NATURE’S DECAY AND REBIRTH
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours-waiting for rebirth." Constance La France
in October's harsh, brittle light
the once emerald leaf crinkles,
curls, and crumbles like burnt paper edges
descending to cold soil.
the creek forgets its silver song,
its throat choked thick with mud and reeds.
heron stands watching minnows turn to ghosts.
fungi blooms on damp logs.
then frost arrives with teeth of glass.
snow muffles doe's fallen carcass—
her ribcage a cathedral for ice and wind.
silence stays ‘til the thaw.
deep beneath steely, stubborn ground,
a seed split open by the cold
unfurls and drinks the melt of winter's tears
pushing through death's veneer.
soon, sap ascends the maple's spine.
new ferns explode in fractal line.
wet-nosed, wobbly fawn stumbles, blinking wide.
life wakes from the decay.
Warm yellow light.
Chilly, for indoor.
Soft, soothing, piano.
Music—
Door slides open.
A man walks in, his eyes—
Rain’s wailing outside.
He talks to the nurse.
His voice hoarse like sand—
Flash, lightening.
Raindrops darken the dusty walk—
Thunder.
He sinks into the bench beside me.
Stinging smell of cigarette butts—
Another thunder.
Door slides close and muffles it.
Nurse says my name.
I walk into the doctor’s—
A muffled thunder.
I don’t remember seeing the lightning.
_____________
Note: Dysautonomia is a disorder of the autonomic nervous system, often causing brain fog, anxiety, and sensory overload.
All aboard the bizarre Farage barge..
Unless of course you are from abroad..
.
Narcissist catalyst.. old school fraud..discord twist..
Can't resist.. staging the raging red mist..
Fist of Mob rule tryst does persist..
Depraved raves..insist..craved faves..
Won't save slaves & knaves..
Hellbent they are sent..
To graves under the waves…
Foolish votes for ghoulish gloats..
Seedier media leaders lying..
Defying the dying..
Folks crying..ghastly ghostly boats..
Crude jokes delude..lewd masterstrokes denude..
Corporate rascal castle debacle floats..
On dank murky murderous moats..
Scuffles.. muffles ruffles & kerfuffles
Pokes & provokes just for bank notes..
The ubiquity of inequity
This poem or tome..
Every face…race should be.
Free to roam..
In this place..
We all call home..
Deep November,
a shallow time, nonetheless.
The snow is high packed with a cryogenic
amnesia.
Not yet dawn,
a sunken bed
muffles rising thoughts.
An eyelash of cognizance
flits across
thawing synapses.
Then the elastic nature
of sleep and wakefulness
snap alive!
November is howling still,
like a stray dog it scratches at my window -
wanting in.
For a while intelligence is a thorn in my paw.
Outside of the brain, November
is the same,
the darkness is still deep,
and friable as charred bone,
yet by now I am a candle flaring,
a flicker and gleam
within a neuronal time-machine,
and mind-surfing
on an ever-cresting awareness.
Prima donna cat had ruffles on top of ruffles.
She looks clown like said our clown Muffles.
She is doing okay, she looks pretty a butterfly said.
She was so thrilled, she danced way past his head.
Prima donna cat loved her giant pink tutu.
But she has lost her left pink ballet shoe.
I need some help she said as she danced down the hill.
As far as I know she is moving that way still.
Lovely rose that faded for a long time
Engulfed the feeling of desolation,
But only at the shine of precious dime
That you hear the sound of its affection.
For, when the day is about to retire,
The somber feeling comes back like echo;
The night takes away your only fire
And muffles the sound of your loud ego.
Is it really through the shine of gold
That you hear the caring voice of its love,
That when gold melts away its voice comes cold
Like a blow of cold wind from up above?
Will such rose still love you when you got none?
But, so deep inside you she's only one
September 8, 2023
She's a spark of my imagination
A colorful dream that drifted away
A flaring shadow of my illusion
A true April fool in the month of May
Her memory was like the evening rain
That drifted away by the light of dawn
Acid rain that burned the lobes of my brain
Fire that scorched the bright seeds of my spawn
Her bright smile was like the blazing sunrise
But her heart is capped by dark shadow
A cloud that eclipsed my sun on the rise
A grim sky without sunshine and rainbow
She's a nightmare that hunts me in my dream
A veil that muffles the sound of my scream
2nd place
Colorful or chimera poetry contest
Judged: September 5, 2023
BEHOLD the spine-tingling manifestation,
the GHOST TREE stands,
bathed in an eerie blue-grey hue,
a chilling stance.
It looms amidst the dense and opaque fog,
which muffles all sound and obscures all sight.
Its gnarled and twisted trunk,
devoid of leaves,
is ravaged by time,
etched with deep, screaming cracks.
