Best Without Expression Poems
The sky in silvery blue veil, and
The moon;
Peering from the white silk foam of the clouds,
Below its territory
In a long white gown
Staring at her footsteps, Beauty
Walking to the gigantic cliff along the shore
Is she waiting for fulfillment of her burning desires?
Or is leaving things all behind?
Without expression of fear or joy
She throws a pebble into the sea
Splash raised the waves in the air then back
And the pain
From friendship to loneliness again
“Memories Leave Silently”**
The memories leave silently
so as not to disturb the now
tiptoeing through darkening corridors
stirring only motes of hidden dust.
Sliding through the grasp of weakened will,
unfelt amid the growing numbness
now – disconnected from – then
how – in search of – why.
Eyes search the familiar – for the known
lips form words without expression
tears – devoid of sting – dry saltless
memories leave – silently.
John G. Lawless
1/16/2016
**This poem was prompted by the phrase “memories leave silently” in the poem “A Time To Let Go” written by Silent One on PoetrySoup.
"Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder"
Rumi
a concrete heart now
resembles feathered textures
like a house made from lace
words which were once ignored
now wound through tormented thorns
life is like pages of petals withering in winter
and fate a butterfly without a blossom -
in an analogy of caterpillar cruelty,
predators feast upon cocoons
but in an upside world with endless doors
and disappearing stairs -
there is no where to escape
in an orchard of naked trees,
a gardener cries without seeds,
breathing, but barely existing,
like a poetic muse without his ink
colourless confetti drifting
like moonlight in daylight
his soul is a conquered fortress
an empty vase with cracks
a flame unable to kindle
his spirit is an anchored vessel
he has composed a song,
but he has no orchestra
a battered punching bag
without a boxer
he can recall when rain
poured in musical colours
when mirrors were pleasant
and shadows did not follow
time seems to reverse,
and all he can see are faces
without expression
without tender nourishment
only cold horizons flourish,
so he buries romance
into a loveless tomb.
Simple Musing
Sparse lashes span aged lids,
framing an eye that catches light
like the clearest glass.
The softest liquid sheen - of tears?
But the eye stares blankly
without expression.
No crinkle of joy, no distention of fear,
yet the pupil dilates, eclipsing the iris.
Snuffing out the moon.
And there, the faintest reflection...
watching, waiting.
He stares down Death itself
with no sign of fear.
*Inspired by Escher's "Eye"
At eases rest, he sits waiting,
The guitarist.
Withered arthritic hands,
Shake now.
His study gaze strains,
To read the noted page.
Thoughts drifting, pondering,
A gentler pace.
Reflections pause, amongst,
Remembrance still waters.
Life's forgotten rambler,
Traveling along destiny’s,
Long lost highways.
Castaways absent player,
In limbos mindless game.
A migrant hobo,
Leaving reality's seasonal,
Venues behind.
God's harvest lies beyond,
In glories golden fields.
No lyrics express liberation’s,
Abandonment, freedoms release,
From pains well worn shell.
Lifted above griefs, loving kindred,
Peal away regrets many veils,
Layer by layer exposing,
Destiny's beauty in misty hews.
A new adventure begins,
On horizons, magnificent canvas,
Behold a grand expanse.
A spirit soars, following an
Everlasting light.
It is peace without expression,
Mankind’s ultimate fulfillment,
And loves final achievement.
Celebrations joy receives salvation's,
Lost lamb.
In hymens sacred choir he'll join in,
Playing God's gospel, angel's voices,
Are raised in praise.
Strumming at his best,
Within divinities,
Heavenly band.
Sweet melodies song echoes,
Beneath stars shinning light.
The music man smiles,
I've finally come home at last.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
(And clearing my mind)
Written: by Tom Wright
January 2015
Oft times, without expression
I’m caught staring into space.
Where temporarily I’ve been ushered
To some bygone time or place;
Re-experiencing events, in living color
But without surrounding sound;
Blanked out, are poignant matters
Which earlier had thoughts bound;
But too soon realism is restored
And I hark back to a familiar place.
Whatever problems that may persist
I’ll be doing my best as I face.
Don’t lose sleep over what others might think about you
But rather over what God knows about you.
Tom
~“SECRET”, to be or not to be is my life long concession,
essence of sacred heart or of the mind’s crooked obsession...
having sacred purpose or a Neanderthal digression...
by reaching the peaks of mind control freaks of worldly transgression!
~"BELIEVING" in our senators one hundred twelfth, Bull Session...
where wealth is represented, the poor face a great depression...
the poor, no score, special interest have the floor, closed session!
