Long Muteness Poems
Long Muteness Poems. Below are the most popular long Muteness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Muteness poems by poem length and keyword.
Love is colorless, crystal water,
naïve and righteous
life of all creations.
In muteness has powerful
understanding and realizing,
no need to explain.
Cause those who can love;
understand all explanations in
silence.
Those who know love; cheerfulness
comes spontaneously
to him/her.
Silent love is strength, where
everyone and everything is
consolidated
Infatuated I'm into me by worship;
but find nothing; just hollowness
physics.
Then come back to serve for others
with love and find everything;
every meaning of life.
I like and love everyone, abruptly I lost
for immensity, self-discovery drives
me madly to live long.
-September 20, 2018 Chattogram
cunning whist’red the wind
through bulwarks of my youth
cloaked in kindness its sly craft
masked in plotting feign’d truth
the scent of damp stone and moss
clung to my marrow
voices in each gust
defiant i stood on the brink
slumber’ring in ire’s enlace
with sly deceit danced outcome
and beguiled dreams took stage apace
the bitter tang of shadowed air
the quell of trembling leaves
twilled with the evil of withheld grace
vain are stars that once foretold
boast not what thou’st dealt
the conqueror an umbral mist walks
in wilderness where none hath knelt
soil crumbles underfoot
cold dew bites the ankles of night
sweet—and awful—sang the muteness
after the third new moon pass’d
grim hunger prevails
hangs where sojourners draw breath
their last
the coppery taste of fear
lingers in the throat
as stillness gnaws the spectral lungs
not for bread i starve
but for meaning
in vale and entombed mountain roam
judgment echoes field and forest
sunward songs mount toward doom
rustle of leaf
bark-scratch under nails
carry the weight of unseen eyes
thorn’d breaths of abyssal wind
my failing prostrate i ascribe
to flagrant flame
incurably untam’d
a whirling squall of dissipation
drunkenness of nameless claim
the acrid smoke of wasted fire
licks the tongue of legacy
shadow’d cinders curl in the mind
indignation binds me captive
a dungeon endless dark and grim
vile guilty stricken wholly
no mortal left to shield or limb
chains clash rattle in marrow’s obscurity
iron scents the air with accusation
yet manifest soulless one
fervent fierce and torn
momentary affliction sways
in transient shape of mourn
cool sweat bitter ashen traces
mingle with tremor of fleeting heart
tired i am
weak i am
worn i am
yet still
i rise
though wretched rent
to meet the sweet and awful dawn
with every scar fetch’d and spent
light trembles on dew-beaten leaves
first air pungent and raw
fills lungs with promise
of endurance
cunning whist’red the wind
Raving gang!
Nation in a mirthful mood,
Whirrs of discordant triumph,
Eyes steaming noxious passion.
Look about!
Revelry boils over;
Death in the embrace of a squall
Eddies skyward; the stench chokes.
The rabble!
Itch for fun in filthy holes—
Slide down the slit of vipers.
The wild stares, chilled in a pout.
Look atop!
Gaunt vultures swarm in wait,
Craning with graveyard muteness;
Keen eyes, sharp claws, ready to pluck.
Joyous gang!
Rainbow spray, deep emotions,
Dewdrops glistening at dawn
Awaiting the summer sun.
© 2015 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
I always weep for you in the hush of eventide hills.
In their mystical muteness I can hear your heartbeats.
As tears indulge in indigo dusky deepening horizons,
I put my hope in the last morning star which lusters
upon waves with sapphire iridescence shades of eternity,
flowing upon seashell shores stroking your sacred footprints.
Ever since your opulent hypnotic essence
stole the innocence of my lucent purity,
you've left me drunk on the wine of passion.
I'm stumbling like a drunkard in the dappled depth of desire,
with my provocative facade forming into a bodacious flame,
searching for my poetic pearl lost in a sea of mauve enchantment.
Wailing winds have discoloured my eyes with stained illusions,
in their darkness, I yearn for your sunlit glimmer to reappear.
