Long Muting Poems
Long Muting Poems. Below are the most popular long Muting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Muting poems by poem length and keyword.
I listen because Sound is not dead, but living.
I listen because I hear life through a variety of sounds. Sounds shout, cry, sing, soothe, provoke, and sometimes even pause.
I don’t listen when sound is compromised, influenced, beaten, killed (to crush silence), overwhelming or even artificial. Sound is meant to be pure; it is meant to be thoughtless.
I listen to sounds that are powerful, but are inherently ignored.
I listen for those who don’t know how to listen. I listen for those who were taught to take pride in their work, that they forget to leave time to take pride in their world. Sound speaks to everybody, but very few listen. We are told to focus; focus on our work, ourselves, and on others. We are distracted by this ambient truth.
I listen to sounds in silence.
I listen because of Mother Nature’s cooing, soft sounds guiding my mind to wander and to be set free. Her pure, natural voice is a comfort for all those who take the time to listen. She is the creator of all natural sounds, residing in every living thing. She whispers and yells; she cries and laughs; she never stops speaking. Mother nature is found is silence.
I listen to sounds that are unaffected by us; the sound of an infant’s heartbeat; the sound of a mourning dove’s song; the sound of a river rushing. Pure sounds are everywhere, but are clouded by us.
I listen, but not always succeed. I am conquered by the artificial, industrial world. My mind is blurred by construction, the radio, buzzing lights, television, and all things that are fabricated by us. It is unnaturally natural to do so, and we can’t take the whole blame. The world has been transitioned into artificial headphones, muting the natural world, and barricading our ears. However, if we detach ourselves, we can listen, listen to pure sounds.
I listen because I heard the truth, and the truth has spoken to me.
Because sounds never stop; they never stop crying; they never stop laughing; they never stop speaking.
Sound will never die.
In referance to SATB
I didn't know that music lovers often
tell the story from the arrangements
and pairings to what the composer is sharing
he combination of instruments
don't get along
like the piccolo and tuba
they don't jive when there together
and the muted celesta and xylophone
they don't get along
whats a song
the sounds for many
comparable and gitty
composed to love or set a mood
sounds can't love
but are capible of being loved
it's arranged for cultural conservation
you get what the composers saying
even though sounds aren't capable of love
what one desire to love
is an obstacle and challenge
due to the facts of being love
takes an enormous amount of time
those who interfere
will say one maynot be sincere
which may indicate a lack of
a lovers importance
the sounds that are supportive
the bright side to the love thing
is defined by what
you bring
to level out both sides of
importance
the composer considers
a pitch that delivers
the mood the sound should bring
Les personnages de cette fiction ne m'aiment pas.
Ils refusent de m'inspirer, alors j'ai refusé de leur
donner mon nom de plume ou mon nom légal.
Ils sont méchants et ne m'aiment pas.
Ils refusent de m'inspirer.
Vous pouvez dire que c'est fou parce qu'ils sont
fictifs, mais ma représentation et mes moyens
pour parvenir à mes fins sont tous liés à ces personnages
Piccolo meddled in Tubas affairs
the audience stops and stares
the traits of a disoriented thing
and what about Celetas muting
wisdom tells us that
it's no suited with
xlophone maybe it's all fiction
but for where we're sitting
I aint never seen nothing like
this before
Research suggests those who interfere in others' relationships are more likely to have dark personality traits such as narcissism. Meddlers may interfere in a relationship in a variety of ways, such as by highlighting how one's partner has failed to meet important needs.
October is Dancing
she is a trap of joy for a mark
to those tunes tapping on line
stepping out in her black
before the white for a remark
for the dance shoes redefine
the effect of all the months lack
in the meantime at kitchen advancing
Old and young months were watchin' her
as she prance in peaceful steps on the dance floor
so cool and sizzling to hear up the need to confer
for fire to keep warm the weather and not burn for war
the joy and courage the months have in the year
which is the interest of their purpose counting days
to number moments and minutes of cheer
and the exposure and enrichment appraise
Serious music from funny act
labels young minds mischievous youths
how the hell's rain labels heaven's dews fire
and its own the curlers pure desire
that was a just lie tied up as a fact
to keep away from blowing hearts, truths
with which head for a new place sit upon
redesigned of little difference in old baker's apron
Knock knows knocks knotting knowledge
while whistles whisper whim whacking
villagers' vaults vulnerably via villains
bragging beyond boasting bossy bell
flooded flowers faith flying flaws
hiring hasty hatred healing headlines
retiring reunion's rights relieved repulse
sitting soothing stresses safe separately
Now the dance floor is a bouncing stillness
on a muting lousy sounds
jumping to dance but go off
whenever trials are seen as illness
death tricks set its hounds
that the hade may laugh
how we wish a new Odùduwà
but Yoruba is stumping on ìwà
Our shoes now become red
R.I.P to those bloods shed
The heroes efforts are seen
Remain forever in our green
The lights that can go dim
The lines and stanza in the hymn
May these effects be fruitful
Even though it's seen unlawful
Note: This poem is in memory of those that lost their lives in the peaceful protest of ENDSARS in Nigeria on 20th October, 2020. May their souls rest in peace
I love the bright and festive colors of Christmas…of every holiday…
but I’m also aware of how they contrast against a backdrop painted gray.
