Long Deafen Poems
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Top shelf cologne exhibits sensual tail of peacock
Entrances my senses at our eleven a.m embrace
Eyes shut, my erratic stamina borrows comfort
Curled into leather front seat, chest inhales safe
Our waterfall guffaws cascade in establishments of stature
Grilled salmon, staple lunch, gregarious wine supports us
Role's novelty and glitz incessantly scratches my rapture
Unorthodox allure makes mockery of standard formulas
Indirect looks from diners, behind raised glasses, warped
Solid gold arrogance declares benefits blatantly displayed
Society fears breaking the mould, glued to ordinary course
Our acquired theme sustains disdain for lifestyles staid
Ocean boulevard grandeur sees counterpart meshed potential
Sleek topless travel exalts unfelt mist, road gloss moisture
Your life thickened fingers amorously grasp my thigh's tender
I agree to be owned, an ornament connects material pleasure
When the Polstar slows to crawl of steady tiger, stealthily slips
mid afternoon into carpark of your harbour side apartment
Disparagement wedges beneath my ribs, not having envisaged
aerobics of limber mayhem, loosened make-up, not just yet
Smug expression hugs your face, read in tight lipped pressure
I assert my plan to showcase new swimsuit may now be ruined
"Absolutely promise, gorgeous, there's no chance you'll regret."
My climbing premonition messages a gem of genuine
Ponytail splayed against mirrored wall of elevator
Ardent kissing's conclusion resurfaces your chivalrous
Door barely closed before I pouncing kitten paw you
Your flailing indicating a spare key cut for me, erroneous
"My doll, my dear desirable, the key is incompatible."
Mysterious grimace molests your face, causing me to frown
"Did the rum with lunch rupture your remaining brain cells?!"
Fatherly pats of my arms speak a decoy which confounds
Journey up two flights, could it be... heart in throat
Silenced keys caress sweat sodden peeled open palm
Your anticipating stare burns my back, unopposed
Oh, justify me - yes! - the door complies on demand
"Neighbour, do you like it?" superfluous inquiry smiling
Floating eight stories above glint of yacht metropolis
Invited by windows handing out reviving hold of horizon
Violent screams likely deafen you, interjected with frantic kisses
THE COLOR OF THE WIND WHICH IS WEDDED TO WINTER’S MUSE AND
MUSIC
What, color is music?
Is it the color of your lover’s eyes as you wade at water’s edge?
Or more like the colors you view when a child’s giggle makes you young again?
Then again, they could be muted colors…………………….
opaque in nature,
but suddenly you breathe on them and alas they glow once more
Royal colors crowned and crowded with admirers who stand in awe of hues hewn with
precision
Yet if I had to make a decision
I would be urged to opine that music is the color of enjoyment enveloping this entire
planet which could be in peril
Allow the music of***laughter to echo through the deepest tunnels and over every
triumphant mountain
Or music could be the color an artiste must employ to duplicate a reflection of joy
which intrudes and reaches into one’s soul and tells you that no matter what, be
content with that which you were blessed to own,
And never fill your cup to overflow with the color of greediness or music made to
grieve
Music is not, of course the color of anger or jealousy
As for me I am making music my master who advises me to do things zealously
For after all, where would i be without the magic of music in the middle of madness
at midnight?
Whatever color music is I know it’s has to be majestically and brilliantly bright
Yet cannot deafen us to all but mellow melodies
That’s it
Music is the color of a mid-August breeze
when heat un-heavies your heart and music gives birth to ease
Music is blue as that breeze which gently blew
While Mrs. Levy’s laundry sways as it clings to a rope,
suspended on the serenity of a symphony sewn of silk
Music is the color of everything built and born of beauty that belies the notion that
an emotion is nay a color as well
And oh how much music is there in the vociferous voice of one single bell
Music is the color of a hundred pipers piping as their numbers increase
Music is made when a war has cause to cease
Therefore music must be the color of peace
© 2011.…. the indupitably prolific poet who, in a short time should be named
poet lauriet of this site....me.....phreepoetree
*t...* take the word “laughter” and make an “S” be the first letter before “L”
Vroom! The loudest noise echoes the night
Construction starts.
The night is shaken by booms and bangs
Of trucks, of heavy machines!
To have a road, a smoother wider road
The path to peaceful sleep is shaken
The ears cry of pain
The head pains in sigh.
No soul is asleep,
The once peaceful village
Is now plagued by noise.
The jolly cuckoo is frightened,
It stops singing.
Village dogs are shocked,
They are tired of barking,
Roosters cover their beaks,
Why should they crow?