I've been kissing the emptiness of porcelain moonlight,
since you left behind the taste of your fragrant lullaby.
Wondering if my kiss illuminated the ebony entities,
veiled inside your mystique of midnight eyes.
Visions of your majestic scarlet seraphim lips,
poised in sultry pulsation, forever flutter,
floating like blended opal and onyx butterflies.
Their tender beauteous softness merging
like ambrosia echoes of a cocoon, composing
the sweetness of saccharine symphonies,
caressing my soul like a magnolia breeze.
Oh my beloved ethereal lover,
will I be forever dreaming of your paradisiacal grace,
seeking your celestial scent from dusk till dawn?
Won't you gift me one shimmery glimpse
of your rialto rosette silhouette.
Forever wrap me in the sanctuary of your satin wings,
like the warm merino shawl of love's allure.
Why leave me in this state of silent saudade,
where I hunger for the silken hymn of your tongue.
Why bless me with such treasures,
only to deprive me?
The Silent One
27 December 2022
I stab my heart
with metaphorical daggers,
wishing it was me in your place.
I'm impatient
waiting for you to say something.
How ironic you always despised silence,
now I wait for you to break yours
because your
motionless malady of muteness,
torments the tenderness,
of my apprehensive heart.
How i miss your melodious voice,
how you called my name.
Reflections of our last words linger -
increasing the anguish
of this unexpected reunion.
I reflect back to our youthful days
when you danced -
as elegant as a swan,
as delicate as a butterfly,
always inspiring the ink.
Until you danced away,
because life was not
what you wanted it to be -
not even me
but at least you were free.
You forgot about the west,
turned to the east,
became an icon of compassion.
I throw stones at the grim reaper -
do not answer his call of death.
I feel you are drowning,
won't you swim back to reality?
All I have is the power of prayer,
believing God will show mercy.
Hoping your flame flickers again,
not blowing away with winter winds.
For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. - J. R. R. Tolkien
Stunning light reflects the music,
Softly playing in hues of beautiful,
Dreamy buds, inspired by the sun,
Whisper hope in gentle creams,
Fragile pink and blushing mauves,
Delicate peach and pale lilac – peace…
Dazzling shadows, vibrant scarlet,
Glittering jewels of sapphire, luminous
As the pearly white that soothes,
Reflecting the songs of a quiet twilight,
As the leafy silence breaths hope
Through the spring’s glowing blooms.
Climbing, gliding, soaring over windy seas
Beyond the waves, through the morning’s breeze,
Perfect wings, sail gracefully…
Reminding each one that nature has her life,
With raspberry blessings, in quiet dreams,
Her heart melts the moments that foretell of spring.
Rich tints of laughter, silence the moon,
Reassuring the risktaker, blessing the truths
That aspire to bless us with rhythms,
From a season of purity, glowing with life,
Forever trembling and remembering
Easter, His sacrifice…
As the Spring embraces everyone who agrees
Despite the winter’s muteness,
There is the promise, the belief – that can see…
Beyond the doubts, beyond every fear,
Faith that bleeds joy into those who believe,
As Spring erases the past with its lively melody –
A melody of satisfaction for those who can see…
Spring’s enchantment in the showers, the trees, the message
Of a love that this season seems to impart –
The message of hope that Spring brings to hearts,
Who listen to the lyrics of a light falling through the quiet,
The lyrics found inside the soul who Spring has stirred…
With its unending blessings of pure sweet love.
In the middle of the night, you came, oh, death,
Wishing my soul to harvest
Vehemently, I refused to surrender it to you
Fact, that made you so angry.
You said your divine right was to claim it
But still, your request I turned down
It was then that you thought it reasonable to incapacitate me
For your mission sooner to carry out.
The first step you took was my voice to silence
The second was my legs to immobilize
Thus mute and paralyzed, you fancied, I couldn't resist
So your prize would quickly be obtained.
