In ¦¦¦ grey ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ silence ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ wranglers part;
And ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ tears
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ of the heart;
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ toss'd ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ crying
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ pains, ¦¦¦ each ¦¦¦¦ passionate mood, --
¦¦¦¦¦ lost, and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ forgot, undying,
Comes ¦¦¦¦ the ecstasy of ¦¦¦¦ quietude.
¦¦¦ a ¦¦¦¦ ghost, beside ¦¦¦ misty streams,
Is haunted by strange ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ evasive dreams,
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Stars, ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ light on waving grass, he knows not when,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ but where, he cannot tell.
(Blackout of Hauntings by Rupert Brooke)
I love how dark
the room, wrapped up
in quietude, the rain
will stir, and the grand
will soon; blanket
of singular drops
will soak the earth
snow cover of grand
wrapped up in cocoon
second cup of coffee
bare feet and relief
from humidity
how silent the rotation
of the fanned out blades,
like the clashing of clouds
there is a cure for silence,
the eventuality that
the world awakens
and the flowers, all wet
there will be the morning kiss;
lips parting, bliss
perhaps it is
a pancake morning
the pouring
of batter and mizzle
“a drizzly-mist,” and
comfort food, or scrambled
yolks and whites
with cheddar and chatter
“brain food”
still, quiet
Words, they say, are a powerful tool
To share thoughts and express emotions.
Instances, there are, when they are less potent,
In moments spent in meaningful silence.
When understanding life is taking a toll,
Direly confusing and overwhelming,
A minute of solitude will calm the soul,
And escape the noise, often troubling.
When tempers soar, anger flares,
When utterances cut deep within,
Trading no speeches, nor even a stare;
Is a fire doused by water, resembling.
When an idea shared is taken for granted,
Like a wind passing, no bearing, no weight,
Wisdom dictates that dignity be protected;
To keep mum is a clever sleight.
When the soul seems to go astray
And wanders an unfamiliar path,
A quietude may help find the way,
And heal all personal scathe.
"Winter`s beauty lies in its quietness and peace,
Offering the chance to halt time`s flight for a while,
Peer down the depth of oneself to feel real bliss
And, despite all odds of life, preserve a smile." by Poet
********************************************************************************************************************************
When snowflakes fall, faltering on the slumbering world
When trees stand bare, with their branches etched against a grey sky
When chirps of birds, flown to warmer lands, are dead silent
When wild winds waffle savvy secrets through empty streets
When the air is crisp and bites with its sharpened teeth
When houses glow warm, inviting light in long evenings
When the hills roll frosted, like ocean waves
When nature is softly sleeping beneath a white blanket
When ghostly quietness invades the snow-flaked land
It`s in such quietude that I yearn to peer down myself
Serenely scan the very depth of my inner self
Try to know the real stuff I am made of.
Humility, a prized gift, a quiet poise, a fond grace,
Peace, quietude and happiness bloom under its soft shade,
Not a stamp of softness or weakness, but a mark of silent strength.
The tall tree, towering to the sky, sheltering birds quite freely,
Stands so sturdy, but bends to the strong wind and rain torrents,
Nature`s clear and vibrant paradigm of humility.
The noble river, a silver thread, nourishing where it is led,
Journeys through slithering paths to merge with the wide ocean,
But never complains of losing its own identity.
The vast ocean, a huge mystery, deep, where secrets hide,
Through storms and calm, it keeps its place, holds the world in its sway
Provides food and fortune to men, but do not ask for anything.
Selfless and quiet teachers all around, on earth and underground,
They reveal the essence of humility at all times,
The need to have a gentle heart, be a humble player.
In shadowed hollows where sunrays belay,
There I live—a seedless form that's clinging.
No scent embellishes my cold display.
Though in quietude, my soul's still singing.
My deep yearning in this gentle despair—
To bloom like a wild and fragrant flower,
To feel the sun's kiss and the placid air,
And bask in nature's resplendent shower.
Still, my fragile hope serenely abides
And my dream lies on my dampened presence.
Yet through the night, a strength within me strides
Unseen, while the world's in deep quiescence.
Perhaps this form keeps me truly unique;
A fern that's unlike other plants they've known.
