Soundlessly Poems

Silvery Dreamscape

With your silvery dreamscape ajar, 
I catch glimpses of the stars.  
Let me be dotted in your constellation— 
not a star, just dust in your imagination.  
But never tell me I’m your aberration.

With you near, the world hollows,
like a lotus husk on an iron pole.
Be my stability— 
the foundation beneath me,
so I'd never fall.

Be my stability… 
then one night, the sky admits:
You were never my astronomy,
just a light that borrowed my eyes  
to look bright. 

You and I are not meant to be.
The sky comes crashing down soundlessly,
my soul dragged away by tides.
You are the stars—
beautiful, but only to gaze at,
never to hold.

The Face In The Mirror

Visage stark and eyes of steel
He shares my thoughts and what I feel
And seems to know more than I’ve known
The face in the mirror sees through me.

He knows my faults, my secret sins
And bears no mercy without or within
Judgement swift cuts to the bone
The face in the mirror weighs me

Dreams and goals, schemes and plans
He shatters with a sneering glance
And his silence is the only tone
The face in the mirror knows me

He measures my worth with soulless stare
And soundlessly he lays me bare
Worthless his lips appear to moan
The face in the mirror shows me

He finds me lacking and less each day
Though why so harsh he will not say
Just a loathing low hushed groan
The face in the mirror wounds me

His disregard so plain and clear
He knows my pain and stokes my fear
His twisted lips set the tone
The face in the mirror grieves me

He arbitrates my very life
Slashes my soul with psychic knife
His cruelty hard as stone
The face in the mirror hates me

No escape and no reprieve
This simulacrum will never leave
His torment won’t let me alone
The face in the mirror is me

The Starling

When I was small
the starlings roosted one by one
on grandma’s party line wire
	(like jittery black clothespins)
to bandy their gossip back and forth
until the wire hummed
with their inanities.

By luck my slingshot found its mark.
One toppled from the wire soundlessly
like a clothespin blown loose in the wind.
The others rattled on, oblivious,
no questions asked.

It dropped straight down.
I ran to see where it had fallen
	(headlong into the trash)
expecting it to be stunned only
and I would laugh as it flew off.

There, 
between a flattened can of Campbell soup
and a Brillo pad used up,
and bleeding from one empty eye
the still warm bundle of feathers
looked ready for flight.
	(so fly!)
But when it did not spread its wings
or chatter any more
I cradled death in my hands
	(soft and almost weightless)
and cried 
as I buried both victim and weapon
in the same box.

Persuaded

During the worst storms, when the heart mourns and warns, there comes a hope for more, hope for love that is beyond our knowing, love that is overflowing, love that is soundlessly growing ~~~ by the author

The wind sings of silent visions,
	listening to what is meant for her,
the longings of a night’s revisions,
	kissing away the shadows, the fears.

The rain breathes in stillness, gentle,
	soothing away the pain and regret,
blessing the souls who’re sentimental,
	reminding that He provides for each one.

The thunder booms, vibrating the skies,
	teaching the spirit to believe,
even though one falls, soon they arise,
	knowing the wonder of God’s fortifying.

The storm doesn’t cease until time reveals
	the story of a heart who is fulfilled,
the song being sung is a song who surely heals,
	teaching the spirit that love is God’s will.

When the weather leaves it’s note of conviction,
	the night sings of dark’s infection,
there comes One who leaves no contradiction,
	He is the reason I’m ever grateful…

For without His love, I’d be lost – dissuaded
from the beautiful hope His light persuaded.

A Beautiful Breathtaking Evening

"As the setting sun pours colors on the firmament and the evening dresses up in shades of amber, let hearts sing of the beauty of nature and praise the master craftsman who designs everything" ~ By Poet


On a beautiful evening, sat by the side of a silent lake.
On staring into its still, see- through waters, I saw,
Tiny thick lipped gourami, swimming back and forth 
Flashing their silvery scales in synchronized swings.

Swallows were flying to their neat laid nocturnal nests.
In the soothing silence, set free of all strife and stress,
I forgot myself. The sun had soundlessly set in the west.
Copper clouds in chameleon sky were cloaked in cobalt grey.

echoes of the silent shore

soundlessly reverberations travel
from root to crown and beyond any pitch
send laughter and tranquil adventure 
accord to the spine like poetry’s chant
ring in the presence void from
previous future and unfolding past

mirror images of polar opposites
unite with a chime
rhythm and rhyme of untold melodies
resolve discords and false harmonies

once the echo of my Self
transcends eccentric ripples
it whispers tantra in my ear
combines all audible pleasures
with light escaping its shadows

I am beginning to feel a miracle
a whole ocean’s salt on my skin
just a drop in the Universe’s magic
and yet a tidal transmitter 
to spiritual shores of being alive

Life's Calling

sipping cider, and pumpkin spice
nurturing joy, autumn’s sweet price
blessing my heart, leaves keep falling
raining grace on my life’s calling

warm thoughts caress my soul’s intent
these blessings are why I was sent
autumn’s rhythms are gently stalling
raining grace on my life’s calling

jumping in the leaves, such wonder
my heart is beating like thunder
autumn’s gasping winds keep squalling
raining grace on my life’s calling

roaring fires and the crunch of leaves
reminds me that my heart believes
autumn’s ink, soundlessly scrawling
raining grace on my life’s calling

aching verses shed silent fears
singing God’s peace through gentling tears
merry skies steal hearts, recalling
raining grace on my life’s calling

Just Clouds

Just Clouds

They seem just ordinary fill
for a background, a fuzzy white
or gray that doesn't grab the eye
and distract from the more deserving
stuff like trees, sweeping ocean views
and mountain lakes. Clouds lack
a clean line.