I was raised in the Catholic religion…where I was taught the difference between wrong and right…with the Bible and scriptures as our guide…everything was black or white.
Then growing up I began to witness the way black and white interplay…
how so much of the world we live in has blended into gray.
In the Catholic Church…priests taught us the 10 Commandments…they celebrated the communal feast…and we are left to wonder how so many innocent children could be molested by these priests.
Our leaders assure us every child is precious…we will protect them…they tell us…we have no reason to doubt it…but then we see our children gunned down in their schools…and our leaders do nothing about it.
You know if you are gay or transgender…you’ve known it all along…but then you’re told you need to be fixed…that who you are…is wrong.
We are all humans we are all connected but much to our Creator’s chagrin…we forget those same connections when we judge each other by the color of our skin.
In this country we’re all immigrants…except, of course, the indigenous people who were here long before…but we watch when immigrants…say to other immigrants…
you’re not welcomed anymore.
In the written history of America…we are the greatest country in the world…where everyone is free we proclaim as we wave our flags…red, white and blue…but when we’re taught or read our actual history…we realize…that never has been true.
As we live from day to day…as we attempt to fulfill our hopes and wishes and dreams…
our initial world of right and wrong…is never as simple as it seems…
Which is why I wish for solutions to our problems every Christmas…
It’s why every day I pray..
because our holiday colors will never be as bright or as festive…
if we keep muting them with gray.
I will not hold your golden trophy high above MY head
Or wear your name engraved with cheap polyester thread
I’m so sorry you can’t decide what to wear today,
Will it be the Christian Dior or the Versace green lamay?
Your Jimmy Choos click-clack across pedestals that we have built
And we polish your statues that glow without guilt.
Did you really get paid millions for just reciting Macbeth?
As a trickle down economy allows us to scramble for what’s left.
Our nations school teachers can’t feed their own,
while our firefighters are dying of cancers unknown.
As our bellies swell and our hearts deplete
your SOLD OUT and we can’t make ends meet.
But we still continue to worship, love and adore
Blinded by the shiny smiles, screaming for more
Facebook, twitter and selfies infest are minds
keeping us preoccupied, oblivious to the times.
Stocks are up but my credit card is at its max
all I got was an extra twenty dollars from my latest income tax.
Fake Louis Vuitton on a budget and inflated Nikes by the pair
As they flaunt their riches and successes in our blank stare.
We paid for their ivory towers with large gates to keep us at bay
no invitation to dinner as our struggle gets harder each day.
Un news worthy lives, overprice items with enticing marketing schemes
Owning the latest I-phone feeling you are living the American dream
REALLY, another reality show, “Oh Gee Golly I can’t wait”,
Wake up, pay attention. But I think it's too late.
Is technology and Beyoncé our new gods of choice?
As politicians rewrite their own reality, muting our voice.
We pride ourselves in others lives attempting to forget our own
Bowing down as they step across our backs, ascending their iron throne
We created this disparity as their influences make us crave for more.
But the rich are getting richer while we remain poor.
The bra strap drops,
it clings to my shoulder.
Each inhalation makes the fabric vibrate.
My hair drips water on my chest.
It penetrates the skin and within.
Me sitting on the edge of the bath tub,
pondering,
wondering,
wandering.
Another strap let loose.
I unhinge the corset.
My toes touch the tiles like dancing piano keys.
I am short.
The mirror vanishes
the upper half of my body.
The other side is much more real.
She has fierce, piercing eyes with flare.
Out-reach her palm and we are connected.
Goosebumps arise as a breeze hacks in.
The door flings open and shut with the muting sound of oblivion.
Express who I am.
Cuz I know not how to make it happen.
Outside is a battlefield.
The innocent is not spared.
Raw,
raw,
roar,
roar.
Conquer nothing of that strength.
The weak they see in me is nothing but my flesh.
I am weak.
But this weak is not real.
Neither are their strengths.
Sliced every layer of material off me,
one by one by one by one,
until I've got none remain.