Booms, bangs and vrooms, it never stops.
What have we done to deserve such a torture?
Greed for money,
Greed for development,
Greed for progress,
Greed for speedy journey!
Must development deprive us of sanity?
Nobody, not a soul dare to question.
Afraid of what?
Waiting for a sacrificial brave rat to bell the cat?
The village brought it upon itself.
Leaders fail to intervene,
The night progresses in agony,
Why construct the road at night?
Days and nights, forced to stay indoors
To escape death, to tend health!
But the road builders are immune to coronavirus?
In this lawless land,
Chaos on the road,
Chaos in the night,
Chaos inside the head!
Windows shake, the night shakes
Insanity is creeping near!
To connect with the outside world,
Another world is destroyed.
The village wails,
The birds are silenced,
The trees are uprooted,
Dust in the air,
Noise in the air!
If black art can be summoned
To zap this noise
To zap the machines
To zap the workers
To zap the leaders
To zap development!
Oh no, we don’t need another development wave!
We don’t need no road,
We don’t need no smoother road,
We don’t need no wider road!
For the comfort of tomorrow,
The ears are deaf,
Nature is silenced,
Noise wrecked the quietest night!
Listen, this road is your doomsday!
The noise deafen your ears,
You hear no noise now,
You hear no evil,
You hear no cries,
You hear no truth,
You hear no future!
The road steals your land,
The road steals your hearing.
The road steals your pristine nature,
The road steals your sleep.
In the years to come,
When the next generations lose everything,
Please, mourn not, whine not!
Speak not today,
Your voices are forever muted.
The noise continues...
THE COLOR OF THE WIND WHICH IS WEDDED TO WINTER’S MUSE AND
MUSIC
What, color is music?
Is it the color of your lover’s eyes as you wade at water’s edge?
Or more like the colors you view when a child’s giggle makes you young again?
Then again, they could be muted colors…………………….
opaque in nature,
but suddenly you breathe on them and alas they glow once more
Royal colors crowned and crowded with admirers who stand in awe of hues hewn with precision
Yet if I had to make a decision
I would be urged to opine that music is the color of enjoyment enveloping this entire planet
which could be in peril
Allow the music of***laughter to echo through the deepest tunnels and over every triumphant
mountain
Or music could be the color an artiste must employ to duplicate a reflection of joy which
intrudes and reaches into one’s soul and tells you that no matter what, be content with that
which you were blessed to own,
And never fill your cup to overflow with the color of greediness or music made to grieve
Music is not, of course the color of anger or jealousy
As for me I am making music my master who advises me to do things zealously
For after all, where would i be without the magic of music in the middle of madness at
midnight?
Whatever color music is I know it’s has to be majestically and brilliantly bright
Yet cannot deafen us to all but mellow melodies
That’s it
Music is the color of a mid-August breeze
when heat un-heavies your heart and music gives birth to ease
Music is blue as that breeze which gently blew
While Mrs. Levy’s laundry sways as it clings to a rope,
suspended on the serenity of a symphony sewn of silk
Music is the color of everything built and born of beauty that belies the notion that an emotion
is nay a color as well
And oh how much music is there in the vociferous voice of one single bell
Music is the color of a hundred pipers piping as their numbers increase
Music is made when a war has cause to cease
Therefore music must be the color of peace
© 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
* take the word “laughter” and make an “S” be the first letter before “L”
THE COLOR OF THE WIND WHICH IS WEDDED TO WINTER’S MUSE AND
MUSIC
What, color is music?
Is it the color of your lover’s eyes as you wade at water’s edge?
Or more like the colors you view when a child’s giggle makes you young again?
Then again, they could be muted colors…………………….
opaque in nature,
but suddenly you breathe on them and alas they glow once more
Royal colors crowned and crowded with admirers who stand in awe of hues hewn with precision
Yet if I had to make a decision
I would be urged to opine that music is the color of enjoyment enveloping this entire planet
which could be in peril
Allow the music of*laughter to echo through the deepest tunnels and over every triumphant
mountain
Or music could be the color an artiste must employ when joy reaches into one’s soul and tells
you that no matter what, be content with that which you were blessed to own,
And never fill your cup to overflow with the color of greediness or music made to grieve
Music is not, of course the color of anger or jealousy
As for me I am making music my master who advises me to do things zealously
For after all, where would i be without the magic of music in the middle of madness at
midnight?
