#undiscovered
And it is tiresome to think
But most of all I drown in sad
Knowing you will never know, me
Like I wish, like I know you could have
To explore my midnight tendrils
To watch me, be
Broken wishes that left scars on my skin
Explore boundaries knowing
Home awaits inside my arms
It is tiresome, so tiresome
To always ponder and dream
Stuck on wishful thinking
So, please
Don't paint me troubled
Think of me in pastels, a breath of spring air
After the confusion of winter's numbness has melted away
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
"Sonnets From a Conversation With a Friend XXIII "
You theme you are the only one and crap
A conscious **** excreting mindflex mobile
Bone bag commercially impregnated
With a semblance of life called existence
Firmly pegged in this moments suffering
Or relief of suffering called happiness
By most swimmers in the we turbulent
Through cause and calmed through cause to each their own
Journey a needless needful thing of our
Humanity etcetera moving
So we must go no where or now here to
Be the undiscovered country glowing
Light forms solidifying matter forms
Melting cyclic wonderment of what's this
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC
I don't know how I met you. Inspired.
It's like you appeared out of the thin air.
Newly created...
I held my own, just barley,
As you looked at me, across your dinner table at mid day or earlier.
Like it was early in the morning even though it wasn't.
Fresh and geeky, tidy and neat, And on a mission!
You smiled, laughed and winced in my general direction.
I answered your questions, one worded like.
You answered mine before I even asked, I was mystified.
You're like a feather, from a native chiefs head dress,
Dipped in ink,
Then blown onto a piece of paper made of pure flexible gold,
Written into existence by divine inscription.
Dawson Creek...
I made a sculpture. Five so far,
I cut my thumb, multiple times on this one, multiple times.
Sorry. To number five and to myself,
Bad skills, bad counter-pressure,
Blood, scars, band-aids.
Blood on five, scars on me,
Pouce Coupe...
Between for me equals the space between,
Between Dawson Creek and Grand Prairie,
Like Pouce Coupe, is "cut thumb", in french.
A mother tongue language of somewhere in me, undiscovered.
English is my Papa tongue, the language of, "let's get things done!"
Both pretty good. One definitely more productive! Go!
Pouce Coupe, the undiscovered middle ground.
A french name for an English town.
Pouce Coupe...
Like this sculpture,
Art from the space between, Like the memory of you,
My "lost" friends,
Memories like driving there and home again.
Through memory lane.
It's like Pouce Coupe, the memory of you.
Like the scar, the cut thumb, the memories good and all my bad.
And somewhere in between I'll meet you all again,
Most likely in "Pouce Coupe".
The unpredictable space between,
Pouce Coupe...
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
I feel lost,
forgotten,
undiscovered,
disregarded,
neglected, and
past recollection.
I am stuck in
Painful Oblivion.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
I want to breath the "Missing" of you out of me!
I want to see the shape of that outside my body!
I want to feel its texture...
I want to talk to it...
I am wondering!
Would I manage to do so!
Would I hear its voice to break that silence of words!
Am I sane!
Am I living for loving, loving for living!
I know one thing!
I am the Love that is still Undiscovered/unknown!
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC
one--two--covered streams,
staining palms of the undiscovered,
they have holes in ears--for you--their mouths are wide--wide--open--!
yet they hide 'neath tender shield.
peekaboo, I don't see you.
for the flowers cry not for the see-ers,
but for the cut and tears.
bite into your wrist,
and watch the ache and finished work flow,
into ******* and tired vocab,
as it is merely zilch you're destined to grow.
wide--wide open,
yet you bawl not,
how will you get your food now, O dear?
simply let the ocean run hot.
they will not bother with whiners,
whose lips that starve,
the words now old timers,
and the blood that was carved.
dig deep--dig deep, my love,
and find nothing but ash.
die penniless--die penniless, O dove,
and thrive on the sunken ****
they drink eulogies,
from soft gray tongues,
and murmur carelessly,
for the young-uns.
the world won't wait--
forever moves it--
**** the weak--the hard workers,
and take up the one shot-ers.
simply how the horse drinks it's water,
and how the earth soaks in rain.
nothing--nothing--nothin' but minor,
and disappointing.
simplicity rings the loudest bell,
and thought sings drooping tunes.
for the world hides not and tells.
and blossoms melt in places anew,
merely brainless--brainless--!
and the shield slips from blue.
for now the world is clear,
and doesn't care for the sanguine ruin in those eyes,
let your work fade--let your work fade, my babe,
play peekaboo a little longer, and drag the sword between the lies.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
unshackled hearts
are easily lost
as they wander
in a haphazard dance of
bewildered wonder
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:41 AM UTC
My mind isn't big enough for an escape
My mind, I am trapped in a disadvantage
Usually my mind is as big as the universe
But my mind, is discourage
My mind, my mind, holding on to courage
Making my way to uncover
Another path of undiscovered
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
There was a love
Living deep in the
Melting plastic of
Molding bottles of water,
Barely breathing breaths
Of spray paint and
Rusting needles,
Bond only by the
Yellowing, lip-like cracked
Pages of a story
Written between the margins of a novel.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Moments like these racing through me:
Looking out the bus window,
stacks of lights
in square, blinded blocks of cement.
Golden trees
turning brown and barren.
But moments like these,
I'm miles away, I'm someplace else.
Moments like these passing me by:
As I wonder through streets,
alleyways wafting in dark sewerage;
Seafood bistros glaring at me.
My hips sway, my feet sink
into exotic sand, sunshine warm.
Floating effortlessly along the dead concrete,
opening my tiny door; this nutshell abode.
And I can’t breathe here
without moments like these.
They are the broken pieces
of my longing heart.
Slowly keeping me together
in these moments’ reality.
Moments like these, slipping, speeding away:
Like endless traffic in angry madness,
in cities that awaken in darkening hours.
The tranquil silence in my heart
guides me to your faces.
One by one I dream for each;
For all the things we want, the good things we need;
For happiness, love, success.
Each thought embedded, embroidered
into moments like these:
Sitting on a bed, millions of miles away,
a cold, rainy day –
A heart beating for moments not these.
(c) Mel D. Ltd. 2010
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC