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Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
The final thought to form before goodbye
will not recall the lover's kiss nor mark
the dappled shadowfall of bright September
days, nor acknowledge the soft metal taste
of blood beneath your tongue. Neither news feeds
nor slideshows, achievements, failures, money,
friends, nor anything you've had. The final thought
will be the didn't do—not the success.
The unacknowledged plan. The incomplete.
A dream. An arm outstretched, an empty palm.
Goals left unattended for better days
that never came or came and went. The thought
will be the should have said, the should have done
while the lump that rises, that beats in your
throat, sinks to your heart and death dilutes you.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Rustle McBride Jan 2017
I can see the shafts of sunlight*,
amber slices through the air.
Gilded rays of fair approval
favor the *betters
basking there.

But, we live in the shadows;
The often seen and rarely known.
We, the great unworthy
take their experiences for our own.

This is life in the penumbra;
Unacknowledged and undefended.
We live lives by implication.
Rights derived, but not intended.

Nothing grows in the penumbra's
un-illuminated spaces.
Except the mass of shifting shadows
that no compassion ever graces.
Who are the forgotten?
It may take years for poetry to be acknowledged but when it is
Great truths unfolded that leave one tremulous with beauty and
Awareness so great that the world turns in disbelief.
Somehow there are no other legistrators of the truth for all are self
Selfinterested and infested.
So dear poets write for humanity that your words touch those servants of time.
Changing understanding and open minds
To the reality of nature’s innocence and the wickedness of history and humankind.



Love Mary xxxxx
Ylzm Apr 29
Our souls spoke, not in words,
but in emotions deeply aroused,
in the dream language of
fragmentary fleeting sights,
disjointed leaps, even bizarre things.

But of things only between us,
never spoken of, at all, in all of life,
neither known to anyone else,
mutually shared, unacknowledged,
in our deepest and most intimate selves.
Extracted from Death
Ylzm Apr 23
My mother, died.
She waited, hanging on.
No longer conscious.
But for one last touch.

I knew she was alive,
when I arrived at the hospice.
She left the precise moment,
I opened the door to her room.

We touched, in spirit.
She left, in peace.

We met again, in my dreams,
that very night, and a few other nights too.

Our souls spoke, not in words,
but in emotions deeply aroused,
in the dream language of
fragmentary fleeting sights,
disjointed leaps, even bizarre things.

But of things only between us,
never spoken of, at all, in all of life,
neither known to anyone else,
mutually shared, unacknowledged,
in our deepest and most intimate selves.

There were shortcomings.
Things could be better, in hindsight.
But I had no guilt, just regrets.
For the little things,
that would have meant a lot, then.

Then I had a heart attack.
A&E, cardiograms, sonograms, angiograms, etc
Heart declared perfectly healthy;
No heart attacks likely in the next 5 years.

I knew then emotions are real: as real as sight and touch;
As material as the physical: Grief can ****.

And I learned to think
not just with reason but with emotions too.
working at the bookstore,
searching for the words

though I’m 49
still at times a Theo-nerd

poetry beats prose
it’s a truth some cannot face

the unacknowledged legislators
of the human race

Shelley was quite right
a Pythagorean who could own it

the music is the mystery
from the sacred silence shown it

so write your verse quite carefully
and sing from your deep heart

future folk will listen
and live by your true art
It's raining,
Ambulance sirens drown the,
Silent slumber,
No one is on the road,
A mobile maddance,
Mad chanced,
Or mild happenstance,
No change,
But the toll keeper keeps,
Jingling coins,
What have you got to pay?
The windowless hospital waits,
With a unacknowledged anxiety,
No one is on the road,
Will this be the last time or,
Are you trying to make,
Every one stare longer,
The rain wont stop,
Shot, shot, shot,
Drip, drip, drip,
It'll be a few days,
Till the rain,
Decides to quit,
The toll keeper has better things to do.
And the ambulance rolls on.
Roland Aug 9
And that night he wept for the child he once was,
the memories he lost,
the careless smile he used to have,
happiness unacknowledged.

Standing atop the cliff, with a raging storm behind, the sea below waiting to claim him,
his fears, realized infront of him,
stripped off his mask, the husk was all there was,
and yet a part of him still clinged to it,
to the sadness that drove him there,
the glimpse of that child he so hopelessly mourned.

