"disbelieved" poems
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Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt
Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.
From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive. But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.
His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.
Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words, confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.
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Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
When I see the news stories
And read the vile comments
I’m reminded of my own
And how for him it’s past tense
But for me and for them
It’s every day
We live with that pain and that shame and that
Way of surviving
Like no one ever ripped out your heart
Like your dignity wasn’t stripped from you
Disbelieved in court
Ridiculed on Facebook
And ******* about in bars
‘This tortures him too’
‘He’s always been fine with me’
That’s what we hear when we try to seek
Validation from those who know our abusers
scepticism and the audacity to accuse us
Of being dramatic, of lying, exaggeration
Well tell me where is the dramatisation
In the fact that in my story when he was done
He wrote ‘No’ on my wall in permanent marker
To reminded him that next time ‘No’ is the answer
Like he should need reminding when he heard it from me
But I am a woman, was a girl
So you see
What I do doesn’t matter
Which sadly is proved
When today we read of Sarah Everard in the news
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 9:28 AM UTC
My mother always told me the same story
How Narcissus broke Drinick
Because love is not always enough
Sometimes it only causes pain
Narcissus was the first love of Drinick
The first true passion
Drinick was the only friend of Narcissus
During long summers and all the rest of the time
Narcissus never cried
Nor when he felt pain
Drinick never disbelieved
Nor when he reached the bottom
Then Narcissus broke Drinick
In such small pieces
That no one would be able to fix he
And no one ever fixed
My mother always told me the same story
How Narcissus broke Drinick
Because love is not always enough
Sometimes it only causes pain
Narcissus was gone and never returned
Drinick stayed and never ran again
The story of the two died
On the day that Narcissus broke
My mother always told me
Never be like Narcissus
He lost everything he had
And never be like Drinick
That was left with nothing
My mother always told me the same story
How Narcissus broke Drinick
Because love is not always enough
Sometimes it only causes pain
I've been Narcissus
And I've had my Drinick
But the history repeated
My mother always told me
When Narcissus broke Drinick
A young moon hung in the sky
That night the stars did not appear
And they all went out of the eyes of both
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
I always liked rain since childhood. But since my adolescence I have come to love it. I have always made an attempt to analyse the bond between rain and earth. One evening in monsoon, rain slashed the ground large and heavily. It seemed like earth and rain were trying to converse and I silently tried to listen to their chat.
Rain was questioning the earth, "Whenever I aarive, all life on u gets cheered with bliss. Seeing this, I generously give u more and more water, but then, u get upset. I try to give u as much love as I can but u dont react rightfully. I need to know the reason for that. Will u explain me.?"
Earth gazed at the rain for a moment smiling at the rain's interrogation. She politely said, "You are always magnanimous to me. Due to u life on me survives. YOUR LOVE DEFINES MY LIFE. The water bodies, green life and all the mortals are pleased at ur presence. But u speak about giving more and more, and for that, I only have one thing to say, More water destroys life on me causing floods and if u shower less then it causes draughts. But an ample amount gives 'Life'. Love, either more or less, causes irritation or Pain. But tenderness in love helps one live with contented heart. Rain Vowed to earth that it will always remember what she said and started its showers slowly. Earth Smiled. The sun sparkled, its rays gently touching the earth's surface. Light dispersing to reveal the monsoons most beautiful scenerio, the Rainbow. Dew drops glittered on the leaves.
But that piece of glass pumping in my chest disbelieved the oath of Rain. It knew that, Knowingly or Unknowingly, Promises are always made to be Broken. :-)
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
naturals, hands on...her shoulders bare
advancing, but not...taking, just pronouncing
this will be a great love affair
looking up she...trusts totally instinctual,
inside shaking ferocious...ferried to a
place that no longer...disbelieved, mythical
standing motionless...heaving body splitting,
touched touches...places that n'ere, sullied
all awkward and yet...refined defined, mine
dumbfoundering, heated chills...impossible
this will be a great love affair
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
I disbelieved at first,
Remembering your pianist fingers dragging through my hair. Remembering
My hand in yours, you turning it over, marveling at the smallness.
Yet in the truest corner of my thoughts
I knew my time was running out; you had said you loved her,
Somewhere unrecorded, hopefully.
