Quietens Poems | Examples

Tab 75

I hope that the sun melts away
And the air gets quietens down 
Soon
I’ll be waiting here
For the light to leave my shoulders
And the winds to get cooler
It’s a shame 
That things like this become
Something to be feared
The seasonal swings graze
My ear
And I’ve only just started summer break
But I’m tired of the beating sun
Down my back

Next

It only hurts until you cry.
The slammed door quietens,
your baby eyes grow old,
in the dark, where no one sees
or cares.

"Life!" She said,
"You blink and it's still there,
waiting for your next move."

'Keep going!" Say’s the shopkeeper,
of your worn-down wares,
and you wonder is he,
a digitally created memory,
your ancestors sewed,
into your dreams.

The bedpan has been warmed.
A nurse throws up into a toilet bowl.
Father comes back,
catches you singing,
in your boxed-in bedroom.
slams your ears.
with wall-busting words.

"Cut!" The Director shouts.
The camera's keep rolling,
A movie now squats,
in an empty room - waiting,
for more directions.

The hurt has crawled back,
into its featherbed,
where mice still nibble
last year’s leftover straw.

The Colosseum

I am weary of conflict,
arguments battling across
bloodied ground.
The dead 
always come back
as ghosts to haunt
the dark arena of sleep.
Life becomes defined
by armaments.

I shall find a place
in the lull of an evening 
where the wind quietens
into prayers whispered
along leafy avenues
and storms no longer claw 
at the stone walls and pillars 
of the temple
but become gentle rain
soothing the city
with its long fingers.

There, on the steps,
I shall leave a fragile
offering for you. 
If you come, come quickly
for the sky carries
a reddening glow 
and the hearts
of many are beginning 
to harden.

The Art of Poetry

"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, 
but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary 
as bread in the pockets of the hungry."         ~Mary Oliver.



Poetry is like the ripples in a placid pond,
Like the burst of inspiration…
Seize its beauty before everything quietens down.

Nimble-footed, the poetic muse,
barrels down on you like the runaway train,
Like the moment of passion,
Like the glimpse of a beautiful face
in the milling crowd,
Like the flash of lightning 
in the dark foreboding clouds,
Like taking a dip in the flaming lava 
and emerging fresh like a well-watered lawn.

She ensnares you in her web
stinging like a wasp…
Dazed, you would let her lead you
into a labyrinth knowing you’ll get lost.

Unable to woo your muse
you would stare stupefied 
at the blank sheet of paper,
Like getting fatally stabbed and unable to die,
Like running out of paints just
moments before completing your masterpiece.

Poetry is the staple of life
Elixir of mind
At once, captivating and liberating. 


~11/19/22
~Contest: Poetry is a life-cherishing force
~Sponsor: Sotto Poet.

The Avenue

A cold wind shreds
into moans
through the gritted branches
of apple trees then quietens 
to a yawn rippled
across the waters of a lake.
Further up the valley,
half the trees have been uprooted
and mounded into bonfires
that smoulder through
a moonless night.

Nearby, long lines of traffic 
pass on a highway where
lives, cocooned in comfort, 
barrel by through drifts of smoke.
One hundred years ago
and a hemisphere away,
young men from here
stood propped in trenches
in fear of a more
lethal smoke.

Folded over
a bypassed road, an avenue
of trees commemorate the dead.
Each bears a weathered plaque.
A century on, the names
have been hollowed out
and no longer live in a memory
housed in the mind of a parent,
wife or child. Come April,
in the pre dawn mist,
they are lifted high above 
their earthly station to become
the saints of a secular nation.

This Poetry

By: Ckolwethu Mthethwa

For this poetry serves as my medication...
A Prescription I take so in my mind there can be a separation 
Between what's real and my overthought delusions
Best part Is I can never overdose on these stanzas 
My soul  consumes them infinitely, still my body stands


For this poetry serves as my therapist
It knows my struggles and it shows me sympathy
It has mastered the skill of empathy
I come to it heavy with stresses, 
but after a one on one my problem tank empties


Pop pills and heal your body, your heart and mind remain in turmoil
I turn a page, and allow my pen to spit at it  the venom from my thoughts and feelings. 
My breathing slows and the tension in my muscles eases
My brain quietens and my heart relaxes

Unlike the pills you pop 
This poetry serves to heal the body and soul 
Sedating me without risk of a seizure 
Bringing me peace beyond measure 
Making me stay calm under all this pressure.