Its macabre facade,
an arboreal mask,
frozen in a silent,
petrifying shriek.
The distant landscape shrouded in mystery,
a blur of shapes and shadows,
veiled in mist's cloak.
It beckons the curious, the brave, the bold,
to venture closer,
to uncover its tales untold.
Perhaps, it was once a mighty king,
a towering monarch,
a revered being.
But now, it stands alone,
a mere shadow of itself,
a ghost of the past,
a haunting apparition.
Or maybe, it's a portal to another realm,
a gateway to a world beyond our own.
One step closer, and the fog may clear,
revealing the secrets it's been holding dear.
But dare you approach,
beware the curse,
for the ghost tree's wrath may be worse.
It may ensnare you in its twisted ghastly clasp,
and bind you to this chilling dwelling
for all eternity.
# baptised in fire forced to drink bleach ~ tongue lost for words cancer speaks beneath #
Here comes the man, with unbreakable bones,
A brain of sawdust, muffles out his groans
Simple minded guy,
statuesque on the eye
Perhaps none too wise,
so was chose for sacrifice
There he goes, old twinkle toes, bobbing along
Never says a crooked word, nor puts a foot wrong
Upstanding chap,
til corruption set a trap
Forced to take the rap,
on him handcuffs slap
Here he comes again, his spine broken and bent
Never noticed that before, or the sterile scent
Still doesn’t know why,
for he never told a lie
Witnessed someone die,
but had no alibi
There he goes again, blending in with the dark
Can’t stand the spotlight, shows up prison marks
Such indelible stains,
God knows why they came
Numbers replace his name,
only a scapegoat remains
By
David Kavanagh
Blood drained from my face,
Accumulated into a scream.
Never released,
The silence was too fragile.
Dripping into my lungs,
I’ve finally found the ocean’s end.
Droplets within watery depths,
Lost starlight overlooks my eyes.
The blanket of darkness muffles my sounds,
At last I’m able to exhale.
Heart racing towards death,
Gradually slowing and slipping away.
Somebody save me from the raging winter in my soul,
If it were stabbed a thousand times I doubt I’d feel a thing.
I sleep on a bed of needles in hopes of experiencing a different pain,
But my body grew numb just like my emotions.
Damp, soddened soul,
Heavy with the guilt of existence.
Pained, shallow breathing,
Pierced by my thoughts.
Blood escaped from my lungs,
I broke the glass petals of silence.
Emotion chosen: despair
Date: 08/08/2022
Contest title: Strong Emotions Poetry Contest
Name of sponsor: Emile Pinet
Magazine Madame measures mammoth mackerels
Manipulating measurements, marking misguided memos
Momentous mistakes moves and muffles meager mackerels
Manufactured mutilated memo mystifies many, milking money
Magazine magistrate Marine Morey measures mackerels
Making meticulous memories, mimicking Magazine Madame
This night wears on and carries me,
alone, through time that hangs in folds.
I struggle to accept or see
what happenings the future holds.
I dread to peek behind the drape
and find a day I can't escape,
when all that's right and pure and good
has disappeared from where it stood.
I think I'll wrap myself in wool
that blocks my sight and muffles sound
and wait for time to gently pull
me someplace where I can't be found.
Perhaps I'll see that all is well,
I didn't need my woolly shell,
and all that's pure and good and right
was there and waiting in the night.
A faint quietness plagues the woods endless.
A gunshot-like cracking a jagged stillness.
Through exotic woodlands, in the darkness.
Grassy to the swollen water's edge mess.
A slight mist floats across the shining surface.
The lake's surface has a modest brightness.
Beautiful dawn's taboo sorrow muffles its voice.
Written: October 15, 2021
As the waves slow creep ashore
drawn by the lunar tug
approach the castle’s gate
crabs skitter in the moonlit surf
soggy French fries, extra salt
seagulls lean into stiff winds
a sea turtle teases the tide
a distant light cautions all
as cool mist muffles a horn
castle’s will crumble, flags fall
history slowly recede
into endless lunar tides
the castles will rise again
new flags wave in shifting winds
as the waves slow creep away
John G. Lawless
©10/7/2021
The house and barn have surrendered,
burrowing under the loose dirt of the sun.
Echoes run from house to barn, from barn to house,
a ritornello hurried along on the skirts of the wind.
Dust muffles yet imprints step and skip,
a written ergot that still keeps a voice
in the stillness. Laughter
trembles rafters, the faintest sound
stirs up bygone quotes and responses.
In the ruined barn, decay finds its language,
children still run here.
A transmission has leached from puttering feet;
it rattles the bones of embalmed mice.
A soundtrack of texture
running from barn to house – from house to barn.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.