Long Deafening Poems
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Ah... tis nothing greater than...
malfunctioning heater on brisk winter day!
Thee particular date being
December twenty eighth,
two thousand nineteen, I saith
the Jack of all trades
maintenance technician
Kevin Blank said he would notify
HVAC expert in good faith,
yet to compliment clangorous din...
I called upon the ghost of Marley's wraith.
Thus despite compressor issuing
cacophonous, deafening,
ear splitting noise
clattering din louder
than convention of reindeer -
doubled as all boys
(choir) followed by cavalcade
of santa claus, he employs,
the missus of course with equipoise,
and countless elves pressed
for service mending
broken brand new toys.
Why... yes twas during
recent brutal bitter cold spell
methought, yours truly got sent,
where absolute zero temperature
more frigid than hell
of course, I felt like human popsicle
management didn't give a lick,
no matter yours truly gave rebel yell
Billy me you, I immediately
yearned (some weeks back) for April
May, June... some tell
tale sign to alleviate pell mell
bone crushing polar vortex
preserved frozen awful
botox smile impossible mission to quell,
nor avoid frostbite
to deep freeze every cell
millenniums later despite
climate changed dystopian future
thawed out body reason to kvell.
Forsooth mindlessly jabbering away
jaw frenziedly attempting to convey
how this schlemiel,
would be war re: not game to foray
toward distant forbidding terrain
fifty shades of gray,
alien unrecognizable – nay
boor hood of the late Mister Rogers,
nonetheless expressed gratitude
confessed, I unconsciously did pray
while suspended animation did stay
slowing or stopping
of biological function
physiological capabilities
unpitted and preserved - yea.
Hence upon being
and getting woke
feeling like I slept forever
and a day - no joke
most certainly well rested
constitution I did evoke
intensely scrutinizing men
chilled wren, and women folk,
who appeared out of this world
mutated into Roanoke
smooth as glass skin cloak
against ultraviolet rays
causing skin cancer
their attenuated limbs strong as oak
versatile to prod and poke,
whereby superior petsmart
doggone noggin could invoke
telepathic communication
interestingly enough issuing smoke
signals, whenever danger present
and capable to disappear
as if doing breast stroke.
MESSAGES ( PT One )
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
THE MESSAGE
The room is black,
except for the faint glare of the TV in the background,
something to make me feel safe in some small way.
Hints of noise to drown out the silence--
such deafening silence, though not from within,
there's always noise within.
It's the kind of noise that keeps one awake
until early dawn.
No-- it's not the sound of the bathroom faucet running,
that would be a more pleasant sound--
(but what to do about that running.)
I slip into unconsciousness,
an unintentional state of suspended animation ,
very welcomed-- despite my objections.
Now the play begins.
The unfolding of the conscious mind.
What hides behind is much more revealing,
the actors are stacked and the story is unfolding.
Help in the telling comes from a unique source,
buried deep in the mind?
Maybe?
I believe it to be much more spiritual in nature,
supernatural in it's feel.
Lucid are the colors, real are the people.
They come from places unknown yet familiar.
Some I know by name,
some I love-- they are missed beyond words.
They come with cryptic messages,
with stories of treachery, lies and deceit ,
mapped out in vivid imagery of objects--
with meanings that I am not sure of.
I would dismiss these things if...
it were not for the repeated fashion
of how they were told.
An object here, a relic there,
I don't understand the meaning of it all, at first.
Are these apparitions conceptualized by own mind?
NO! I know these dear ones,
they love me, still-- even though
they no longer roam with the living.
There are too many signs to digest.
I wait for morning.
Sometimes I awake with a jolt,
(always remembering what I dreamed
in the haze of the pitch black night.)
I piece the puzzle together-- bit by bit,
I must decipher through the cobwebs
of the mind with some clarity; a daunting but amusing task.
I will heed these warnings,
warnings that come to me in dreams-- and beyond.
I Plan to embrace solidarity--
leave behind the flapping of malicious lips;
cling to the gifts bestowed upon me
through the handing off of the torch,
which once shined so brightly
in my loved ones soul.
I will stay awake--
be aware of my surroundings,
yet step over the boundaries
I have set for myself.
Meditate in solace
while letting my essence flow through my pen
onto white journal pages
that waits for me...
on my desk.