Vbt Practice 103 of 112

Thoughts turbid & uncontrollable 
So why make complex the simple
If lower mind wishes to play, let it
With but one condition: don’t let it sit

No sooner thought grasps an object
We send it off on another quest
Thus thought being unable to stagnate
Quietens on it’s own into stillness sedate

It is not the movement of thought per say
That cause any divine connect delay
Rather it is its tendency to grow roots
Which we need to stop, getting it to reboot

16-August-2020

All I Have

Living life
because of my fear of death
Enveloping black with something darker
Hunger for my private tears
and hiding lies in the sunlight
This crumpled mask shelters the nothing behind
The wrinkled smile lost to the night
Hope turns
Silence never quietens
And pain trickles over the numb
Squeezing breath out 
and clutching at the little deaths
between breaths
I am not
I am nought
My truth no longer sought
Hope turns
Silence never quietens
And the numb
is all i have got

Just Looking To Feel

I can't weep the sadness from me
it trickles inconspicuous
and never quietens the volume
Blurred sight making passing vehicles
headlights spayed and sprayed
across the oil black asphalt
like orphaned sprites in the deadened night
Looking for myself in the periphery
Looking for the moments when the pain
can be felt
Just looking to feel

Fpp

Furious purple pen
Seeking sassy strawberries
A black fly in the coffee

The pen waits and waits
In case a gale grows and gathers
Sticks to shake the branches

Fervent pink pomegranate
Offers a warm handshake
Pen quietens 

The poem crystallizes

The Oasis

The scorching soil seemed seamless
For the drooping-headed ones
Tongues tell the tales
The thirsty throats fail to utter:
Spotted, sored, nightmarish
Gazing at the slowly sliding soil
Stars of the faces are dimmed,
Lighting no more the darkening dreams
Feeding no more the wearying wings
Yet the oasis lies near

Its beckoning shimmer heave
Behind the mist of frustration
Its whispering waves die
At the gate to the fallen flags
That hang from the drooping heads

If only…
The stars could shine
The flags could rise,
But the oasis never quietens
As long as the heart beats,
The oasis never quietens

Red Maple Tree

I lie back in the weather-proofed green chair
To gaze up at the flowering maple tree.
Now, touched by sun,lungs full of scented air
I embrace with joy the beauty I now see.

Old celandine show brightly by my feet
Neglected currant bushes straggle round the path
There is no birdsong yet a silence sweet
Soothes my heart and quietens my wrath.

For my heart's sore and anguished is my mind
Yet in this little wood I feel deep calm.
My eyes are shadowed and my face is lined.
May this green spring bring me a gentle balm.

For even in depression and deep grief,
The mind makes healing medicine of a leaf.

Nebula Seeker

This worrying view
Today on earth
Is it the end of life
For all it's worth

An angry sky
Overhead
Cold blues
Atmosphere dead

Clouds of gas
From interstellar space
Stratosphere breached
Alien face

But out of the hue
A face in the clouds
Nebula seeker
Her shroud crowds

This nebulae
Of particle dust
Energy of gas
The seeker combusts

Angry exchange
In our skies above
Two galactic entities
Hemispherical shove

As the sky quietens
A bright star dares
To reveal it's place
As we look up and stare

Calmness oozes
As the seeker sleeps
Gentle rains fall
The sky in tribute weeps




.

An Evening Walk

Listen to the distant call of the laughing Kookaburras,
no longer raucous as distance fades.
The evening sky, quietly blushing pink,
caressed with whispering, transparent clouds.

Such is the beauty, the imagination, of Nature,
as it quietens your heart and slows your pulse.
What-ever else can quieten your soul?
as your rhythm slows, and night time calls.

A quiet heart sees, what no other sees,
gently, slowly, understanding Nature's gift.
A gift of wonder and amazing themes,
to mesmerize and tranquillize, to show us peace.

A peaceful heart bears no malice, or ill will,
it complements the soft imaginings of Nature's way.
The way for all to understand the reason why,
that Nature loves and teaches our heart its knowing ken.

The Kookaburras now obeying Nature's call,
that blushing sky no longer shaded blushing pink.
All's quiet, we can feel now, our heart beating slow,
time now, to lay our quietness down to sleep.

The Auld Yin.

As Darkness Descends

As darkness descends and the sun bows her glow
Starlings flock in multitude search
To perch and roost as their day is done

Sporadic lights appear all around
As if humans have come to life
Their shadows glance past translucent spaces

Sky diamonds appear through the blackening expanse
As solid surfaces glisten, created by solid deposition 
of water vapour from saturated air

The roaring of modern man quietens
As if by magic a sereneness blankets my space
Distant noises allow me to know life is forever there

As i lie absorbing the sounds of silence
My heavy eyes concede to the gravity of tiredness
As i drift into a world of endless open doors

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