~"A WORLD POSSESSED", greatly depressed, indiscretion, repossession...
they say, learn a new profession, "in this world of aggression?"
~NEUROTIC DEPRESSION" [anxious obsession] without expression…
what do I choose...moral compression by legal profession…
of manic depression or sacred heart’s harmonic progression?
For and in honor of Shani Fassbender
And contest: “Tell me a Secret”
Emerging from the downtown hardware store
I saw a strange funeral procession
Two black limo hearses were at the front
Then walked a man without expression
The man had a shaggy dog on a leash
A long string of people followed him
All of these people were in single file
That’s why I addressed the man on a whim
“Forgive me for asking; I’m curious”
“What type funeral procession is this”?
My wife’s in the lead hearse; my dog killed her
When she Bi*ched at me, he just went amiss
But I see there are two hearses up front
Alas, my mother-in-law was killed too
When she tried to help my wife, he killed her
Once my dog got mad, I knew they were through
I thought for a minute; then spoke real low
“I have a strange request, if you don’t mind”
“Is there a chance I could borrow your dog”?
Well sure, but you have to go get in line
...of love; would'st thou speak without expression...
...would love without expression speak, if hearts were
moved without a smile; would we still yearn to kiss...
...for lips can say I love you; within their silent touch...
...their caress returns a dawning hope; of love that sang
but never spoke...
...but to whisper soft light musings, of a moment's fluid
embrace; oh how the seconds changed us, as our years
remained the same...
With Fur that is white and cold to the touch,
Never had i gazed upon beauty of such.
Eyes that glowed a bright golden hue,
As soon as i saw, i had found her i knew.
Her tail was long and thick by sight,
But dance it did against the wind's force and might.
Taller she was than one man and one more so,
A sad creature she was, a ruler of pain or woe.
The arctic was her kingdom, but no one lived here,
No one to protect from pain or fear.
At the moon, she'd howl with echo and sound
As if answering the bright sphere and her masters abound.
Was she a normal creature? I thought,
Or was she a deity of the arctic kingdom she wrought.
Quiver i did by her imposing presence,
But then with her near, i would come to feel pleasance.
The Moon's companion, the queen of the unforgiving ice.
All that stand before her are naught but sheep and mice.
I stand and walk towards her eternal grace,
Ever fearful but longing to come to her embrace.
Not snarling but watching without expression,
Judging me, a human, unworthy of aggression.
Bother me, it didn't for now i stand,
for before it, i knelt, offering my hand.
Why does she cause so much emotion within?
Within my head, a melody she'd sing.
How does she possess such a compelling note?
Why would she accept me instead of taking my throat?
A beast far more graceful than a trickster and savior,
for she is far nicer in person and behavior.
Perhaps a human turned to beast from a spell or curse?
Too late, she'd sing with chorus and verse.
Considered a ruler but subjugated, she be,
Howling at the moon, to her master she'd plea.
A companion or slave, The moon's pretty hound,
Forced to stay upon this silent throne without sound.
Understand i can't for she is not human,
She is the Lunar companion, the Crowned Angel Numen.
Death shrouds each
ancillary moment
Pain lashed without reason
A blind game against the sun
Humans turn against dirt
Where they search
Thoughtless configuration
My sense
Of cryogenic soul hovering
Imbuing fluids, mystery without expression
And creasing against
The wind of ideas
My only source of direction
When you speak germane
Fertilizer falls out
With no patience
To encircle the pants
You left trailing behind
Instead a tumor grows
Simultaneously banished
And buried under the surface
Without recognition
it's not your fault
that you are invisible
you have a striking resemblance
to a lightly drawn shadow
it isn't a mask that can wear you
no presence to strike
only loneliness can guide
any essence left from you
but then
isn't it always that way
for a woman without expression.
Legend of Fosse Way
Riding hard under a moonlight high
not a leaf rustling and it troubles my mind
In the distance there's music of the lyre and flute
rippling over the moors
Serenading the stars
The voice of a maiden
bleeds it's way through the thick darkness
Singing an ole Bawdy Pub Song.
My steed swift at a gallop
hooves sound their click clack
As we cross Halford Bridge
No time to be wasted
seeking comfort at the Inn
History demands I deliver this message
The dispatch I carry holds the future of England
I must make Exeter Castle by dawn.