By: Deborah Mills-Kelly
Why me father/daughter relationship
important to this papa
Fourteen and a half years
since death of mother (mine),
nary one iota of communication
in general and compassion
in particular while
she lived, now wears
heavy and yokes
mantle fostering tears
indirectly sabotaging rapport
with eldest daughter
futility doth arise uttering
feeble secular prayers,
cuz interaction with mother,
whose vehemence more
deafening than banshee killdeers
exceeding threshold of
decibels tolerable these ears.
Now comeuppance came
full family circle, yes
that's her within picture frame,
when young, innocent, and beautiful,
decades before terminal
illness rendered her
incapacitated and lame.
Her second of
three born offspring,
and yours truly
that singular boy
figuratively tethered himself
to her apron strings,
which near omnipotent
biochemical bond her
rancor would destroy,
when lonesome son
failed to employ
purported adult responsibilities
solitary without any
even one homeboy
never knowing how
to maximize potential
rather totally tubular at loss
advantageously to deploy
supposed ducks in a row
always imp pond
durable feeling cast ahoy
shore lee within alien nation,
whereby village people
observe an exceptionally
unresponsive immovable
lad - qua zee decoy
analogous to stonewall,
albeit socially withdrawn
emotionally, physically,
and socially retracting
exhibiting no joy,
nor any audible,
tactile or visible life
stockstill like an
abandoned broken toy.
Silence spoke volumes mainly
I don't wanna be alive
antithetical to that basic
instinct to survive
protestations arose deliberately
minus figurative parachute,
I took kamikaze nosedive
a couple years after two times five
orbitz astride planet Earth
ne'er did amity, comity,
fraternity ever jive,
nope not even pleasant hello
would fake deaf/mute contrive
interaction between kith and kin
affection toward parents
and siblings (two sisters,
not twisted) I did deprive,
whence fast forward decades later,
a metaphorical wedge would drive
roughshod o'er kinship,
when fatherhood did arrive
though "star student" did connive
him (me) to test discomfort zones,
yet more often than not inclusive
integration abandoned among
linkedin with kindling explosive
smoldering volcano found
wicked volatility expressive.
Courage is not having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don’t have the strength. –Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919), 26th President of the United States
A year of heartbreak, soundless as the stars
who glitter, surreal, remembering
while we make our wishes, feel the darkness
surrounding, gentling at best…
the beautiful kiss of a lonely death,
fatalities sitting in heaven,
never listening to the falling rain,
all the clouds, the edges of each shadow,
forbidding my heart this feeling, so insane…
hurricane helene, with her deafening embrace
left hearts without the rhythm
of hope that quiets the soul,
when the thunder leaves its witness
to the darkness’ demonic twist,
the unending silence from a storm, the risk
imagine a world standing still,
awkward without her joyful voice,
darkened by fears, tears, and despair,
all the dismay that comes to those
who witness the heavens pouring out
not only the flow of rain,
but the waters so explosive
they are truly a hurricane – hurricane Helene
writing her story on our land,
fighting the mountains,
filling lives with her shouts,
seeking to break us,
with her screams and her roar,
as she raises our waters,
our creeks and our rivers,
brings mudslides that change us forever…
oh, what a story she’ll write in her journal
about the day she touched down
on this quiet, quaint home – Western North Carolina
no, we’ll never be the same…
there will always be a hesitation
when the rain begins,
an anxious foreboding,
apprehension of what might become
another Helene, another hurricane,
another rain who silences every soul
with the breath of a tempest
so out of control….
oh, my, what a tale these mountains could expose,
a story of darkness, a story of dread,
a story of fear that is filled with regrets…
how we will remember Helene
I believe… is the storm who reminded
we must always seek
the One who created us to believe,
without His protection,
we’re a people without any peace,
we’re a people without hope or grace,
we’re a people who life will replace,
with death, darkness, disgrace,
all the reasons that storms rage,
all the reasons that we have to abide…
in the love of the Father,
the hope of the light,
the peace of God’s Son,
who will heal those of us,
who’ve been touched
by the storm who taught us…
we must never give up!
Once, this world created in me,
A box of a mind.
With dark corners
And scary rooms with unopened doors,
Never talked about, Never answered,
But always, always thought about,
Always, always questioned.
Days and nights spun so fast, it seemed.
Weary me, in that box,
Always ran,
Callousness pushing me from behind.
Then, one day, I stopped running,
The world still pushed, but I slipped away.
The burden of unanswered doubts,
Seemed too heavy,
Over my perfectly drawn square shoulders.
I let go.
The squares, I bent,
Into circles and spheres and myriad magical shapes.
The windows smelt damp, creaked loud and ghastly,
The doors stuck hard to the walls.
