Artistic intent
My ego is as red as the night is dark
Blood red it spills through my heart
Tred carefully you blind, you deaf, you mute
For you tred on my dreams! YOU BRUTE!
y.m smith poet of the uk
poem by Yvette Smith
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Related quotes
Free
I am free, free, free.
[ I was never free]
So tred carefully,
Before you tred on my dreams
yvette m smith nov 08
poem by Yvette Smith
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The Loneliness Of The Untiring Writer
with equanimity i write for this audience,
deaf,
blind,
mute,
....imagine some monkeys and rats, and worms and squirrels
mute, blind, deaf,
i have no regret at all,
their hearts are bigger than the islands of paradise,
the mute claps with three hundred hands,
the blind sings with all the angelic voices in tens of hundreds
the deaf dances like some kind of a wiggling worm
vitally replicating its numbers geometrically
there is still this
wanting to be caught by a hungry
black bird
it is the silence of the mute that speaks so loudly
like a speaker of the house,
it is the restlessness of the deaf that shakes me,
and i tremble like a cymbal clanging ceaselessly
the chants of the blind, mystifies me,
scented cinders, lighted candles, fireflies on the trees
conclusion: we have become one happy family
and tonight, i will be writing some more for them
I've got no other valuable audience anyway.
and, let me finally add,
it is only my dead mother who still loves me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Deaf-Mute
A deaf-mute brings a cup of tea!
A cup of tea with love so rare;
Love uncommonly seen, I stare;
How do I thank her for her charity?
Often by her mother chided;
A servant in her own house, unpaid;
A deaf-mute, she remains, since birth!
Wearing a smile and full of mirth;
A face quite content to the core;
I want to love her all the more;
My heart with anguish wants to cry;
For unfair things, men often try;
To scores of deaf-mute creatures,
God, a DEAF-MUTE, Himself remains!
poem by John Celes
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Read Me
Read me like you would read your favourite book
A fine wine
A line that is not mine
That baits the tongue
And hooks you in
Read me like you would read a star with just one look
And see a whole constellation rising
Where you fear to tred
Come read each word each turn of phrase
Each slight of hand
Each tone
The careful wits display
Of art
That's choreographed
Like trees in may
That bud
Be careful of the bee that feeds within
If suddenly disturbed it has an awful STING!
poem by Yvette Smith
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Forever and hard
You eye
Deaf mute
You blind crying
You blast
Cruel you to dust
Executor hand
You crost
Be praying
Dying me
Night for a day
Forever and hard
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Because Of Him
Still fumbling for words
Though the tears of the hurt and the pain of
My heart tearing into pieces
Because of you
I’m tired of fighting this up hill battle
But when you’re holding her now
I’m still standing here
You don’t see me in distress
You still think I’m happy were just friends
It’s like I’m bleeding internally from you stabbing my heart
From knowing that I’m not what you want
I’m losing at this game that you are winning at
I loose every time because I am no longer able to win
You make this so
When you holding her hand
When you’re kissing her undeserving lips
I fumble for words again trying to show you
How deep the right girl has feelings for you but you are too blind to see
But people who can see in the day are blind in the dark
But the people who are blind in the day
They are the ones who have the clearest outlook at life within their dreams
I am blind during the day from the tears I cry
Then at night I can see though the tears in my dreams
I dream a dream of only you loving me
In these dreams she does not exist
This dream is almost perfect until the black evil ghosts
I try to hide but always seam to come out at the worst time
They make you see the side of me that is a horrible person
A person that her heart is dark with dirty blood
Of all the times she’s died
The rays or sunshine are like the smiles you used to put on my face
They all come and go
In the great morning light here I go again thinking
If I step out the door I hide my feelings behind for so long
I’ll change your mind or sneak into your heart
But that would be like shooting the president and thinking
You’ll get away with it
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Breaking News...Poet's leaving for Mars. (alliterative acrostic)
Written just for fun and as an introduction to poetsofmars.com
Breaking News...Poet's leaving for Mars. (acrostic)
Poets ponder perplexing problems of pen and paper while
Obviously overlooking other opportunities which
Easily explain exactly how existential explorers have come
To tred trippingly along Terza Rima, Terzanell, and Triolet verse.
Seemingly, these spaced-out word smiths are solidly sold on moving to Mars.
Obviously, the outcome offers other advantages by way of
Freedom from the fastidious focus of feral Ya'fools.
Motivating merging members of the Mars movement has other merit.
Alternately, artists are allowed to act according to their natures by
Respectively reviewing raucous writing and raising the roof without reprisal.
So, I say to all skillful scribes: straddle your stylograph and set sail for the stars.
poem by Dawn Slanker
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To live in peace one must be blind, deaf, and mute.
Fever!
Everything seems lost and gone.
The world seems void; and I alone
To mourn its emptiness, that am too weak to
mourn:
To mope a hermit in a broken cave
Imprisoned and forlorn.
The youthful wave that dashes on the outside
shore,
And splits youth’s passions on the moveless stones,
Has failed to stir the blood that fills
The warrior heart. I only see the bleaching bones,
The narrow graves upon the gouged hills,
And mope the more.
How can the ‘prisoned bird surmise
The passages on outer air?