So this death dirge soft shrill in my ears - this nagging unconsciousness,
This plodding inevitability, reached its crescendo and bellowed.
Discontent to pass quietly, it trumpeted like a drunken elephant,
The Third World clash of car horns and splitting concrete,
Constant and irredeemable.
Hughes swallowed Plath like a pike. No one
In your charade did such a thing, ever managed to
Consume the other. Still, it was a dance of
Damnation, spiraling around your loose definitions,
Waiting with bated breath for someone to fall into mediocrity. The
Slave can never rule the master. Remembering
You on your knees before her, begging for a sip of
Non-alcoholic beer - I wanted to ***** so badly,
From jealousy, from lust, from sheer disgust. I was a slave
Worshiping a slave. In that moment, we were finally near-equals. I hated us both.
It hurt. You dabbed distilled water
Onto the cuts you accidentally created, standing up to
Defend me from prying friends and awkward moments, but never
From yourself. Not that I needed to be. The ache from the unit of you
Was exquisite. I was so distracted by the burn -
So used to lying in cliched darkness, so refreshed to be slain daily by resurrection -
That I failed to hear the first drums of funeral march renew.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
I was born an agnostic, though I knew not what one was
As a child I was taught religion, though I knew not of gods
I was indoctrinated to believe in god, but there was no evidence too be seen
As I teenager I was taught science, the proof was all around me
I began to question god, and I began to embrace atheism
I was told I was a bad person, I had no morals or faith
Yet my faith in mankind lay in all creeds not just yours
As an adult I had learnt enough to know, to know I was an agnostic
Those who believed in god believed themselves good and for that, would be rewarded in an afterlife
Those who disbelieved in god, believed in this life and practiced good
Much has been done, good and bad under the banners, in the name of god and good
I'd rather see things done in the name of mankind
For we are mankind not godkind
We never were
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
Who would've thought a disturbed poets worst fear will be death?
All his poems will make your ***** brim with sadness
Each stanza hints suicide
Every line is a cry for help
And you think the only escape from his misery is to cease breathing
But little do you know he fears to take that last breath.
He fears the unknown
The blankness and darkness that is assumed when we think about that last breath
He fears that the God he disbelieved in will punish him for eternity by hurling him into the depths of the blazing fire
He fears that the misery he'll face in the after life will be incomparable to that he faced on earths soil.
He also fears to leave the world still feeling alone and unloved
He fears to leave with that heart of his still aching and broken
And without kissing the lips of the woman he hoped to Amend it.
Suffice to say I'm afraid of death.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
You caught your reflection
And told yourself a lie
"I love myself," you said
But you disbelieved inside
You made others laugh
Depicted a world full of joy
"I'm happy," you exclaimed
All part of your ploy
You didn't want to face it
Denial of your past
"I've moved on," you swore
Oh, how your demons had massed
You rebuked my offer for help
Instead you chose me as your pawn
"I'm all you need," you promised
As the naive trusts the conn
You allured me from the start
I fell hard, you stopped short
Those three words to you mean nothing
Pray my heart is the last you distort
© JL Smith
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 5:35 PM UTC
**I wrote this piece seated on a skin irritating lawn
maybe it was a plastic table but itching was how it felt
while desperately begging fate to an extent I almost knelt
because I was totally exhausted and bitterly alone**
*I wrote this whilst I still lifted the desolation load
I guess you were on your way then but coming the toad
while I was deadbeat with no arms to take me aboard
I wrote this long before the song of our romance would download*
**I wrote this while I was engrossed, battling school
in a kraal of beauty yet shockingly a lonesome bull
I think at the time you still owned a plastic doll
when I totally doubted there was even the slightest of chance I'd ever fall**
*I wrote this piece evading sleep for the fear of creepy dreams
tears cascading down my eyes like fountains down the streams
consequent to the ache underneath every emotional scar
and doubting our encounter would ever occur*
**I wrote this relieving the imaginary side to my story's end
too boring a love story to predict what lay beyond the bend
something deduced from the notes my heart would send
even before you were a stranger let alone a friend**
*I wrote this before we met courtesy of a surprisingly considerate fate
before I'd dare imagine that lass in my fantasy was you