Hence, my soul still stands vibrant at its peak:
Like a cryptogam, stemless yet I've grown.
there is a feeling of quietude about the coast
I wonder about the sea, a lingering kind of ghost
romantical and soothing, she brings me to myself
I ponder her inflections, admiring her shelf.
the line is asymmetrical, which appeals to my artistic side.
the lapping water at her edges are dainty in the tide.
she has a unique feeling, that inspires me to want to write.
I feel inspired by this place, she makes my heart feel light.
A pen in hand, my readiness has quintessential power.
tiny glimpses of the horizon show me a potential shower
the coast is as meditative as any natural place can be
I marvel at her beauty, she brings me to the sea.
The prison cell was the best place Hector had ever lived
He relished his solitude
He had never had silence in a foster home or a group home
Hector was at peace
Glad to be here
Grateful for this quietude
Then he got a roommate
Quiet are the hyacinths
Underneath the snows
Irises and violets
Even the red rose
Today are lying silent
Underneath the snows
Daffodils and lilacs
Even the red rose.
I breathe the beauty of quietude:
Solitary walks in parks or woods,
Foliage brushing against one’s feet,
Early morning sunshine through the trees,
With bird calls punctuating the hush.
I breathe the beauty of quietude,
Of cloudless skies and placid waters,
Of soft breeze blowing against one’s face
Or whipping perfumes among the flow’rs
Gently enough to not let them fall.
I breathe the beauty of quietude,
Of twilight steering the close of day,
Of the stillness about to descend,
The tranquility that the night brings--
Much needed rest for the weary soul.
I breathe the beauty of quietude:
The privacy that can be enjoyed
While in the company of one’s thoughts,
Unmoved by the world’s many demands
To commune with oneself just for once.
Among 3rd Place
I Breathe Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Ink Empress
quietude of the day
coaxes poetry out of me
nouns and adjectives
verbs and adverbs
a few prepositions
I watch, amazed
We dream of silence, pure and still,
A space where noise suspends its trill.
Yet in the void, a whisper still, hums,
For silence never ever truly comes.
In quietude, a heartbeat strums,
The pulse of life forever thrums.
Into such stillness, wily wind whistles will creep,
And drips of drops through cracks will seep.
The breaths we take, the sighs we weave,
The quest for silence, they do deceive.
A distant echo, a memory foretold,
Reminds us that silence can’t take hold.
For even when the world’s at rest,
The heart still beats within our chest.
And the mind speaks in words unheard
Mimicking sounds, quelled and deferred.
Even ears when dead and deaf to sounds,
Make it up, when tinnitus abounds.
For quietude can never ever be true.
For its cause is lost in solitude's glue.
In my dream ... I am swirling in circles,
lost in a wild turbulent vortex surge;
light flutters and pirouettes with sparkles,
and at last from the whirlwind ... I emerge.
I am in this secluded place hued green,
an illusion airy, misty pretty;
love places not synthetic ... but serene.
Is this only a place of dreams ? ... Pity !
I do like rustic pastoral terrain,
but, love this place of flowers, water, trees;
the sun an emanate radiate stain,
bursting forth, scattered light binging a breeze.
At dawn ... I watch a sweet blossom unfold,
in the arising sun they will flourish;
in the silence the scene is bathed in gold,
the stillness, calmness, quietness ... nourish.
I wish that this was not a timeless dream,
endless and infinite and eternal;
but, my own sweet perpetual moon beam,
to a hued place ... when I am nocturnal.
"Just when the caterpillar thought the
world was over, it became a butterfly."
_Proverb
I have walked many twisted paths leading to here and now,
have been lost in darkness, fallen into pits and felt great love:
there have been mistakes I made and will regret forever,
yet, on this vast journey through life;
I have found me . . . myself and I,
so "will you take me as I am?" Will you ?
You will find me most days in nature,
reading a book or just resting my mind:
alone by choice- for I must have quietude, I must,
and I find great joy in art;
and get lost in writing,
so, accept me- exactly as I am, please;
because I am growing inside !
QUIETUDE
A pervasive state of stillness and calm
Respectful silence is maintained
No risk of anyone coming to harm
A sense of relaxation gained
Breathe deeply and it will begin
A quiet state both outside and in
Allows for gentle contemplation
A natural flow of inspiration
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