Whatever color music is I know it’s has to be majestically and brilliantly bright
And can deafen us to all but mellow melodies
That’s it
Music is the color of a mid-August breeze
when heat heavies your heart and music gives birth to ease
Music is blue as that breeze which gently blew
While Mrs. Levy’s laundry sways as it clings to a rope,
suspended on the serenity of a symphony sewn of silk
Music is the color of everything built and born of beauty that belies the notion that an emotion
is nay a color as well
And oh how much music is there in the vociferous voice of one single bell
Music is the color of a hundred pipers piping as their numbers increase
Music is made when a war has cause to cease
Therefore music must be the color of peace
© 2011.….Poefree
* take the word “laughter” and make an “S” be the first letter before “L”
This is what I could not utter—
A rush of light, a whirlwind of strange emotion
A toss, a glimmer, a melodious peak Into the bindings of your soul
I breathed in your pain
And exhaled your smile
You said, “I am with you,
Remember me, and honor my strength
Cross the thresholds into love’s gaping acceptation!” You roared its welcome in my lust for knowledge
And how the world screams against those that love
To those who arise from the waters in flames
Freely and heavily, who wavers but the fear that imprisons us?
I want to unravel the world with you
Finish symphonies of psalms with you
Cross oceans, barriers, trusts and travesties
But I am bound here in this darkness
How then can you see my fire?
Because you are the fire You are with me
You are in me
In your pride, in your integrity,
You have accepted who I must become
These feelings feel alien to me
Like they were lost for so long
And have begged to be found
But once found they wish to crawl back into the night
But it is your light that will reveal its true beauty
This is what I could not utter—
For my throat was constricting reality itself The rest lay dormant in fear and despair
I was unable to comprehend its light
I was unable to apprehend the fright
And it was your fight
That so long ended the night
It was our light
That befitted my delight
You begged, “Please, let me in,
I am cold out here
Open, open open!
Let it all go,
You are one in a million!”
We are the same
In the universe we dwell
Making sense of it all
Yet we are so infinitely different But is there clarity in the shadows?
Is there truth in this fear? Teach me to trust the day Teach me to rise out of love
I rest easy enough in this languishing confession But can I close my eyes again to hear the roars that deafen my threats?
Can I close my eyes to this connection,
Is it hellbent,
Or heaven sent?
Chance is of the essence….
Or is it love?
To that hope,
I open my door to you
April 25, 2018
The present darkness threatens.
Why can’t I see the light?
And yet my faith still lingers
Like a flame of candlelight.
The weakened short wick struggles
And nearly smothers out
While prayers of love
Fall softly from a mother’s mouth.
Though my flickering faith still falters,
I know HE loves us still.
There is no darkness in Him
Let’s try to do His will.
Hang in there, my sweet Daughter;
Cast your cares upon the cross.
Your Savior has your best in mind
It isn’t for your loss.
He doesn’t want for you to dwell
On things that make you sad.
Toss away those trigger thoughts
That tend to make you mad.
Think on these things, the Bible says,
That are worthy, good and true
Claim the blessing God has in store
That is assigned to you.
The enemy wants nothing more
Than to halt your walk with Christ.
He’ll throw every bad thing your way:
Lies, deception, vice.
He’ll tempt you and he’ll nourish
Your insecurities and fears
He’ll deafen you with maze-like thoughts
To make it hard to hear
The voice of our God calling,
Child, look up at me.
Open your sweet eyes,
Look up at me and see.
I love you with a true love;
You belong to me.
Put your trust and hope in me
And I will set you free.
At least that’s what I think He’d say
In your mother’s prayer.
There’s got to be a better way
You’ve got to feel His care.
Sometimes the only comfort
Has to come from God above.
It’s going to take His healing
And His holy love.
I wish that I could fix things
Your Daddy wishes, too
Like God above, your Dad and I
We wish the best for you.
Please put your life in God’s hands;
Ask Him to take command
To fill you with the strength and faith
You need to take a stand
Against our fiery enemy
Who attacks you when you’re ill.
He says that you deserve it;
Say NO and just be still.
Whisper to your Savior,
And listen for His voice.
It’s not your fault
That you are sick
You didn’t have a choice.