The Walls I saw tall and high,
Had paintings I never noticed till then.
They had the hues and lines,
Of broken dreams, and unfelt love,
Incomplete poems and unwritten stories,
Dull and lifeless, yet they stared,
Sharp and staunch at my guilty eyes.
And memories twirled like hurricanes,
Twisted my body and soul,
Took me to shores I lived for long,
Yet haven't known them ever well.
Stinking with guilt, I realised,
Those moments of machinery monotony,
I forced myself over and again through,
To stay a part of this vicious crowd.
Not any more, I decided,
I was not ready to give up.
The starved me, could no longer hold,
And pushed the creaky windows open,
And as The shine glided into my room,
I saw, for once, the glow I missed everyday.
The art that scared me then,
Now began melting, into rainbow colours.
The deafening noise now vanished,
Into the the sound of rain dances.
How meek I felt, I forgot for a moment,
Thrusting the hard doors out,
I stood there, drenched,
Lost in the pouring love.
As I looked back, I saw,
The box I was in, crashing down,
Into a thousand pieces.
The fury of the rushing waters,
Seeping through the dreary corners,
That held all my pain and fear and guilt.
The windows and doors forgotten,
The scary strokes faded,
And all that came out,
Was the magic of The Rainbow Shine.
And so My Friend, please don't wait, like me,
Long times lost, timid in the box.
For the windows and doors are windows and doors,
And not the rails of a locked cellar.
And before the walls drew demons for you,
Break free,
Soak in love,
The kind that seeks the real You.
Form:
One normal winter afternoon, Yehoshua went with the other kids to play,
They played in the garden's playground like they do everyday,
Nothing odd seemed to get in their way,
Until they heard a deafening shriek of dismay,
The shriek was coming from a house buried under tall beautiful trees,
Yehoshua and his friends ran to the house swiftly and with ease,
When they got there they looked through the window and got on their knees,
To be able to watch without getting caught and for as long as they please,
Behind the glass was a dead man placed on a table of wood,
That scene frightened Yehoshua, he couldn't believe what he was starting to see,
Yehoshua got life's cycle all misunderstood,
He decided to never grow up, he wanted to be a child eternally,
So he pushed his friends away, with his eyes full of tears,
And ran back to the playground while his heart was pounding with fear,
Life to him was too dear,
Than to end after a few years,
He ran and played everywhere,
And moved the swings so fast and without a care,
He even scraped his knee and was unaware,
He picked the pieces of his shattered childhood that were spread here and there,
Years later Yehoshua became a man,
With a lot of work and responsibilities in his hands,
And everyday he promised himself that he'd go back to see,
His garden of Eden, where he was once happy,
But poor Yehoshua never seemed to be,
Able to get to his serenity,
And when he retired he finally got the chance,
To give his garden of Eden one last glance,
And as he slowly moved the swings,
He enjoyed life, and its simplest things,
Moments felt like hours while he played alone,
Until Yehoshua heard that same shriek that has once blown,
At him pain so deep it cut him to the bone,
He didn't know what to do, for his spirit was so forlorn,
Suddenly came a chilly breeze,
That quaked the ground, demolished the trees,
And roared the tides of all the 7 seas,
Yehoshua cried and begged on his knees,
In a second, Yehoshua found himself placed on table of wood made of fine trees,
He could feel and he could see, yet every time he tried, he failed to speak,
And as he looked to his right he could see,
Little kids that started to squeeze,
Their shocked faces to the glass, for they found that childhood isn't until eternity,
And that Yehoshua was dead, and dead was he…
the waning moonlight thinly enveloped
the dusky canvas obscurely sprawling
across the way from the window I looked,
I knew a park was there with slides and swing
but for the moment dark revealed nothing,
for the moment I didn’t care, either
because in darkness I felt even darker;
I was lying in bed embraced by regret
of decisions of love and time wasted,
spooning the layered sheets of doubt and fret
all thawed out from my heart into my head;
The memories of hurtful comments said
by and to me were chastising voices
of ghostly choices purposed to depress;
As dusk became the night I became lost
in whimsically strewn wishes and pleas
to gods and stars and genies alike, crossed
as eyes crying for mother drowned in seas,
I spoke to nobody but begged for keys
to unlock another time, another place
to start all over again with new space,
To unseen gods I had long since quit on
I prayed, bargained even, another chance
and I’d do everything right this season
- A jobless man needing a pay advance,
But for thirty three years nary a glance
had alpha or omega set on me
and this night I expected no divine decree;
several hours elapsed as I collapsed
in smoldering thoughts of suicide fanned,
- I had outlasted night’s concealing grasp,
and as the morning sun began its planned
ascent, I gave into Hades’ command
through my tenth floor window whispered to me
of hellish suggestions to jump and flee;
on ledge I stood and looked across the way
for one last glimpse of earth and pastel sky,
- a small souvenir of my final day,
My eyes settled on last night’s park from high
above, and that’s when I saw God’s reply,
- an unspoken answer for eyes turned blind,
His deafening promise to all mankind;
by his heavenly brushes came colors
where none had been, transforming lonely space
into one of vibrance and life renewed,
- and it was a different space,
I watched as birds celebrated morning
with songs of praise and thankfulness,
- and I felt a quick waning emptiness,
I heard the children below lining up
for the school bus all on time and ready
to live and learn in this new day granted,
- and I felt like I knew nothing at all;
but then I knew everything all at once,
and I stepped off the ledge ready to live,
ready to embrace
ready to seize life found…
in another time.
