Best Muting Poems
Winter whitewashes Autumn's decay,
and yet, you know that Spring will soon show.
But, as snowflakes bury Fall's array,
depression deepens with each fresh snow.
Snow-laden trees, like sculptures of clay;
stand exposed, chiseled by a sharp breeze.
And stenciled in statuary grey;
like outstretched fingers, bare branches freeze.
A brisk breeze wrestles your breath away,
in the grip of an unyielding cold.
And muting the sound of children's play;
melancholy thoughts start to take hold.
A stormy day causes nerves to fray,
for doldrums brood within shadows cast.
And folks speculate on Spring's delay,
damping hopes that this weather won't last.
Purple and scarlet ink the sun's rays,
and yet, sunset chills you to the bone.
For as twilight dims on dreary days,
you feel depressed, shut in, and alone.
Aimlessly wander veiled memories of yore
Each passing cloud subtly brings to fore
Recalling regrets, where laments agonize,
Thinking of you, searching forsaken skies,
Muting spent emotions of anguished eyes.
O how we rejoiced in blissful sunny days
When dawns arose on glinted arc ablaze
As golden beams pierced shrouded haze
Defying onslaught of darkened malaise
Intent on blotting zealous romantic phase.
Recalling ardent dreams with you I stroll
Where gleam of your smile brightens soul
As allure of amorous past feelings cajole
Emanating from desires heartbeats extol
In language of passion yesteryears scroll.
Every cloud etches effigy of love gone awry
Yet, thunder of stygian vibes fiercely I defy,
For return of clear skies in your longing I vie
Denouncing certitude hosting forlorn sigh,
Remorseful of ego that callously bid goodbye.
March 8, 2023
Placed 1st: Each Passing Cloud Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
Tears from The East
Head chatterd with state law
No fair hearing because the law is
deaf
Executioner groaning with sword
The hot sun ready to sip
Her blood oozes in the midst of
innocency
Arrogant mob mocking her tears
Justice jugging in the jungle
She is
Killed for no just cause
Nature stood aloof
As she groan and moan
Mother weeps endless
Father failing
Desert wailing
The ugly sun in the middle east bleeds
for freedom
Freedom trapped by devils in power
Religion masking and muting our
voices
Today, we weep for Ramata
Written Awoh Kingsley
My poems are not for leisure
They are guns
Aim at imperial anatomy
Notes slipped to a teller’s eyes
For easy withdrawal
Of ancestral deposits
My poems are not for leisure
They are flowers for graves
Of dead theories and foolish warriors
Who slave for vanity
Flowers cover well the rot
Of lovers’ insanity.
My poems are not for leisure
They are for children
Who have heard the piper’s call
After the elevation of the rats
Who put banks on crutches
Of tarp funds, bailing out
On mortgages where homeless
Families wander
In insensitive arguments of the street
My poems will never be silent
Against Godless lies
And crooks impenitent
In Congress or Parliaments
Striking from the dark of consciences
Bleeding alone in teary trenches
Gasping the green gas
Of laws muting its militant lines
I give you my poem – not anesthesia
Just wine.
It must feel good to say at last
The ceiling is shattered
And the door is open
It must feel good
But I looking at the ceiling
Think of icy rains
Monitors on my feet instead of chains
Weevils dancing in the hoarded grains
And blind men wiping at dark blood stains
It must feel good at last to belong
To see your face on the totem pole
Hear the world sing your song
Muting the lyrics meaning about the cold
The cloak of Night suppresses sounds;
all, but the faint beat of my heart.
Zoning out of reality,
I shelter in Night's quietude.
Muting the Day's cacophony,
the cloak of Night suppresses sounds.
And allows me to sort my thoughts,
without the annoyance of noise.
When Chaos rings inside my head:
distractions echo through my mind.
The cloak of Night suppresses sounds,
city life, tethered to the day.
Stepping outside of the moment,
my mind disengages with time.
For at the fringes of quiet,
the cloak of Night suppresses sounds.
A red-streaked panorama graced Washington's dawn
Clear lake-blue skies there all day long
Portland smoke-gray, from tear gas and pepper spray
Antifa showed its true colors on Inauguration Day
Not a hint of outrage from the government or the press
It's alright if the fascists are left-wing, I guess
At the Inaugural Ball, attendees donned their prettiest dress
Masks muting their 'concern' over the Oregonian mess
A
dying
scarlet sun,
bleeds upon pink
cotton candy clouds
clustering at Earth's edge,
as though tethered to the night.
Twilight starts unveiling the stars
now twinkling-like faceted diamonds
and moonbeams gild indigo waters gold.
