Like a 70-year-old bow-legged harlot, jealousy never ages well.
Every year the mascara is painted on thicker.
Every year, less of that peacock strut
Every year, more pigeon steps.
No more virgin revelations.
Only clownish mumblings from the pen...
A discarded dried-up turd to the bitter end.
I wonder if I’m an empath.
I wonder if I’ve ascended.
I feel like wandering into a wall.
I wish my random mumblings-
Would translate to the screams that they are.
I am numb to my family’s calls.
Every time she says goodbye and goodnight…
I hope she is having a good night without me.
Currently homebound.
Soon to be housebound.
Joyful ramblings.
Sleepy mumblings.
Traveling by car.
Scars still settling.
My therapist is awaiting me.
Someday, the trauma will be worthwhile…
For now, let’s celebrate!
Someday I will remember…
But today I am homebound.
When I play you my song
I want you to sing along
And take in each word
With my thoughts that have occurred
What would you do
If it speaks to you so true
Do you shed a tear
Or be comforted when you hear
Is it your take on every word
That does not seem absurd
Do I speak for you in your heart
Or spark an idea from the start
Stand up and be counted I say
For the words will forever stay
In the end I want you to hear
It’s why I say them to you so clear.
© Paul Warren Poetry
A lecherous neophyte he preyed
upon their folded hands and closed eyes
bathed in their dolorous mumblings
sated himself on their penitential inhibition
Left them to flounder hopelessly - adrift
drowning in his vitriolic bombast
a hard burning scent of incense
left to smolder in their souls
for Providence had delivered them - to him
©6/16/2019
Eight word free verse challenge Poetry Contest
John Hamilton sponsor
Hmm, I have a hand full of ink
but what will I write...
Is action everything?
Silent but listening
Silence then pump
Silence then pump
Pen begins to flow
writing is a life-line
Zig-zag lines from
a critical care monitor
beeping everytime
a heart pumps
or that plastic Slinky
machine ooshes
everytime lungs
exhale air
Words are nothing
Action is everything
Silence then pump
Silence then pump
I tried talking
inaudible mumblings
which raised some questions
Will he make it?
Will he pull through?
Will he ever be the same?
Gesturing for a pen
I began scribbling
Focused on three words
some machine beeps
rapidly from renewed activity
Distracted, I lost I
and began again
Silence then scribble
zig-zag line up
lungs inhale
Slinky draws down
she waits anticipated
nurses asked
"What are you saying,"
Tears began to roll the moment
I realized that if I couldn't speak
but could scribble
silence then love
silence then you
I laid the pen
and pad down
and realized
Writing was everything.
Silence then beep
Silence then...
Mindless mumblings, imprisoned words planning their escape
©5/30/2018
for Silent One Monoku Contest
Life’s lullaby at times of tensions tends to evaporate
As on Earth morbid mumblings multiply
To flicker our faith and to dribble us desperate
As we wonder if in the supernatural we qualify
For any worth that upon which we can count
Although amen answers our curiosity can’t satisfy
When drivel doubt drives us to discount
Peeks of pie and sigh in the sky
As deep drama drains stamina when we recount
Audacious occasions we’ve drunk the Devil’s lie
Waving us to wean from faith and sin
Despite elf efforts to stave off a stealth cry
As for the umpteenth time we recall how great God has been
To us in grand glory and guarantee we’ve seen.
You are a thorn, borne deep in my heart
The prick that sticks me with each breath I take
A tether, whether I want to be bound to you or not
The flame I blame for burning holes in my soul
Droning chants are rants lingering in my mind
Rumblings and mumblings within my sad breast
The wrong kind of song written for those in love
My eyes sting when I try to sing the sweet lyrics
Broken vows spoken; words shattered like glass
The refrain of my pain keeps wounds from healing
Sorrowfully shaken and forsaken, I had to walk away
Your pretense was immense, the shame of your fall
Love was spoiled, foiled because of your weakness
Your reason for treason, based on a foundation of lies
The suppression of your confession has taken a toll
How cruel to fool the one who gave you her heart
tone-deaf
unintelligible
mumblings
escape into the air
like nails spreading
across a chalkboard
causing confused
expressions to spread
across the faces of those
around
break out in an all out
two left footed choreography
the look at me look at me
show has begun
I felt our trouble brewing like a raging wind
and I, helpless to escape its stinging wrath.