#THIS DEDICATION SPEAKS TO A PARTICULAR INDICATION...
IT SPEAKS TOO...
SPECIFICALLY WHO???
ANYONE WHO STAYS...
UNDERNEATH
COVERS/SHIELDINGS AND YIELDINGS.
SIRENS IN HIGHEST DECIBELS GOING OFF, CONSTANTLY INSIDE, CAN'T TURN IT OFF YET!
WON'T TURN IT OFF YET???
DON'T FRET...IF YOU TRULY WANT TO, YOU CAN!
BRING IT DOWN TO ITS PROPER BALANCE!
PRIOR, THE VOLUME WAS DEAFENING,
WHAT A NEEDLESS SUFFERING!!!
"EVEN THE COVERS" COULDN'T PROVIDE BUFFERING!
"GLAD YOU CLIMBED FROM BENEATH THAT COVER!"
NOW, WHAT ABOUT THOSE SHIELDINGS...
ARE THEY COMFORTABLE,
ARE THEY COZY PERCEIVINGS?
LIKE CERTAIN FEELINGS, ARE THEY FLEETING?
LIKE A FLASH OR A MAD DASH, SHIELD'S OFF...
I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW...
WHAT'S BEING SAID, FED, TO YOUR HEAD?
DOES THIS SHIELDING PROVIDE ANY PROPER STRENGTH? WHAT'S YOUR INNER VOICE EXPRESSING TO YOU...
AT LENGTH?
I BET IT'S LOUDER THAN THUNDER!!!
"IT" IS YOUR GIFT!!! WHY SHIELD IT???
LET IT "ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!" AS YOUR REMINDER NOT TO SETTLE OR SHIELD IN SILENCE. SPEAK AT PEAK: NEVER MEEK!!!
DON'T "HUSH" YOUR OWN LIFE, AND SHIELD NOT...
ELEVATED INSIGHT! ALRIGHT :-)
AHH, SOFT AS A WHISPER'S WHISPER...
THIS IS THE VOICE THAT YOU HEAR AND YOU CAN'T TUNE IT OUT! YOUR SPIRITUAL TONE NEVER HAS TO SHOUT :-) THAT'S WHY IT HOLDS TRUE GLORIOUS CLOUT, AS WELL, CLARITY. IT ONLY BECOMES A RARITY TO TUNE IN...IF YOU OR I ARE "OUT OF TUNE"
ALLOWING "IT" NOT TO RESUME...
WITH IT'S URGENCE AND PRECIOUS RESURGENCE,
HOW ELSE IS ONE TO EMERGE & SURGE VICTORIOUSLY...DEFEATING THE "NOISE"
THAT MAY TAMPER/HAMPER FROM OUR OWN INNATE {SOLACE} "INTERFERENCE" OF SOUND SENSIBILITIES.
DAMN DISTRACTIONS WE LOOK FOR,
IN PLACE OF THE ACTIONS AND TRACTION
WE INSTEAD YEARN FOR...
CORE WHISPER'S WHISPER, "IS N E V E R ON MUTE..."
NO A.I. CAN COMPETE WITH T H I S COMPUTE!
THROUGHOUT LIFE...
WE'LL HAVE TO KICK THOSE COVERS!
STOP SHIELDING, "OURSELVES!"
CEASE YIELDING, BY CHOICE...
BECAUSE YOU'RE A L W A Y S BEING* "SPOKEN TO"
YOU CAN ADJUST YOUR LEVELS AND DECIBELS TO HIGH OR LOW...FAST OR SLOW.