~ Judy Bausch
Crucibles of tattered thorns intrests silenece of feverish scorns. Watered down rivers of loosely washed words woven which wander for weakening tranquility. Cascading into the pantheon of precipitating poet promises never finding grounds of solidity. Promises broken. Eternally the immortal sand is sieved. Roots find no hold. Blushes exchanged for the loss of words sanity, comprehending not, that which is bearing no fruit. Sighs afloat on blooms of brushed breezes blowing through the mind with a feverish pitch. A change of key the notes deafen the heart. Disturbing thoughts portrayed in the eye of ones mind as hellish scapes of monotonous crimes fill the heart of the humbled head. There is no going back. Destroyed works of slumbered art wither to rushing waters of wounded love. I have lost hope. Isolated secrets swim in a lot of desturbed lies which wicked deeds do not appease. No Comfort for the diseased works belated in times gone past. She has lied. Folly her actions be, raping the indicitive spirit that once beheld my being. The mirror unjustly blames me. And it curses the sight of thine eyes. She belittles me in tongues of foreign descent. My mind is slipping. Shadows now light the difference uncertain. The world seems a shallow place and I reside in a plethora of painful pins poking at my prostituted passions. I draw ever near the cliff that quickens my arrival. Struck out is the marrow from my bones nothing of substance can reside within. Hollow is the vessel quandering it's own demise. Mind in a fog I sit at the window, staring at life that no longer contemplates meaning in the grand hall of the emptiness were I once dwelled. Searching for importance in my soul in nothing but darkness. If the reaper comes tonight I care not. Why must I reap what she has sown? No reason for questions, I no longer care. Forgive me all I wish is to be whole agin and remove the pins from my distraught impovereshed personality. Slowly life returns. But my mind remains broken.
He didn’t have a native land,
therefore, he had no reminiscences of any sort,
neither good nor ill, other than reckless killing
at the battlefield where he was compulsorily taken into
and deployed to fight unwanted fight: the legend of warmhearted provisions provided in the name of el Cid Rodrigo Diaz De Vival
to the foes is only the beautified story of Castile.
The Faithfulness that even risks own life for fidelity is
though lonely one’s heart’s desire, he knew not the friendship
for he lived the life without a friend other than ghastly cry of tottering, collapsed, crawling and mutilated bodies of neither to call the enemies’ nor friends’: the beautiful friendship that of Pythias and Daimon is
the drifting clouds above the Sicily, it is the fancy of dearest wish,
the concocted tales that to honor the tyrant of Syracuse.
He didn’t have a home; therefore, he doesn’t know what is the love,
other than the deep wound of maternal love he saw at the battlefield;
the grief that of an old woman who was holding her slain son in her arms
with absent-minded, who was washing the blood off
from the slaughtered son’s face with tears: it is the horrifying myth
of Persephone who can only able to have a stillborn child.
It is the dark shadow of the daughter of Demeter who goes back and forth
along the other side of Styx counting days till spring is to come.
He didn’t have wife, therefore, he lived his life without knowing
what is the intimate love, other than touch of a foreign woman
who sales long kept chastity for a loaf of bread in the gathering darkness;
who weeps alone in the ruin at the roadside where
the cannonade booms to deafen the air: it is the shadow of the curse
on Oedipus who though able to solve the riddle of Sphinx
able not to flee from the irony of life. It is the damnation on the king of Thebes, who roams in the darkness led by two tender aged daughters.
….and maybe I won’t know
your heart’s travels and all those feelings.
So much lost, chasing those single moments
in our timeline…and maybe I held too tight to a love
I found myself having to let go of. Realizing your imprint on my heart
will bruise and likely endure.
Devastation done and maybe I don’t care…. Fate can be vague,
destiny quietly sails, and maybe I view my determination is not enough
to even fall short of that special victory.
In every dream I have, I see us….my heart confuses my mind with hope
…and maybe I chose to feel the weight of hurt while still believing
…and maybe I liken Love with existing in your smile once more….
even if only for a moment.
It doesn’t help to feel like I’m not enough,
like we are far too extraordinary a thing to wish for.
You’ve used hard wind and heavy rain as a way to mask my pain and
conceal my tears…and maybe I want this threatening storm to deafen and darken my, all too often, tranquil days and nights
…and maybe I often hear your voice in the murmur of subtle silence
…and maybe I cower at the hopelessness of ever seeing you again
…and maybe I feel my deep heartbeats hum like an
ambient rhapsody in your life.
My life brightens, loses stride and throws away the promise of joy with all our words
…and maybe I do smile though we are no longer indomitable,
falling 494 days into an empty embrace….weary of the daily torment.
Seemingly we fail each other, distance proves to erode,
damning words strewn about, life....never idle perseveres,
and so, we struggle alone…. embattled by collapse, we place our backs to the coming peril, nothing we’ve done can save us
…and maybe I marvel at what’s left of you and I, the cinders, the cracks….
our compelling remnants
…and maybe I will find love someday….
contrite and wandering, not far from where we left it
…and maybe I…..
Written 22 June 2018 in Austin, Texas