It frightened him, to lay bare for everyone to see,
for himself to see, their cold gaze, judging.
Was this the price to pay?

He could see thorugh the storm the brittle yellow fields he came from, inviting, calling to him from a dream like state,
to put on the mask is to live a lie.

And as he stood there, a resolution crept through his skull,
"The Rains will fall on the brittle fields and give way to the green of spring, and so must you change and grow, for there are things that break us, but only to make us whole again".
alexandra j Oct 2018
on a cold brisk day
following the agonization of my mind
you asked me something quite unforgettable
what brings you joy during your dark days?
i believe my answer was
you see its a mixed assortment of
    any flavor of adventure
    plane rides to tropical cities
    road trips to unacknowledged towns
    blasting classic 80’s jukebox tunes
    tears for fears / queen / violent femmes
    dancing in parking lots with my friends
    quaint and unknown coffee shops
    driving past state line after state line
    autumn blazes lighting up the view
    a warm cup of vanilla chamomile tea
    cozying up near a fire
    to unthaw my frosted nose
    my family’s classic movie marathons
    popcorn popping in the background
    while we soak in the glory of
    star wars / james bond /
    mission impossible
    oh the list goes on and on
    you know that
all these beautiful distractions
remind me of the grateful mind
you should possess
for the small blessings
everywhere
step out of the chaos of your mind
appreciate everyday ordinariness
affix yourself in the glory
of the little things in life
i overcame my dark days
in the light of the plainness
of everyday life
plainness shines so brightly
can you see it?
Tara Marie May 30
Swift breezes rush through me,
over my hands softly,
under the hairs on my skin
as if romantically embracing a part of me.

Notes and phrases playing loudly
seem to beckon someone within.
Come out. Remember. Be free again.
A glance connects and quickly dodges..

The road, so black with rubber,
so hard with fortitude
seems to soften like waves as we glide along, flying.

I feel winded,
straining to say simple answers,
knowing there is a danger
with this electric current, wading.

Unasked questions, unacknowledged thought,
sparks of insecurity and reckless ambitions.
An innocent touch means more, a song means more here..

Flying,
driving,
on this road,
just you and I.
Gulishta Aug 2018
Plaster a fat curve,
Whenever asked to smile.
Mind and heart in shreds,
Being beautiful outside.

Unwanted attention,
Being centre of attraction.
Getting inside my shredded mind,
That's only distraction I seems to find.

Blatant ogling,
Iron clad hold on my waist.
Walking through an exhibition,
As if being the one presented on the stage.

Abused soul ,
cursed life,
Smile so big in the photograph .
Standing side by side.

A relation on pins and needle,
A bed made of glass shreds.
Unacknowledged discomfort,
Sharing the same bed.

Blazing brown eyes,
The hatred inside.
Fingers clenched in fist,
The anger and blood-thirst.

Unveiling the monster,
Lurking underneath the surface.
Projecting all the charm,
No room to escape.

Trapped in a life long bond,
Exchange of the vow.
Fear ingrained in every bone,
Not seeing an out.

Emotional instability,
No shrink can heal.
Threatening to destroy the destroyed,
To keep the month's seal.

The end is near ,
I smell it in your fear.
In the surprise on your face,
Everything turn into a haze.

What I miss the most about that day,
The moment you realised,
Why I choose to stay.
It may take years for poetry to be acknowledged but when it is
Great truths unfold that leave one tremulous with beauty and
Awareness so great that the world turns in disbelief.
Somehow there are no other legistrators of the truth for all are
Selfinterested and infested.
So dear poets write for humanity that your words touch those servants of change.
Altering understanding
To the reality of nature’s innocence and the wickedness of
history and humankind.


Love Mary xxxxx
Jamesb Apr 18
Our eyes speak volumes
That our mouths never say
Though our bodies ache to hear or feel,
We circle polite yet yearning
Until one day that perfunctory polite embrace
Lasts a few seconds longer than ought
And holds a few inches closer,
You feel my body’s strength,
I feel yours succumb
But then we break and there is one more
Unacknowledged sharing which
Neither can now unknow

— The End —