BUT, YOUR {INNER SETTING} HAS ITS OWN LEVERAGING AND TRUST ME....
IF YOU'RE RECEPTIVE, PARTICULARLY PERCEPTIVE...
IT WILL B A L A N C E
YOU & I ACCORDINGLY...
{PERFECT PITCH}
~~~~~~~DIVINELY & ZERO GLITCH~~~~~~~
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} SEPTEMBER 23, 2023#
In the bitterest of the cold polar north shadows of illusions dwell,
Reflections of light on ice, maybe so or is there more to these
Optical delusions, the natives say creatures hide amongst these
Rocky snow covered hills, and they call forth the power of the
Alpine peaks for protection!
These mountainous summits of elevation known as the
Thundering mountains, many men have gone missing here,
Without explanation or reason, without any evidences trace
Ever being found, as if just vaporizing within the alpine mists?
But legends say by the tribal chieftains, they were taken by the
Snow beasts the Yeti’s, the abominable demons for
Trespassing on their sacred icy lands!
These outlander's whom should have known better,
Warned were they not, to climb at this inaccessible remote
Elevations for this is the forbidden territory belonging to
The creatures of the rocks!
Many men go there and are swallowed whole by the mighty
Avalanches, called forth by the screaming howling of the
Mountain guardians, weaving through these ice and spray
Waves as if they were made of winter wisps’ of air, the creatures
Take these hikers, or skiers unware, than devour
Them later at their leisure’s pleasure afterwards!
These avalanche waves have another name given to
Them eons ago, the claws of the tiger, sweeping
Within their mighty claws, everything living or none,
Beneath their talons of devastation!
But what if there were more to this myths story,
What if these two legends were working together?
In a tandems precisions epic motion, beast and
Mountains, both struggling to survive, against
The onslaught of humanities approach!
Endurances basic instinct of survival, natural law
Prevails, that only the strongest of the species is allowed
To continue, but what if these two natural raw forces
Combine, to do whatever it takes to achieve
This final climatic extraction, brawn concurring
Intelligence, or maybe it’s the other way
Around!
In this wilderness only the whispering winds
Knows the answers to these questions of inquiry,
And there left unheard by the deafening ears of
Progress and mankind until it is too late!
But the native people know, and warn them
To stay away for this land belongs to the Yeti’s
And the mountain protect them beneath the
Claws of the white tiger, the mighty avalanche!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Endurance is not of your nature,
Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck,
Now brazen silver does linger,
Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last,
Sorrowful trek...
I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor,
And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue.
You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds...
They drape their vile vined misted shrouds...
Within my gray eyed gaze,
Such hues temper your violent palette...
Vanished breath-flickered candle haze.
Lifeless wick, gurgling crimson wax.
Your beloved paint trickles in balmy clotted puddles,
I shudder adorned in radiant rubies rolling from my fingertips,
I feel your veteran-mastered art pouring from my throat...
Am I not your first? What imaginative vision you possess!
For it is not to say mine is fading, fleeting plasma afloat.
They told me of your gift,
How endowed you are,
Able to plunge, plunge, plunge,
Your hands into the crevices of torment,
In your swayed, celestial delusion,
You heaven's exile, wicked-bound and hell sent.
Engraved in lifeless form ascending from tip to hilt,
Still I lie mesmerized by the atrocity,
Of apathy jaundiced guilt.
Predator, what is your name?
May I slip your ill-willed syllables from my lips,
for you have brought my tamed veins shame.
I value your corrupt knowledge found pledge,
As you mar my shivering body to your own image,
Ingenuity, you said was the plight laid upon razor's edge.
Poetic justice you explained was reason to heal,
Mankind in his errors,
Of humanity's devil-signed, soul-phantom deal.
If I could speak I'd ask for the pen,
Should I sign in ink? Skin pricked red-wine?
Rolled parchment, contract or covenant?
Sign here along the dotted line?
I lift the golden-feathered needle,
And pierce, finger signature in place,
Advocate of Satan take my soul,
Where we are then,
Vaccuum-voided into fiery space.
I look back up at you with word choked reply,
Sputtering the eruptive branch volcano,
You snicker an exaggerated pain cry,
You tell me my soul's been granted,
I was never given choice,
You said, "You gave that up when I slit,
Your moral stained choral-voice...."
How I regret your wicked lures...
Your profound and deafening words,
The afterlife has no meaning,
Only death does gleam,
On Steel Sharpened Spurs...
Form: