The King of Terrors comes not with
a sudden roar, but as a quiet shadow falling across the final door.
He sits upon no mortal throne,
A quiet shadow, vast and lone,
On silent, unreturning wing.
The pulse grows slow, the candle
dims,
The noisy world begins to fade,
A quiet stilled through all the limbs,
A quiet peace within the shade.
They call him dread, they call him
night,
The final end of earthly tears,
Yet past the gloom there waits the
light,
Beyond the king of all our fears.
Your eyes glisten
and a tear forms.
Your Braille tongue
mouths a silent vocabulary.
The ‘O’ of your mouth
spells out the anguish within,
and with mute hands
you give voice to
an ear-piercing scream.
Syllable Structure: 8, 10,7,9,6,8,8
***********************************************************************************************************
Stars sparkle, scattering silver,
Silent skies glitter, serenely sublime,
Distant diamonds, divine dance,
Glittering globes gleam, glowing gently,
Brilliant beacons burn bright
Whispering wonders to whole world,
Fanciful fantasies flow fast.
In a nearby place I frequent,
a quiet country road -
paddy fields stretching either side.
the road broken and pitted with potholes.
I rode there time and again,
often drove that road,
enjoying the peace and the countryside’s scene..
Jungle mynas often walked
striding along the roadside
while a cha - bora restaurant stood nearby,
run by a lone woman.
There, my wife and I would sit together,
relaxing over cups of tea and eating bora
watching the quiet countryside pass by.
But as time went on
private schools and houses began to rise
upon the paddy fields,
violating the laws -
but no one came.
Instead more and more buildings
continued to spring up –
motor workshops,shops,petrol pumps, restaurants-
along the edges of the paddy fields
by the roadside
The paddy fields began to vanish;
the wandering mynas were nowhere to be seen.
So, the little cha bora restaurant-
The countryside’s agrarian character
and its peaceful rhythm have vanished.
Django draws his pistol
and shoots out "D"
from pronunciation of his name.
No one hears the "W"
needed to do real damage
in "Wreck."
"Island" might as well
toss its "S" into the shallows.
No one needs to see it
if it's as quiet as a mouse.
The "K" in "Knight,"
a Mustang that has galloped
too far into the badlands
no one hears it go..."Neigh!"
The one in "Knife"
silently slices and dices
as if through butter.
Not a soul was around
to hear the audible flush
that sent "B" in "Plumber"
down the toilet.
The "G" in "Gnat"
creates no buzz in the air,
and has no sting.
The one in "Gnaw,"
broke a jaw attempting to bite.
Did I mention it has...
no teeth? It's all gums.
Two men riding a train to Blue Ridge
seated opposite Calvin Coolidge
They bet the POTUS they could get on his nerves
that they could make him say more than two words
But try as they might, Calvin’s lips were sealed tight
all through the day and then through the night
The entire time Coolidge sat there quite amused
at his stop opened his mouth, said ~ “You lose!”
Not all Healers will charge a fee,
Some will appear to touch your pain points,
Fingers Knowing exactly where to press.
Their own heart is a subscription service,
That knot in your back spoke so loudly,
Unperceived Tantric Rhythm, that's a yes.
Eyes Beaming with multiple timelines,
Hairs standing on end, Deserving of respect.
Aware in another life, we once met.
Never telling what they'll do,
Not warning you about the effects of the magic,
It suddenly just beams out of your chest.
Can't stop thinking about it now,
Nor can be brave enough to subscribe,
Memories standing out from the rest.
Sacred caressing to rip the ego to shreds,
Beauty together pre-empting an entire life shift,
The Silent Healer does it best.
The price is life as we know it,
Goosebumps telling a tale and preparing new,
Though you laid with them, now to yourself you must confess.
the wind passes
not a weed sways in it's motion
like time standing still
As feathered flocks soar across sinking sun,
and dusk descends on a silent sanctuary,
animals arrive at serene springs.
Fluttering feathers disturb solemn shadows;
rich reflections shine as birds brush,
beaks creating concentric rippling rings.
Silence settles on the haunted hollows.
SILENT TIDE
My sweet sunset glow was silhouetted
in my sight.
As the lovely breeze wafted towards
a beautiful night.
With warm, mellow sparks glimmering
in soft, magnificent light.
The sunset kisses softly,
caressing the stillness of the silent tide.
RMV 29/08/26
Dated: August 1, 2026
The calendar turns to August,
thick and slow,
But my screen is dark, with no
signal to show.
A silver shell sleeping
somewhere unknown,
An island of data, completely
alone.
No signal emits from its lithium
heart,
The map remains empty, tearing
hope apart.
The "Find My" command waits
suspended in time,
For a wire to wake it, a network
to climb.
But the lock is a fortress, the
boundary is deep,
The secrets inside it are safe in
their sleep.
Through the location its lost to
the shadow of fall,
The wall built of iron responds
to no call.
I hold it how I live
I built this version piece by piece
I’ve lost in silent grief
So I froze piece of this soul
Nothing left to give
I’ve traded fire for control
I’ve traded peace for chaos
But somewhere between that trade
I still grief in silent
I’ve had some lovers
I’ve had some friends
I’ve been hurt
I’ve been bruised
Laughed at my scars
But it’s proof that I’m still living
And I still stand
I know peace
where my demons live
the green eyed aliens silent invasion is all around
arriving on ships of invisibility and animosity
and say they come in peace and with solidarity
theyve come to stake their ground
so we welcome them with wide open arms
and are deceived by their salad of words and false charms
in this distant far away world a home they found
then sucked dry the good life we all once led
and now their far reaching tentacles we fear and dread
they infected us with their ideology without any sound
and society now is crumbling, sunk and drowned?
Looking at my candle in the castle
Wondering the reasons of my hassle
Falling in love with my King in spring
What a foolish thing that stings !
My King, already promised to his queen
Oh, I wish that by you, I’ll be seen
But I’m only a naive yearning jester
I’ll never be gracious and wise like her
The rejection, sadly, is so foreseen
If one day I declare my love for you
Will you know that what I’m telling is true ?
Or will you think it’s another one of my jests ?
Will you be able to digest my loving interest ?
Blowing out my candle
Deciding not to cause an embarrassing scandal
I’ll never tell my love for my dear King
But what we could’ve been will forever be missing
“K here! I have come to cheer up your night
dear maiden, silent beauty, as you rest.
A once dull eve is now a gallant knight.”
“W here! From you, this knight, I’ll wrest. “
“K won’t allow what is to be to not…
be. In a jiffy you will wear my ring.
Verily, we two will soon tie the knot.”
Will W from glad, the sadness wring?
K says, “W vexes – what is new –
but he will never stop the marriage rite”.
You’ll have a happy ending as you knew.
(That’s just the kind of poetry I “write”.)
W to Miss H, eleventh hour:
“Call me ‘Dub’”, for this wedding will be ours.
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