I couldn’t ascertain the jumble
her lips moved rapidly
conveying a nervous nothing
hard and dark were the etchings
that scored her jeweled beauty
*
his pockets were empty
evidenced by the ragged attire
but worse was what wasn’t in his mind
his hands filled with nothing
he clung to baggies to satisfy
*
strange languages spoken at the ocean
when you aren’t looking and when you are
the conch shell strives to moan a warning
bearing witness to retreating tide
but it was silenced in a museum
*
a dog wears an empty backpack
as he begins his predawn duty
he proudly returns with a filled sack
lacking his master’s understanding
how many children will get hooked today?
*
I’ve never spoken the language
born in guilty bloodshot eyes
I see them as they dart about the shadows
the words are meaningless
promises seldom unbroken
*
I chose to walk in the light
a brush of fingertips tells the bearer I love him
the sun rises behind us
no words are necessary
we bask in His painting on a new day’s sky
“Tears are the silent language of grief.”
Voltaire (Brainy quotes)
Today’s prompt at Poet’s United is “Mother Tongue”. After two early morning beach walks where much was spoken with looks and gestures, I was prompted to interpret the language.
penned in moon dust 
These read as well separately as vignettes as they do together as story, all done so powerfully and effectively. One line startled me: “but worse was what wasn’t in his mind”–once a teacher always one, I guess. Your languagess are crisp and clear.
LikeLike
hmmm I am always saddened when a young person fries his brains with drugs and alcohol and never realizes his ability. I think we lose many gifted writers and artists to such.
LikeLike
Agree about drug and alcohol abuse….The tools must be given to children to resist the temptations at a very early age. All will be tested in this frightful world we have cooked up for ourselves. The need to switch off will be present in a lot I think !
brush of fingertips tells the bearer I love him….beautiful writing !
LikeLike
You translat the language at the beach very well. Your poems reflect an astute observer who sees life as art. I enjoyed reading these. They were like little photographs.
LikeLike
Oh I guess they can be read as several poems – funny I just wrote it
LikeLike
An interesting take on the prompt….I like it very much…engenders an idea or two. 🙂
LikeLike
Oh good (she says rubbing her hands together)
LikeLike
This was a very lovely read. It’s nice to be the observer and to make a story out of what we see. Very nice writing 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks so much. Ive studied many languages but find that the unspoken more impactful.
LikeLike
Very sad really — the question of “how many children will get hooked today?” That question really drew me in. The beach is a beautiful place, but there is much beyond the surface.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on Ned Hamson Second Line View of the News.
LikeLike
__Wrenching; that sorrow of sour propagation to the young, tethered by those cards as dealt by they that care little of life, unless it is their life, or a life that pays… for the cards.
__To a lighter side, your new intro photo:
this minority
standing in a crowd of trees
the streetlamps
_m
LikeLike
Oh Leslie, so beautiful….the photo of your shadow on the beach is spectacular. I especially love that you choose to walk in the light – and spread it to others……..
LikeLike
sometimes language can’t be spoken and sometimes need not be spoken…wonderfully captivated in snippets…the last stanza is very appealing…
LikeLike
Baggies sound destroy words…i love how this ends..it offers up an acceptance and contentment of wise choices made – to really feel how the world can be if we try
LikeLike
Such a strong use of language, each conveys the meening well.
LikeLike
A story told in verse. Some conversations that are going no where. The language told by fingers – no words needed.
LikeLike