Or sing of Freedom to the lonely skies
When Freedom is not there?
What use is it to try high Fancy’s flight
Above the upper blue?
The dark soul is darker that the night,
And Fancy’s caged too.
To introspect, look inward on the mind,
Is gazing on a thing all bloody and unclean:
‘Twere better that the soul were bright, the gazer
blind:
The beauty there, and yet no beauty seen.
The haunting questions of the bruised brain
Tease at the tired heart:
‘Do tattered hills still bear unburied slain?
And the far-off tear-drops start?
Is blood still wet upon the trees?
Upon the grass?
Do dead grey eyes dim-glazing in the breeze
Still stare upon the stumblers as they pass?
The long, long dreams that loiter in the stay
Of sleep, and hold the mind clutched fast,
Have left it trembling at the day
With trailing memories of the cruel past.
“How may the weary day be spent?-The weary
week?
Choose thoughts! Choose dreams! What choice?
The long mute inward voice
Forgets to speak!
The ears are deaf; the eyes to beauty blind.
Unheeded are the laughing fields afar;
The glory of the wheeling western wind;
The shivering star.
The fault! Lies that with fate? Or with age?
The singing poet within his Isles of Peace
Is glad! The sage
Upon his mountain height! But running blood
can’t cease
For him who fights-till death;
Til smiling lips, besmeared and red with foam,
Move faintly with a feeble breath
In words of home.
‘Tis sad! But still ‘tis rest!
And what to show?
-A small black wound upon a dauntless breast;
True heart, and conscience as the snow.
And he knows-has fought-has seen,
And now is caged without, yet hears the fight,
He wonders what is done, and thinks of what
has been;
He bears the burden of the dark, and cries for
light.
But he who prone with wounds and slow disease,
Too weak to grapple with the bars-
The bars that bind-encaged by the surrounding
seas
Can only gaze upon his scars.
poem by Leon Gellert
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A deaf man heard how a mute told that a blind man has seen how a cripple walked.
January 17
January 17
Two years ago.
Your love flew into oblivion
So
- Silent that bird
Into the tender night.
Through ill wind I heard
That my dreams had taken flight.
On a train
The landscape mourned in grey.
As my life blood ebbed away.
Or maybe
Dried in the veins.
Baby
I cried
Indelible stains, I could not hide.
'Un- Yellable 'pains.
Acid burns my soul like sin.
Her placid eyes of coal, within
- Flamed
Maimed
My worried mind.
Now mute
I join the deaf and blind.
Once young face of love
With scars now lined.
Now a man of old age
Alights the train.
Wildfire rage ignites his brain.
In a choir now of all lovers insane.
Slow death will be the curse.
And bygone days his only nurse.
poem by Kevin East
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From the Dark Tower
We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made to eternally weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
poem by Countee Cullen
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On An Island
on an island of light
there are scribblers within and without it
all mute all blind all deaf
and i am one of them always keeping things
so private.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Alienation.....
i am going to places
looking for something
at night when everything
is cold and silent
in that far place where i
am in
i think somehow that it is
is not a place that i am looking for
it could be someone
to warm my side
i dislike the thought of greed
for i have already some
of them
it dawns upon me
the sad truth that i am looking for
myself
someone that i have not really found
despite the years
because i have been blind
and deaf
and mute
do i know that we are together
in one body and
yet so
strangely
alienated
with what we really want
to have and to even
just touch?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Graffitti Artist
I blame the graffitti artist
Whose stolen swollen words
Emblazon me with rage
Paper walls torn
Page from page
Limbs discarded
Unwanted bodies
Cluttering the stage
'War made art'
I blame the graffitti artist
For sticking in the boot,
Making the 'literate mute'
For whose red passion tongue is rage
Slashed splashed
Marked on a concrete stage
No finer lines
No asymmetrical
Dialectical
Speaks speech louder
When seen
Across a half abandoned railway bridge
Broken brick and stone
Naming a homeless home
For dereliction vagrant vagabond
'Home sweet home'
The unwished unlonged
Blood letters
Burn on bridges
RAGING OUT THEIR FEARS
To deaf eyes
Blind travellers
Speaking speech
To speech
To the nobody
Unseen
Who hears
Who hears?
PREACH!
Yvette m Smith june 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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The Reason For Achilles Death
And when fire bred no breath within him,
did he inculcate innocuities...his being?
He had tred intrepid cities' tears underfoot,
while gods forged, in tandem, stronger plate
For his head, chest...deemed unnecessary by
miscreant mortal within, misbegotten in Time.
Achilles dealt his brother's valor a trifle,
bauble, for value.
In turn, Achilles brother knew that weak link,
gods' foolishness. Awarded his great brother
Syncopation of laughter, and revenge...
Silence.
poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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369.still Dark Like The One Last Night
a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams
on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing
but still dark
like the one last night.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Still Dark Like The One Last Night
a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams
on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing
but still dark
like the one last night.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dark Rose
a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams
on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing
but still dark
like the one last night.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Deadly Chemical Fallout
If your neck isn’t broken...look up!
What you see may blow your mind
World governments lie to cover-up
Hoping we remain deaf, mute n’ blind
poem by Ray Lucero
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