when I saw no difference twixt love and hate
and so much disbelieved that people are capable of staying true*
**I wrote this long before overcoming my insecurities and doubt
then when my soul was but a creepy dark empty place
prior setting eyes upon the flamboyant heavenly face
when I clearly saw no possibility of making out**
*then when passion and romance were just a myth
when the sharp two sided sword of my affection was hidden in its sheath
when my heart was my mind and mind was my heart
Believe me, I wrote this when we were still by destiny set apart*
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
***These are the endless days of endlessness
These are the days, when time is just present
There is a disbelieved past, a future unimaginable
Here is the only now, a permanent-present-tensing-participle***
*Faces smiling semi-graciously present, desperately seeking coaxing
The winter dark, living room occasional lit by one, mostly TV glow
Radiance lives inside only, but well remembered songs cause
Cry outs for who, the what, the needed, we’ve forcibly memorized*
*Observing winter’s river from kitchen window, it’s colored
Dirty-dusk-blue, like my eyes, add overlaying images of sparkles
But my magic not powerful, my love can’t see them
My bag-o-tricks can’t bring her sunshine, 2020 sorcerer’s gold*
*These are the days of endless dancing alone,
Longest walk from bed to kitchen, worn the weary wood shiny
True romancing still abounds, but so well hid, 99% invisible
Even when you ask without asking to be held oh-so-tight*
*These are the days, riverside, when slow flowing waters offer
No hinting of faraway treasures to be someday discovered
The magician vain struggles to find loving tricks to unlock
Her loving grace, her water-to-wine breathing demeanor*
**These are the days, that forever need remembering, saving
No savoring, the absence of joyous everyone, everywhere
These are the days of absence+abstinence that lasted forever
You've got to hold them in your forever heart, lest we forget**
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC
"Who can argue the beauty or ugly,
when in the end we were born to die."
Forbidden words, cause for a discussion. Which leads to an altercation. A dispute that will never end. From different points of views we try to defend. Something way beyond what any of us can comprehend. But we still continue to quarrel. Revealing who is more moral. Yet there is no making an amend. Sinking lower and lower as we all condescend. A manifest error to begin. We all sin!
ROOM 302
She was surrounded by the dead.
As if she was going crazy in her head.
Out of room 302 she had fled.
Down stairs to second floor.
Her co-worker she cried out for.
Told the story, they'd inquired to explore.
Was there really a spirit of a little girl?
As others at the hotel had disbelieved.
A pictured drawn, she had not deceived.
For others, as to be retrieved.
Set before them was a drawing of a girl.
Now knowing the story, thought to be absurd.
Wondering..............................
Was there really a spirit of a little girl?
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 9:02 AM UTC
*
*Light strokes her cream thighs
Gift of foresight on her lips
Her truth disbelieved
*
*
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 2:48 AM UTC
Quashed by energies too
big to hug and kiss...
the beauteous sitter's
rendered thus.
That quaking catch
disbelieved all the evidence
at hand, till the only peace
was made.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
He never thought, that he has been taught. By the love that he doesn't know, of course he doesn't know. He has changed, cause he never tried, he has been faded by the faked heart. Sorrow of love make me disbelieved, disbelieved of trying to give, what true love is.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
This must be
A turning point
All that is done
Can be done differently
All that has been said
Can be spoken afresh
Things that were believed
Can be disbelieved
Things that have been learned
Can be unlearned
I
You
She
He
Can
Live
Differently
This
Is
A
Turning point
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
I'm lost in a sea of my own troubles.
My family's picture grows blurry.
I lost my sense of direction.
its gone so soon like ashes in a flurry. my troubles are quadratic the weight it doubles. This life's enigmatic, the pressure it bubbles. Lost at sea without a paddle. A good god, godless, ripped from the saddle. I don't know why i put so much stock in make believe. Gee maybe i don't know, hopefully it'll be a dream That'll be conceived. Possibly ill received, because greatness is disbelieved, rarely achieved, grandma's dreams cleaved, All the children are ******* grieving. Deceiving our selves, packing the shelves, we're leaving.
Stop.
I have to find my bearing.
Stop.
The waters are cool. The wind is blowing softly.
Right now, just hold her hand.
Listen to the wind.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC