listens as the angels start to sing,
Recalling lines from what apostles wrote,
Indwells the spirit held by Heaven’s king.
Succinctly spoken leaving soul in tune,
The gifts we need are never under trees,
Mosaic mustard seeds lit by the moon,
Aspires our gaze and prayers on bending knees.
Submits himself to love and sounds of grace,
Mistrust no longer drowns and mutes his heart,
United song with Christ, him to erase
So many sins in mercy to impart.
In essence, life and hope beyond today.
Contrasts the world, as it dissolves away.
How I long to see me
on a walk of possibilities
a journey of rarity
a world of no worries
wide opening the gates of boundaries
the mind lines crossing
the heart chambers stretching..
***
Set on the branch of my heart
rest with your Love
feel home and feed soul
My senses I would close
My mind I would set loose
A sweet surrender
the Self wings carefree..
***
How I long to dream of me
detached as I could be
One and only me!
sweet and true be!
No sound
dares a quiet mind
or mutes a heart’s glee..
When your heart shuns flattery's lies,
it opens and lets the truth in.
And time mutes the varied voices
fear once amplified deep within.
You know of love's magic through dreams,
where hope's crumbling walls get rebuilt.
And the sanctuary of sleep
banishes whisperings of guilt.
Your mind's a fantasy playground;
filled with flashes of second sight.
And skeletons of memories,
time's acid tears, have bleached bone white.
Tricksters and Angels coexist;
within echoes of silent screams.
And weave wishes with silver threads;
in reality's world of dreams.
Tricksters spin what you want to hear
their prime motivator is lust.
And like a whisper in the wind
their words are not tethered to trust.
Angels detest the emptiness
that eats away at lonely hearts.
And try to fill your heart with smiles;
they gather as each new day starts.
Garish should be the undertone
so say the ones who hold the line
desiring only that mutes explain
the breadth of life beyond the pale
until the souls who dare to dream
demand expression beyond the veil
with vibrancy of color’s swatch
and actions stated to justly shock
these statements exclaimed without regard
for sensibilities in fashion’s realm
instead the giants are thrown down
by admiration of damning jests
extracting praise for substitutes
the flagrant over the sadly tamed
a mystery that gods disdain
while beauty fills the latitudes.
Midnight Mutes the Chiming
There’s nothing here
I’m surrounded by things and people
and entertainment that never ends
but there’s nothing here
My mind is empty
filled to the brim with stories
and movies and interesting facts
and I could pull from it and show you everything
but my mind is empty
There’s nobody near
they’re all around laughing and joking
and they’re waiting for me to say something
and I can interact with them
but there’s nobody near
My mind is a screaming silence
ideas bouncing through again and again
my room is filled with useless ****
but i keep buying and buying
my life is a world of loneliness
and all I have to do is reach out
But I can’t
I can’t reach out and
they don’t understand
They say its an easy fix
Just do it.
Just be someone you’re not.
But I’m already doing that.
They’re all strangers to me
and they think they know me,
how to fix me.
But I’m a broken clock
and I keep bouncing between seconds
I’m fine I’m not I’m fine
I’m not.
Parental desperation
is the dreadful flee bidden cause
Children separation
is the inhumane quarantine effect
Trying to cross the sovereign divide
is narrow mindedly viewed, by more than a few,
as a pestilent travel venture
Ill will is the chilling, unhealthy reception
The uncivil solution: Create an insane policy
for poor souls seeking asylum
Man-made designation is an animal control way station,
(also known as) Borderline K-9 Cages
See the perennially sad puppy eyes
laying fetal prone on the morgue cold, concrete floors
Watch the waning wag of the tongues,
their thirst for freedom dying behind iron bar doors
National psychotic behavior is borderline criminal,
keeping children in cages is morally indefensible
Diamondback mutes devolving into what?
Mental worms turning into heartless slugs!
Children developing separation psychosis
is a lonesome doggone shame
K-9 kids were never meant to be raised in cages,
yet no one wants to bear the blame
But many of the kennel keepers
have gotten so inured to the ear-piercing, borderline pain
And the womb-ripped parents
are never told where the aborted-trip children were taken
She wasn't a learned woman per se or so I was told,
by the air that surrounded her late in the eve as she talked away;
Its as if she plucked it from the time belt of knowledge,
Nostradamus style, I would say:
Sometimes she addressed Kings & Queens, other times paupers and cats
she wrote like she tasted her words, rolled them around on her tongue,
but other times she blew them through you like wind, sifting through a kite.
Scattered reckless like a hungry seagull, carving a morsel only to die for her trade.
She was water going round a solid rock always turning,
rearranging herself to please everyone and no one.
She suffered no fools except for the man who placed his palms around her,
shaping her like a piece of wet clay.
Playing nice in a world of pipers and mutes, she was a diamond in the rough;
He once told her there was a woman called Helen who made millions,
hosting a show on the tele, she didn't even have a high school degree.
He knew the scattered wild garden she tilled, yes she was a beautiful mess,
one that reminded him of a he, of long ago.
She was a woman with big words and small, who wrote for animals,
humans, aliens, Neanderthals, scientists, priests, and flowers.
She was both the flame and the match, always ready to strike.
Written by: Beautiful Mystic Rose
Blue diaphane, tobacco smoke
Serpentine on wet film and wood glaze,
Mutes chrome, wreathes velvet drapes,
Dims the cave of mirrors.
Ghost fingers
Comb seaweed hair, stroke acquamarine veins
Of marooned mariners, captives
Of Circe's sultry notes.
The barman
Dispenses igneous potions ?
Somnabulist, the band plays on.
Cocktail mixer, silvery fish
Dances for limpet clients.
Applause is steeped in lassitude,
Tangled in webs of lovers' whispers
And artful eyelash of the androgynous.
The hovering notes caress the night
Mellowed deep indigo ?still they play.
Departures linger.
Absences do not
Deplete the tavern.
They hang over the haze
As exhalations from receded shores.
Soon
, Night repossesses the silence, but till dawn
The notes hold sway, smoky
Epiphanies, possessive of the hours.
This music's plaint forgives, redeems
The deafness of the world.
Night turns
Homewards, sheathed in notes of solace, pleats
The broken silence of the heart.
- Wole Soyinka -
Quietly recalling
Those few days long past
Where night rose undisturbed
Allowed to live in solitude
Distant from the hum of the city
And the glare of its radiance
For here silence is silence
And dusk mutes the mountainside
Giving fearful pause even to dawns eye
In the pallid glow of moonlight
Stand the great Ponderosa Pines
Veiled shadows of ominous parsons
Resolutely guarding midnight faith
Sweet tendrils of vanilla incense
Wafting on Rocky Mountain breezes
Like passions vogue allegory
A smooth and round obsidian stone
Washed upon a retracted beach
My modest moment of reality
Smoothed over by times hands
On this mountain lake…
…Settling me to begin anew
The summer sky, awash with ghostly clouds
Seems open to imaginings tonight
The likes of which those of the common clay
Deem it folly to conceive.
Clothed in possibilities
This world we move through mutes my mind
With dull amazement, presented in its simple glory.
Of this, No-Mind names the attitude
That grants the gift to see with eyes
From which the scales have briefly fallen.
No frame of reference is adoptable
No meaning save what can be felt
At rest behind the wispy veils.
A Truth exists which can be understood,
But never grasped and held.
Real simplicity seems to lie beyond the ways
Of ever-clever Man.
Nature and Her Universe have it of themselves,
While we can only feel its breath in passing,
Its reflection filling the world, unseen.
I can feel the edges of the Something
That brings me peace at times
When I run out of cluttered thoughts,
But in the end it eludes me still,
Denying me a fullness which might sate forever after.
To catch it, to hold it is as vain as chasing sunlight
Scattering over still, deep pools.
With what sort of attitude can one approach
These things so pure they surpass
Our hearts' ability to encompass them,
Our minds' ability to force the secret into view?
Like squeezing dust into diamonds.
Still the universe and all within it
Shines on just as clearly all the while,
And one fundamental Fact remains:
Nothing changes, except that everything changes.
Tranquil
the ocean
sun sinks
sky orange-red
with distance
comes moon
each wave
mutes night
circling gulls
waves and air
water and evening
infinite horizon...
Everything
utters night
losing shape
eyes closing
darkness in wind
each wave
the water
sky and moon
go together
with these words
I paint the sky dark...
I know, I know.
For some of you people, it's hard.
You have no choice.
Your parents didn't teach you any better.
If at all.
If you had any parents to speak of.
And the crowd you run with is worse than you.
So, in conclusion...where would you go to know.
Where would you learn to grasp the courtesy, the decorum.
The bourgeois sense of civility somehow afforded to the rest of mankind.
You wouldn't.
You didn't.
And there you are.
Flapping.
Flapping that big-ass mouth of yours.
Into your spittle-loving smart phone.
Spewing and flailing.
Mewing and assailing.
With everyone within earshot (read: a thousand nautical miles) absorbing your golden renderings.
Renderings filled with more primal, guttural nonsense than a naked mute, set on fire, playing charades.
More monologue than dialogue.
A demagogue with a catalog.
And then you finish your call.
And start another.
More nonsense about someone else we don't give a **** about.
And then you finish.
You go silent.
There's hope for us.
When all of a sudden.
The earbuds go in.
And the singing begins.
In tune, then out.
(Insert meaningless rap dribble and delicious mcnuggets of profanity HERE)
I guess naked mutes like karaoke.
The train arrives.
We all depart.
There is a G-d.
(5/6/14)
The blacked out world mutes loves counterpart
Silence is now the sharpest dagger to the heart
You hang on bated breath for a single word
The peace of sound will not be stirred
You can't keep calm surrounded by the lull
The speechless stare has left you dull
The stillness way has struck a nerve
Standing alone tall in there reserve
The secret world they will now not share
They leave your black heart to die on dead air
The blacked out world mutes loves counterpart
Silence is now the sharpest dagger to the heart
In the dusk of the day
When the dark shadows merge
And the cry of the wind
Mutes the chant of the bird
Where the waves hit the shore
And the air shakes the trees
Cold shivers of shame
Shape the bold into meek.