For five days, in total muteness and bedridden, I remained
Yet, a gallant fight I put up to escape your embrace
But all my efforts in vain appeared to be
As the gates of eternity, I could gaze.
Late on the fifth day, a doctor of great character and skill,
He decided to empty the Hematoma formed next to my brain
Thus, a foot-long Craniotomy performed with great care
Hoping you, oh, death, to chase away.
Although now, slowly, I am recovering
Anticipating a few more years of life to enjoy,
I know very well in my heart, oh death,
That we together would be one blessed day!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 November 2021
* This is a biographical poem that narrates the events that took
place between the twelfth day of October and the first day of
November in the hospital!
Line of enquiry.
It’s not desire per say but the clinging ~
that stifles soul and stops heart from singing
enlivening silence sets our soul free ~
vibrant in the now, joyful and carefree”
Phantoms of constant fog create a zombie state of existence,
feeling worthless, your barriers offer demons no resistance.
Thoughts drift into a hazy labyrinth of toxic wilderness,
you're wide awake, but the mind's sleeping in fields of bitterness.
Dark shadows of silhouettes in shrouds start to frighten,
so you search for stimulation, for your eyes to enlighten.
To hush these' car crash' carnage echoes of violence,
soul seeks refuge away from ego to master silence.
To wander under blue sunny skies with caffeine clarity.
To cleanse in waterfalls that lead to principles of purity.
When you no longer dance with the Devil's temptations,
serenades of resurrection release suppressed frustrations.
Spirit soars, humming the repetition of a sweet refrain,
as you break away from the monotony of past pain.
In the muteness of stillness the heart learns to let go,
flourishing like the first daffodil after months of snow.
Pocket-Gazes
Night depressed—
black spirits, spiders,
demanding, retorting,
an empty vessel, titanic with trauma.
A downturned smile, flagellate,
disillusioned, demoted, disinterested—
dystopian dysmorphia.
Dolls.
Masks.
Spills.
Blood.
Oxygen.
Water.
Decaying. Degrading. Devolving.
Despair, disaster, disappointment—
disappear.
The lexicon collapses inward,
a ladder whose rungs only fall.
Sand sighs. Water shifts.
Hands disembodied.
Faces detached,
checked out.
I flail,
a swimmer drowning in a teaspoon.
Watermelon empathy—
bloated, barren.
A clock face melting, Dalí’s sky.
I am Picasso’s fractured mouth.
I am Van Gogh’s shell-ear,
smashed on the rocks.
Amy Winehouse cries, hollow,
vodka-veined, restrained
inside a music box.
Maya’s muteness.
Florence’s failure.
Mary Seacole’s poverty.
Nightingale’s lamp guttering.
Angelou’s song stilled.
Seacole’s hands trembling empty.
Yet outward—
instead of inward,
instead of into my pocket-gazes—
there might be,
just might be,
a shimmer of stardust,
a touch of moonlight.
Hope, a dot of light
in a cavern of dark.
And yet,
it illuminates the sky.
A facsimile of the earth stands proudly
On the savannahs of the ancient and modern.
Edifice of rustic finesse, rugged and pointed
With the glory of a pinnacle of a paradise on earth.
In your crawling presence, Termite, stand I,
Barefoot, on elevated earth for the first time —
A platform erected by the hands of gifted time,
All red-brown and royal, and under the tutelage of
Sun and Rain —two keen-eyed foremen descended from heaven.
You have reached the skies before man.
I hail you!
I have removed my open-toe footwear,
Like Moses did his in the burning bush.
Babel forbids the union of this construction,
Aiming Nimrodly upwards and towards arrowed clouds
Dispersed in blubbering tongue-lashes.
But you do not seek God’s wrath upon these grasslands
With these anthills,
Wild castles —testaments to the will of fecund grounds.
Termite, break the jinx of your muteness.
Testify, crawling soul, testify harmoniously,
Borrowing the singing heritage of the Common Cuckoo.
Testify now.
Attest
To the ruggedness and puissance of this imposing structure,
And blame it on the staccato rhythm of peevish languages.