They seldom get prime billing
unless infused with anger and about
to burst, or wear the outrageous 
colors of a rising or setting sun.
Many exclude them altogether 
with a preference for a blue, 
totally cloudless sky.

Frankly, total blue is boring to me.
Give me tufts of purest white
drifting soundlessly across 
an otherwise featureless sky,
big bellied storm clouds, dark
and sagging with weight, 
rumbling with thunder, 
letting their load of water go.

And wrap me 
in the soft, filtered light 
of low, misty clouds that have learnt 
how to weep, keep me safe
from the big towering giants 
that grow with menace on a distant
horizon and bless me 
with the unseen ones
that send down a gentle rain at night
to lull me off to sleep.

If only you knew

On the eve of that somber, stormy night,
I began to see strings of spring swirling soundlessly
along the thread-thin blade of this culinary cutlery.
Why does gravity lay on thick in this silver steel accessory?
If only you knew, where there is a subtle screech of harmony,
there is a violent war viciously humming melancholy.
As the dust of what was once obscure drops from the passing clouds,
it sets in an assembly of soft, dull vowels,
waiting for the rug of grass to spread a path to the furthest mountain.
Why do I feel no raging colors from the twilight
yet see them so vibrantly?
How do I know nothing of summoning my movements,
when this adrenaline speaks distantly?
Alone, a rush of flame once formed, now shows the demons in the storm.
When this flesh and bones become one with the unpredictable elements,
I hope what prevails is the lore of my regiments,
where I bled into the disasters of my own shortcomings,
learning to rest without a bruise as I drown.

Revelation

All morning
the river wore a thick fog
along its length, until 
a great looming shape emerged,
tall, gliding almost soundlessly
towards me, becoming the bow 
of a ship parting the fog, 
escorted by two tug boats 
churning the water,
the deep throb of their diesel
engines sending a shudder
through the air. 

The sheer wall
of the ships hull slowly passed,
tapering to a stern and trailing
a wheeling throng of seagulls
in its wake, their bright wings
catching a column of sunlight
that had suddenly broken through 
the fog, freeing what was there
hidden in the unseen
to come forth into the known.

He's Ever Mine

Isaiah 53:3 (KJV) “He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”

Humble hearts remember,
The quiet art of soft December,
When peaks are painted in light,
Gentle as the peace of a quiet night,
Reflecting the love so content,
Growing in hearts, 100 percent,
Alive like the stars, ever serene,
Soundlessly coloring the heart’s routine,
In violet and cobalt, stardust spun,
On words of a story for everyone –
It is love that created us, gave to us,
This man of sorrows, and thus,
We’ll forever be alive, in the skies,
Because we know the One who supplies,
Every heart with love that will live,
Forever alive, always able to forgive,
Saving souls and promising the hope
That will forever mean they can cope,
And live in paradise, where they’ll fly,
Soaring on the clouds, knowing why…

Jesus is mine, forever alive inside,
Where I know, His love will ever abide!

Flock Plus One

Flock Plus One
Crouching among a gaggle of
dabbling Canadian geese,
a brown skinned child pushes back
long black hair,
intent on building a tidal pool
of which he can be King.
Extending a ridiculously long neck,
a goose wades gingerly into the water,
snapping his wings forward in a fluster,
indignant with the cold.
Another approaches the boy curiously,
black eyes assessing the construction;
haughtily disinterested, it continues ambling
along the inlet.
The sporadic hiss and honking of a gander
whose life mate is being wooed by another
doesn’t faze the child,
methodically tapping his palms
along the outskirts of his pond.
Another goose watches him,
unconcerned,
from her nest on a muskrat mound,
tiny hatchlings in yellow down
chirp soundlessly.
Spittles of rain dust the child’s
ebony hair
and the gaggle’s black feathers.
The cluster huddles around the boy,
having seemingly accepted him

as one of their own.

Zen mode

something within shifts
as our consciousness lifts
it feels like God’s applause
when we obey His divine laws

in truth we do nothing for this
yet are bestowed with bliss
chakras soundlessly whir
we hear our soul purr

Snuggles

"Upon my lap it's safe garden pleasance, 
deep in its soul a rumbling purr." 
Quote by poet

Dulcet golden summer light lay upon 
her long feline fur of chocolate mousse. 
She sensual moves soundlessly through loose 
half written poetry sheets, then she's gone. 

Warmth of deep and passionate emotion, 
on her paws nears, with grace hugs with her tail, 
as she sits submissively. With big pale 
green eyes, purrs, and stares up with devotion. 

Soothed by her radiant gentle presence 
and dawning affection, looking cozy, 
but in Pandora's box being nosey. 
Do not rein her private garden pleasance.

Nymph

Like a nymph walking through the woods, 
She glides soundlessly through the trees, 
Remembering their lost childhoods, 

She lifts her face to feel the breeze, 
And soft leaves crunch under her feet;
She glides soundlessly through the trees, 

Her head moves in tune with the tweet, 
Obscuring her tears as they fall, 
And soft leaves crunch under her feet, 

Around her heart, she's built a wall, 
Which crumbles here amidst the leaves, 
Obscuring her tears as they fall, 

Her soul heavy, their deaths she grieves, 
In silence, mourning for their love, 
Which crumbles here amidst the leaves, 

She knows they're watching from above, 
Like a nymph walking through the woods, 
In silence, mourning for their love, 
Remembering their lost childhoods.

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