I smell crystal clear reservoir in the bathroom.
she stood on an empty bucket with a tight noose around her neck
when doubts crept in through a hole in the bottom of the rusty vat
naked she was twisted torn with defeat tattooed into a punctured heart
vacant echoes of darkness played a symphony in search a broken record
on desiccated skin she had painted all regrets in bright orange crayons
scratched it over with charcoal and waited for final accords of freedom
a mistuned guitar offered Nirvana but an accordion drew out suspense
screechy fiddles bowed to the drum beat calling for tranquil surrender
slit wrists oozed sorrowed blood on transition to redemption and closure
the kitchen smelled of gas as her match stick legs gathered last strength
she had not eaten for weeks and trusted liquor had been her only companion
if only she could overcome apathy and inhibition to pitch up her courage
but her arteries refused to relinquish blood for fatigue to settle for broke
the vessel stood rock solid on shaky grounds of a tiled kitchen floor and
she wondered whether the rope was a rubbery pendulum waiting to snap
and therefore she hesitated at the threshold between paradise and hell
well she pondered I’ve got that one out of the system I might as well live
off my list now I know how it feels like to hand over the conductor’s baton
if my inner audience hesitates to cast the final curtain the show must go on
when she refrained from muting an orchestra she faded for silence to grow
she almost tripped the fuse but severed the cord and rewired her feelings
to align with the desperate reason that life on the edge was better than death
13th November 2020
I am alone filled with the pain of love. My mind replays every moment with you as
bittersweet words echo in my ears. My chest tightens, and my throat narrows. I choke
back the tears and can barely breathe. I cry, but find no relief. Why must I suffer so
for loving you?
The days are long and deliberate and they conspire with my soul and heart to keep me
captive to you. I cannot break free from the net that you cast upon me. I curse you,
but find myself whispering your name, begging to be near you. I hear your laughter and
smell the sweetness of your fragrance. Each thought punishing me physically and
emotionally. My mind no longer my trusted friend.
I tremble. The pain within so deep it hurts beyond description. I cannot control it.
Overcoming me at will and muting my desire to exist. Do you not know that I love you?
No, it is a feeling much deeper than that. Words cannot fully explain it and few
understand it. A love as deep and meaningful as the love a mother has for her child. As
unexplainable as the homage the punishing waves pay upon the shore. Or when you looked
at me and I could feel your love. How could you walk away? How could you hurt me so?
Each day I struggle to find the strength to begin anew. To find the strength to pluck
you from my heart. But each day I fail. Despite the pain, I cannot resent you and I
cannot forget you. You are woven into my being and I can never stop loving you. Won’t
you look upon me once again, if only for a second?
Cvhs 05
Form:
I began my walk in silence this morning…save for the muffled barking of a dog…as overnight the clouds descended and cloaked the Earth in fog.
It’s on cool mornings such as this…with the fog muting all details…I’m reminded how the Earth is alive and breathing…as I walk through her exhales.
I love walking in an early morning fog…where all colors are stripped away…for the more I walk…the more I realize…there’s so much beauty in the gray.
Some people may find sadness in the mist…may see it more like smog…but I, for one, am blessed to find happiness in the fog.
When the fog drifts down to visit…I feel a kind of inner peace…every sound is muted…all boundaries seem to cease.
I’ve learned to see the beauty in her obscurity…that without the fog I cannot see…the way she blends together with the rocks, the sky…the ocean…the flowers and the trees.
The fog reminds me how life is ephemeral when I’m surrounded by her at the break of day…for I know if I wait long enough…the fog will fade away.
And when she lifts her blanket…I know there’s no telling the wonders I might feel…from the sounds she will unveil…to the colors she’ll reveal.
I’ve been blessed to know the pleasure of playing in the sun…
of counting stars in the evening sky when the day is done…
of dancing in the rain…
of standing by a lake listening to the singing of the frogs…
And one of my most cherished blessings will always be…
walking in the fog.
You fell from my nightmare that keeps unfolding in the dark
Carrying my dead body on your back
And offering cheaply all that you are
You bought them all
Your mask won't stop me from noticing your crime
Next time I see you two together I'll be the one holding a knife
You killed all the innocence in sight to the sound of your victim anthem
That keeps muting any thought in my head
But somehow your five letter name is still stuck in my brain
How come you never know how to rise above that
Your new lover likes it the most when you scream that you don't care about me
You fell sick with someone else's touch, I died when I saw you together
So don't ask if I have a place to sleep
I'll be waiting in my grave till the crowd gets bored
Counting on my fingers all my violent deaths that are always your fault
And growing numbers in your hand always revert to zero
But I can't ever rise above wanting you so
Place where we are reveals all the steps in our way
So what have you done to find yourself where you are
What have I done to stand beside you waiting for you like I always do?
You called me your sister knowing that I wasn't for a minute
And I just hope that our story won't be known as the ultimate betrayal
So now that I stood up from my knees I recommend doing it too
Nobody touches what is forever to be mine
You killed all the love in sight to the sound of your victim anthem
May it turn into your funeral march