Short Muffling Poems

Crunching under foot
Is the freshly fallen snow
     Muffling all sound...

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Wearing a veil
I revisit the past
Hiding from suitors
who hold to me fast

Muffling my words
as shadows befall
Their spirits indentured 
— old feelings recalled

(Deamsleep: July, 2024)
...

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The morning fog obscures, ironic in a sense,
as water particles are likewise in suspense;
muffling all sound, they coalesce in self-defense,
uncertain of their fate when sunshine does commence.

—————

An Awit: 12a:12a:12a:12a...

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All was hushed this eerie dawn
For ash had claimed the day
Disguising shape and muffling noise
Enshrouding all in grey--
Long the haze had swathed the cliffs
In veils of silver white
Till overnight like fleeting soot
It vanished with the light.


Any Poem...

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Smoggy, foggy, damp and cloggy,
cloyingly moist, feeling soggy,
lost in a shroud of stratus cloud
muffling the voices of the crowd.
Whirling, swirling, wraith-like curling,
absorbing the light, as dark unfurling
it reflects the moak, thick as smoke
all life hidden in its nebulous cloak....

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Birds twitter 
As the sun sinks
Slowly
In a pink haze.
Soft muffling noises 
Emerging.

Night time
Clouds close sky.
Cold air
Emitting,
Slight breezes
Ruffles their feathers.

Whilst awaiting morning
Sleep..
In evenfalls bliss.

Penned 14 may 2020

Yalto contest...

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Wind, what’s the rush?
Why the huff,
Why the puff 
Like the wolf
From
The Three Little Pigs,
Muffling my ears 
With “Pfffhhhh…..”,
Nipping my cheek,
Sushing the bird and
Bending that tree into a whistle
Until it shrieks.
Restless, you bluster?....
When you are free to whorl 
The entire world ‘round?...

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Formless
Endless
Neon passenger

Banana
Flavored
Handsoap dispenseries 

Forever
Forgetting
Bubbling memories

Longing
Emotions
In airborn particles

Lucid
Hazy
Dreamlike fragments

Always
Slipping
Soapbubble sideffects

Foggy
Moonlight
Driving to infinity

Slumbering
Muffling
In and out reality...

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What is the color of love? 
Is it red? 
Pink, purple, the color of lilacs, 
Yellow, daisies, butterflies in the stomach,
glitter and unicorns,
skipping through a garden? 

What is the color of pain?
Is it blue?
Brown, dead orange leaves, 
grey, chrysanthemums and carnations,
pitch black, with the muffling sound of a thousand bees?...

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In my fever dream, 
I’m united with you.
I sit by the wake
and grieve over something
that I could never
call my own.
Questions pound my head,
leaving me with dizzying thoughts,
muffling the screams of 
the demons in myself. 
Every breath I take
is haunted by your presence. 
Time goes on,
yet here I am,
by the grave grieving something,
I could never call my own. 
...

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His arrogance chills the room
muffling conversation
strutting
as he looks to see
who's looking.
His whiny tone
an endless wind
as his white tux
carpets the floor
in soulless silence.
His joy
an endless howl
of pressured wind
escaping
in a stinging sleet
of painful barbs.
His fear
the gentle warmth
of rising spirits.

12/13/2020

Winter Poetry Contest
sponsor - Emile Pinet...

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The smog induced haze bled
	acid
.             
.            NEON
          a tie-dyed 
            Orange 
              dawn

Muffling, p h a n t o m e
.                           foliage

backdropping the
		slllllllllli
.                                        ddddddde
.   of early  R
	  I
	  S
	  E
	  R
	  S

through the low lying

LIMELIGHT

diffusion
	extrusion
		confusion....

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A-rush
In a feather ruffling frenzy
cooling the flamboyant sunrise
muffling the warblers
with waffling winds

chilling the audience
in an ice-like stare
your shivery essence
ricochets through the canyon

startles the cliffs
bellows amid the echoes
of yesteryears challenge
stirs a red dust devil

they call you cold, December
for they are frail
and cannot bear the sting
of Winter’s hoary kiss
...

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>center>Sadly I sensed his heart slipping away.
Head on my pillow,
I dwelled in a dreamscape of denial,
muffling all thoughts of losing him
until I woke in my bed alone.

Draping across my shoulders
the old sweater he’d left behind,
his scent provided comfort.
But then I paused and realized
I was still at the edge of denial. 



*Words used for Andrea and Susan’s contest:  slipping, pillow, dwelled, denial, muffling, woke, draping, paused, edge...

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It is as cold as the tomb 
When its thick white blanket 
Shrouds the now dormant earth 
Pristine and pure 
Muffling sound 
Making us the living dead. 

Up above sparkle the icy heavens 
Sending down the deathly 
Pallor of the moon. 
Downturned knives of icicles 
Stand guard over windows 
Frosted with runic designs. 

Resurrection from this suspended 
State of animation 
Recommences with the thaw 
When the icy daggers drip 
Reproclaiming the essence of life....

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Winter
..with apologies to Joyce Kilmer


I think that there shall never be
Another winter such as thee.

A winter in which snow didst fall
In depths to six and eight feet tall;

A winter Hugging frozen ground
Muffling all prayerful sound;

A winter icing Kilmer’s trees
Where now the robins slowly freeze;

Who would beg for melting rain
Upon the deepening snow now lain.

Winter makes the piles of snow
But only God can make them go.


John G. Lawless
2/9/2015...

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