No matter the risk or danger I encounter
It is crucial that I press on
Two Queens vying for the throne of England
Not even God can decide which be the righteous one
Protestant or Catholic not the reason for choice
A Queen must have love for Mother England
coursing through her blood
Forrest fairies ring the bells on the Fox Glove
The Oaks without expression and still
A rare breeze slaps the sleeping grasses in the glades
In the marsh toads croak complaint to night’s chill
This road is dominion of Highwaymen and thieves
Robbing those that choose this way to travel.
By the will of God and the Bishop's blessing
I will pass undetected by scoundrels and rabble
Nourished only on bread and Brambleberries
Traveling in the cover of night taking sleep by day
All that I've seen are ghosts of Roman soldiers
On this thoroughfare known as Fosse Way
If by the hand of God or the Devil
I meet with an untimely death
And I am unable to tell tale of this ride
Let not my story meet the same fate
Say my name Nigel Foster be mentioned in yarns
told in pubs and taverns .
History will decide if I am a Patriot or Traitor
As a result of my actions
When the years pass into the future
Don't let me be a lost memory of yesterday
If by chance may I live on
as one of the many legends
The many legends of Fosse Way.
Inspired by Alfred Noyes poem “The Highwayman"
And in memory of my distant relative,
Robert Devereux 2nd Earl of Essex.
Judge Santiago Burdon
©2019
Samra comes here often Pretending she wants to buy stuff Or is looking for something
What she is really look for though is me
She wants to know who iam
She wants to know what I do
She wants to know where am heading She wants to know where I have been She wants to know why am here
She wants to know me
I stare at samra for a while
Poor little girl
Wasting her time on a man who got a woman She knows this she does
But she continues to come here Everyday she comes here
She comes dressed up
Bright shiny clothes
Lots of eyeliner and fake hair
I know its fake because you see the lining near her forehead
She wears too much perfume
Samra wants me to notice her
I want no trouble so I look away
Now she is here
With half her breasts out
And her tongue wiggling to and fro She is playing with those long eyelashes Flickering them up and down
Up and down
Up and down
For a moment I stutter
This girl is asking for trouble
And trouble she is going to get
Now she is behind my counter
Acting all shy like she a piece of silk
This devil girl is sick
I am going to do her proper
I know this is improper
But she is making my eyes dropper
Once am done am going to leave her like a chopper
She wanted to know who I was
She wanted to know what I do
She wanted to know where am heading
She wanted to know where I have been She wanted to know why am here. She wanted to know me.
She starts screaming rape
Looking at me like I am to blame
Now everybody is looking at me with shame
Through their eyes I see hatred and aim Claims made with the aim to achieve fame I regret giving into the game
The game that has now cost me flames
I regret ever looking at something that wasn’t mine
How could something happen over such a short line Making me feel like I was on cloud number nine
I am acting like I have been drinking a thousand glasses of wine Too damn ashamed of my own self shine
But even as you read Question me you will succeeded For a man’s reasoning can only exceed You will say it was my greed That led me to reseed
Wasn’t me that took lead? Wasn’t it him that wanted this need?
For samra is a woman Everything about her was that of a trueman
Poor little girl
That bastard really made her swirl Now she is left up to curl
Whilst he continues to twirl
Poor little girl.
Through Others Eyes
I often see him sitting there as I wander through the park. Always on the same bench, staring at the scene before him. His face mostly without expression, never smiling or acknowledging a ventured wave or nod. I wonder what thoughts and experiences are hidden behind the dark lenses that always cloak his eyes.
Today I stop and take a seat beside him. I am startled by his hello. I return his greeting and remark on the beauty of the day. He agrees and relates how much he enjoys the smell of the lilacs and the sound of the trees stirring in the breeze.
He likes to hear the traffic on the nearby street, and the voices that surround him as
they pass him by. He comments on the pigeons that scurry around our feet, looking for the next handout. I usually bring some bread crumbs he says as I know they will be waiting
I ask him if he lives nearby. He says no, he must take the bus to come here. A small price to pay to experience the life that lingers in the park he says. The days are ever changing and the sights and sounds do not repeat themselves. Life moves through here with bold steps he says. Much can be learned if we just sit and observe.
I must admit you see much more then me, I say. Much of what you see I pass by without cognizance. It is refreshing to observe things through others eyes.
I see the first sign of a smile Just a slight curling at the corners of his mouth. He rises and says he must be going. From his pocket, he withdraws a folded white cane and opens it to its fullest.
He turns in my direction, thanks me for the visit and says “I hope to see you again”.
Then with a muted tap, tap, tap, he slowly walks away.