Somewhere unread
Nick Benjamin Mowery

I lie in my bed
And search in the dark
All that I need
Is one tiny spark
The tinder is here
The wood and the fuel
But desire is nothing
Without action, you fool!
I want to escape
Leave all this behind
For loss is but freedom
With a bad name assigned
As I lie in this bed
With my tethers and chains
I think about love
I think about planes
I think about flying
Away from this bed
To somewhere less snug
Somewhere unread
I think of this place
This place that's unknown
And I think that this place
Is where I'll feel at home

mais
mais
Mar 25

today I decided that humans are like books
enjoyed by some,
not by all,
studied by people,
who hope to find the true meaning
become wary and torn,
once they've been used too much
bring joy to some,
but sadness to others
some are noticed by many,
others stand alone
but most importantly,
they all have stories to tell

the idea came from the saying "we are all books because we have spines and stories to tell"
#poetry   #life   #thoughts   #people   #books  
Sarah Alana Cayton
Sarah Alana Cayton
Dec 21, 2011

I don't know where we're going,
but I can tell you where I've been..
and I'd tell you every detail,
but you'd throw me to the wind

you think you want to know,
what made me who I am,
but you have no idea,
where these blurry eyes once ran

I'd give these words to you,
from the bottom of my heart,
but you'd be wondering where I left you
and you'd forget what made you start..

Things are not as easy,
as we all want them to be,
but life is just a challenge,
given to you and me.

If you dig too deep into it,
with anyone but yourself,
you risk loosing everything
a pattern that never fails

I've seen the way the tides roll in,
I've watched a plane take flight,
I've witnessed the birth of brand new life,
I've seen a grown man cry

I've been through towns I couldn't pronounce,
I've learned a lesson or two,
I've given up hope on a lasting love,
but I'll never give up on you

I've watched the sun rise from the East
while the moon followed closely
I've watched the planets I cannot fathom
shine brighter then the last one

I've been through the rain that I couldn't foresee
but I've bypassed a storm that sure would've killed me
and I've survived a few falls I shouldn't have had
while making a few choices that made a few people mad

I've flown over oceans, for hours on end,
I've deleted a few answers, when I should've hit send
I've answered a few questions that cost a few friends
but I've never lost respect for the powers that lend.

I'm thankful for the things
the greater being lets me see
and I live every day happy to breathe
I'll be there for you, forever and always
we can roam the states bumpy highways
open the sunroof so I can sit and stargaze
I'm sorry its not what you want it to be,
but maybe a friendship is just what you need...

if his work should go unread?
Larry B
Mar 18, 2011

Is a poet still a poet
if his work should go unread?
Or is he just a dreamer
with words inside his head?

Does a poet keep on writing
though no one knows his name?
Or spill his soul 'til his fingers bleed,
searching for his fame?

Does he dream of Poe as he writes his verse
in poetic harmony?
Or Count the Ways like Browning did
in sonnet forty-three?

Does he Take the Road Not Taken
like the late great Robert Frost?
Or take the road the others take
to find out that he's lost?

A poet is a poet
if his work should go unread
His words will stand the test of time,
in something that he said

N
N
Sep 7

You'll never know they're all for you
You'll never know they even exist

You send me spinning with lovely one sided words
then leave me alone with my sentences for you

I always care more..
if his words should go unread?
Whiskurz
Nov 28, 2012

Is a poet still a poet
if his words should go unread?
Or is he just a dreamer
with words inside his head?

Does a poet keep on writing
though no one knows his name?
Or spill his soul 'til his fingers bleed,
searching for his fame?

Does he dream of Poe as he writes his verse
in poetic harmony?
Or Count the Ways like Browning did
in sonnet forty-three?

Does he Take the Road Not Taken
like the late great Robert Frost?
Or take the road the others take
to find out that he's lost?

A poet is a poet
if his work should go unread
His words will stand the test of time,
in something that he's said

Relyn Anne Ramos
Relyn Anne Ramos
Apr 30, 2013

the scattered letters i know,
i turn into words
the thoughts floating in my mind
i turn into poetry
when vague, it becomes prose
when i can, i turn them into song

but, at all times—
they never reach you.

rate his yard and and to dream of pages unread.
William A Poppen

Aging arms splotched with purple and red
signs of tangling with jagged dead branches
among white pines along the back of the yard
reach for a copy of Ted Kooser's Flying at Night.
Pages flip for a stop here and there
to read Sunset, Carp and Spring Plowing
Envy swells inside him with the realization
that he will never write such fine poems
which prompt memories of childhood adventures
living rural among tiger lilies blooming in meadows,
newborn calves teetering toward first steps,
and freshly spread manure capturing the scent of fall air.
His fingers still grimy from early morning planting
place Kooser's volume carefully beside his empty coffee cup
content that he is blessed to have discovered it
that day hiding next to classic tomes by Shakespeare and Whitman.
He rises to tackle digging potholes for double begonias
to decorate his yard and and to dream of pages unread.

http://www.tedkooser.net/poems.shtml  (more about Kooser)
http://www.livinghistoryfarm.org/farminginthe40s/movies/KooserPlowing.html
#living   #ted   #kooser   #rural  

You won't read me;
Between my lines
There are secrets in disguise.

You won't read me;
Won't face my truth,
Early screams of my bright youth.

You won't read me;
There's a code
Once it's solved, dreams will explode.

You won't read me;
In my soul
Hides a dark and endless hole.

You won't read me;
Nor will I...
My book sleeps peacefully in sky.

disguiseg
Clare
Clare
Nov 24, 2013

i used to smile
when you would text me
in the middle of the night
to tell me about your dreams

i used to laugh
when you called me
because you were too lazy
to type out your thoughts

but now
when your name comes up
on that little screen
i turn it off

because i would rather
hear from nobody at all
than hear from you

and i would rather not think about
the reasons why
you're not who i thought you were

 
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