Muting all but one lonely cricket's chirp,
silence imbues each shifting shadow
with a growing feeling of dread.
And a dark curtain descends
until silhouettes merge
and ebony starts
slowly filling
in every
single
gap.
A semi-silence is my world
I reach out to touch the total silence
and embrace it with my thoughts.
Hearing aids are unreachable.
Insurance does not pay
and the constant ringing is
deafness, creeping ever so creeping.
I reflect now in the semi-silence
with ringing muting the real world
on dragonflies and days gone by
moments of the quiet sigh.
Then I reach for thoughts of total silence
reading faces and lips that speak
louder than voices.
In the midst of cacophony, city noises
and sound pollution-
I will be ready for total silence and think, “how precious”
6/24/20
SURVIVOR
She was smaller, slower, weaker
easily unseen
as she slipped away
seeking the warmth
of an exhaust grate.
Innocence lost
she slept
fitfully muttering
lost words
……………………………….forbidden words.
She awoke
to an empty station
a trembling silence
muting the sound
of a distant train.
She raised a numbered hand
waving goodbye.
She had missed
the last train
………………………………..to Auschwitz.
©4/12/2021
Last Train To Auschwitz Poetry Contest
Kai Michael Neumann sponsor
Life has cruel ways of muting emotions
Over time in how we treat each other
Manifest and shameful self promotion
At the expense of loved one’s own druthers
Forgetting the passion igniting fire
With the excuse we’re busy and stressed
Denies quite natural human desire
Honesty and fidelity to test
Love backs up our romantic interest
Keeping us engaged emotionally
Denying love creates awkward distance
Lonely nights and lonely days equally
Prioritize now and do not delay
For we are never given tomorrow
Promote passion today, too busy at bay
Jump start romance and save yourself sorrow
Dolphins and unicorns
Butterflies and rainbows
These are underlying
But not all there is to know
While facing trials and sorrow
Taking good with bad I guess
With every thought and feeling
That I’ve chosen to express
Although I see the silver
That outlines the cloudy facts
As human being I must admit
That I’m just built like that
I never could imagine
That this voice would be so hard
In fact it’s not a choice at all
I’m forced to play these cards
I’ll paint the sky with sunshine
While the system I explore
But if the day converts to rain
The storms won’t be ignored
The thunder might be muting
As in silence I release
Not meant to flood the eardrums
But to wet my soul with peace
The wrong side of the bed sometimes
Can sound just like a cockatoo
Permit this broken record or switch off
As I can never do
The place that keeps me sane within
Though sheltered far from evil
Pretentious surface smiles aside
Inside there’s great upheaval
I'd hope to stay on wishful clouds
of love until the end of days
Though realistically I know
Life doesn’t work that way
Mysterious fog, rolling over
the hills and valleys, hiding
secrets and muting sound.
Out of the white mantle
comes the song of a bird,
seeming to enjoy his cool
morning hideaway..
Go into this magic..hold
out your hand , feel the wet
and wander like a blind man.
It won't last, but while it does,
play with the witchcraft
that is fog.......
written 7/19/13
for Broken Wings' Honorable Mention contest
Barbara Gorelick
Where one could see
In articulate
His love
In mystery of smile
In infant eyes
As in muting speak
In glance
of stars
In a pair of tweet
In branch of trees
In the passion stem
As a murmur of wakeup
To in buds- alive
This world inside
filled with dalai lamas
composed of double layers,
light spirit rivers of nutrition
discerning dark flowing soul Source.
This world outside
vibrations of octave spectral light,
echoing morphology
ecosystems of desperate joy
and all primal elements between
betwixt
among
within
without soul vibrations echoing ecowokeness,
Earth's trans-ego
eco-symbiotic expanding integrity.
Our in/outsided nondual mindbodies,
vibrating warm souls
haunted by hate
shepherding external relationships
through ego's gate
of transparently shared soul identity.
This species multiculturing kosmic christ,
shepherd guardians hunting paradise safety
through haunted health forests
cut and sliced into label doors
into ego hells hunting Earth's co-vegetating skins,
muting ecological echoes
feeding on heavenly root systems,
vibrant deep down shaking spirit souls,
searching our primal co-gravitations
mutually defining Earth's fully abundant neurotic rivers
spiriting nutrient light
streaming out
dreaming in
screaming out
breathing in
becoming bodhisattva hunter warriors
for Peace.
BiHemispheric
intelligent designers transporting deep
rich
dense
polymorphic muses
of Earth's future vibrant TaoTime
ReGeneMentor Messiahs.
EarthMother outside in
light spiriting dark soul
EarthTribe ReSource.