In long dark corridors where he had sinned
I watched him crawling down an arcane path.
His murmurous mumblings I could not hear,
though echoed in a gravelly sonorous voice.
I knew instinctively there was much to fear.
In the surreal moment I had to make a choice.
When he woke on that cloudy thundering morn
I broached the problem that he could not defend.
His gorgeous green eyes were infused with scorn
and I cried knowing we'd reached the bitter end.
~ ~ ~
I heard he keeps pretending everything is just fine
but I know his life is still ruled by the raging winds.
His dazzling smile is a façade that does not shine
when he looks in a mirror, for he sees his own sins.
If my dream had not become so frightening and vivid
my vision may not have found a way to make me see
the Mr. Hyde he becomes when his temper turns livid.
His next innocent victim could have possibly been me.
__________________________________________
4/24/16 MR's More Than the Eye can See Contest
Tears... emboss old memories
Reminiscence, floods troubled mind
My eyes... slow leak as floodgates
Fighting nightly tides, that rise to blind
My sorrow drowns an aching throat
The uncontrolled dance of trembling chin
Stinging blur forces eyes tight closed
Salted lash swells tequila rim
And in that moment
Of surrender
Alone... I cry
Alone... midst dancing shadows
Cast by firelight and drifting mind
Fireside cheek... bathes in embers warmth
Whilst outer face no comfort finds
Polar mumblings, the unheard suffering
Self-inflicted, my addictions rain
Souls shingled beach, no stone I leave unturned
I search for comfort, seeking not to blame
And in this moment
Of isolation
Alone... I cry
For a life... raped of colour
That lies opaque Neath shades of grey
To beg for peace of mind... amidst sad sands of time
Where colours Godly, paints final day
I have never wished for my many years
Yet still I fight to suffer more
For the loved ones that I would leave behind
Should I walk through final door
So in this moment
Offer comfort
As I cry
Help soothe this mind
Of bipolar kind
Please God, just try
The book lies open
discarded notes
framing the corner
your room so quaint
pictures hang
askew!
You carefully smile
avoiding
guarding
You have learned to guard
a wastepaper basket
full of nothing, so you say
wrinkled corners peak
over the edge
You silently wring your hands
trying to hide
To hide what?
Who you are?
Where you came from?
Your gut wrenching love
spills, your fevered mumblings
You stare at the basket
then turn away
It’s just not good!
Just not good enough
How can you be so sure
if you hide
and, don’t tell the world
Don’t let go!
Don’t ever let go!
Your conscience screams
Your cupboards full
of empty corners
Your fridge unexplored
Your hands cold
And your unwaning love
begging from an impatient
metal Bin
Where perhaps, rejection sits?
Surely!
I felt like exploding.
The back of my eyes were burning.
What had happened here?
There must have been times when I felt more than this.
There had to be.
Surely.
It was Tuesday afternoon, around 12.20pm, that I realised what had to be done.
Someone had to pay!
I have lived, up until now, a privileged life.
One really of no hard labour, unlike many of those around me.
I suppose I felt superior to some people in many ways.
Should I have thoughts like this as a member of the human race?
There you go you see, human race, race, the word that we have put into who we are, its a race, we are racing, racing each other.
Where will it be the race, who is in the, race, yes indeed!
Mumblings of a mad man corrode the in workings to such a degree that there seems no way out!
Surely we had felt more than this?
Surely!
Scott. T . Williams.
And yet again
It's 3am
Before I crawl to bed,
my eyelids drag
Like airport bags,
My limbs have turned to lead
Again so late
And no dream state,
I'm sure that it must be
Since I've run out
Of wool to count,
The sheep are counting me.
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