MUTED TONES
numerous
paridisal
elongated
eurhythmic
hierarchical
backgrounds
radiance
glimpsed
in
esoteric
embodiments
aspiring
& initiated
to
stylise
intimate
illusions
of
fellowship
orientation
generic
revivals
ironic
ambitious
elements
Behind each unvoiced whisper
a shouting heart remains.
Beneath a raging heart
words unsaid speak on.
Within each murmured thought
a shallow grave endures.
Behind words once spoken
lay all things broken.
Enclosed within an unheard whisper,
a raging heart.
When choosing a ring tone,
Make sure it won’t grate
On your nerves or turn into
A sound that you hate.
They vary from gentle
To jarring or shrill,
While doing the job
They’re designed to fulfill.
We snap to attention
When hearing our phone,
So its ring should be one
We accept as our own.
Allusion the word used
it seemed out of place
and wedged between
repetition and simile.
Her thick English sounding accent
was as attractive as her
Gorgous face and , she had
more appeal then all the Ladies here combined!
She was talking about writing and began
bragging about the day she
was in Windsor Canada and meet
Feasty Broadway ( the world renewed)
Musician and singer.
She said she took the bus from
Detroit and while there
the went to the Windsor Stadium while
several folk auditioned for
The play? or Opera " Best Sentio( Bel Canto).
" There he was all cute and smelling great:
and I was flabbergasted as I got his autograph.
While there we heard a guy talking to another guy
about the "The Treasure of Kiss-Per"
we thought it was a play: until we heard them speaking about
getting the ship close enough to
the detroit shoreline. Then we remembered
the legend of the Tresures of Churches, taking by
Canadain Pirates in
the early 20 th centery.
My freind and I stood there
and found out Feasty was involed in the Unearthing of the Loot!
The last embers of a sunset
sink below a dark horizon
almost mirroring a Rothko
painting in its somber
and weighted tones.
A sadness has found
a place to settle
for the evening
and is absorbed
by the water and sky.
It seems weary, unable
to take form in a thought
and be given a name,
but is more a shade
as that which inhabits
the internal landscape
of a haiku when something
fragile and exquisitely beautiful
is caught briefly in its passing
and let go.
It is a sadness that feels
soul deep, reverberates
in the ear beyond
any audible note
from a place that echoes
an emptiness,
the absence of what perhaps
first gave it breath
and let its fragile existence
float free and alone
to wash up on the shores
of this gentle evening
and utter a sigh.
The blackboard waited stark and bare
As yet, there was no teacher there
A striding vision, took the chalk
You know… I recognised that walk
Miss Malone’s Dulcet tones
Sent a shudder through my bones
Her flowing hair with blonde highlights
Her mini skirt and fishnet tights
The way she stood with feet spread wide
And the purpose in her stride
I gave my mate a little nudge
His loving gaze just wouldn’t budge
I said, “Forget your lurid thoughts,
We’re barely out of schoolboy shorts.”
He nodded at her crimson lips
The wiggle in her swaying hips
I said, “You’re fourteen, feeling flirty,
That there teacher’s nigh on thirty!”
He said, “I’ve heard her name is Maisie,
She makes me feel all oops-a-daisy”
I said, “She’s glam, that much is true,
But truly, she ain’t right for you.”
It seemed he thought me quite remiss
And so I had to tell him this,
“She seems quite able in her job
But last week, Miss Malone… was Bob!”
Mobile ring tones at morning light,
disturb the shapes under covers,
the outlined echoes of last night,
two star-crossed microphone lovers,
drawn from opposite ends of town,
yesterday’s pub entertainers,
way on down at the Old Three Crowns,
they met singing Gloria Gaynor,
ramped and amped with emotion,
to songs that belonged in the haze,
now wake to face their commotion,
the music of separate ways.
You spoke a new language
of rarefied air
guided nonchalantly
through curving channels of brass
Conduits of cool
juries of jazz
floating past soulful valves
harbingers of what will come
Slender fingers
improvising storylines
magistrates of melancholy
bailiffs of bop
Miles from the mainstream
a milestone of
modern modalities
kind of blue
Written in tones
When Voices pass by
Inconspicuous sounds
Pass by
. The End
Eternal Vibrating Tones of Grace
Eternal dawn, nurturing womb,
Hallowed pure catacomb
Romantic heart of fragrant blooms
Sparkling splendor enthroned
Love from eternity
Sacred vitality
Hope's opportunity
A heavenly wink from mercy's face
Eternal vibrating tones of grace
2-3-22
Contest: Quietus (January 2022 Edition)
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Syllable Counter HMS
Stone
Ones
Hard tones
Like some hearts
gray tones of blah ness
settle into apathy
yesterdays flatline
pathetically plain
ridiculously stagnant
my mind plays opossum
~~~~Concludes the poem "Dark Angel"
Tones
Speak to me in many waters
Wash away the dirt and grime
Lay my body upon the altar.
Transform me to another time.
May I be in line _ the first.
To press your palm upon my breast.
Quench this dry unending thirst
To calm my impatient heart to rest.
Alas!, You heed my being.
Offer me of your embrace.
For Your face is of my seeing.
Of its form my fingers trace.
Hands of worn callous strong.
Wrap me in salvations grace.
Hear thy name _ as put to song.
For on this virtue, my faith is based.
~~~For my Grandma 11152019
I think I can cry now.....
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/dark_angel_1182586
tone deaf and color blind
--------------------------
i don't feel any pain
yes it will happen again
everybody knows
that is how it goes
we speculate and imply
what's before our eyes
i think thus i am
said a quite peculiar man
named rene descartes
who was not ready to part
with the world he saw
that was only rationale
just cause and effects
simply products of cycles
thoughts and feelings ring
that all being is the same
but the directions
we'd look and not find the book
that makes it so clear
without print or picture there
that this world's empty
just puzzles without answers
to play rationale
when we're caught in a koan
tone deaf...color bliiinnnd
stan sand
I hear the wind-blown trees;
I see the breeze as I hear the rustlings of the leaves;
I see the grass is green;
I hear the crickets rubbing their legs;
Whom am I to say?
Peace be still
What is the colors that instill?
Is it because of sin we have 4 seasons;
What’s the reasons?
Winter vegetation’s die, WHY?
Earthly tone
I hear the ripples of the streams, lakes and the oceans;
I hear the children playing in the fields;
Why? Won’t they stop and play with me;
Whom am I to say?
Peace be still
What is the colors that instill?
Is it because of sin we have 4 seasons;
What’s the reasons?
Winter vegetation’s die, WHY?
Earthly tone
I hear the world move, am I all alone
Witnessing the earthly tones
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
Written for project North Omaha Writer’s Group assignment 2019©
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