"unaltered" poems
streetlights ignite
the darkness after nightfall
setting the shadows ablaze
and, all the while,
remain endlessly
unprecedented unattractive unappreciated and unnoticed
despite their best intentions
and unaltered loyalty to illuminate our nights
without them, nighttime wanderers
would be absorbed by the night
and not be seen til morning
they are the only guides left
when twilight swallows the adventurous whole
so this is a thank you
to the undervalued streetlights
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
1219
Now I knew I lost her—
Not that she was gone—
But Remoteness travelled
On her Face and Tongue.
Alien, though adjoining
As a Foreign Race—
Traversed she though pausing
Latitudeless Place.
Elements Unaltered—
Universe the same
But Love’s transmigration—
Somehow this had come—
Henceforth to remember
Nature took the Day
I had paid so much for—
His is Penury
Not who toils for Freedom
Or for Family
But the Restitution
Of Idolatry.
5.2k
My tiny rhymes pass away
—undiscovered
(an unpunished
innocent crime)
—You, my muse. I abused
your unaltered patience
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
Excuse me for my hurt,
I know you mean well,
And you want to inspire,
And uplift me,
But language is a fickle art.
One that can make the difference,
Composing tone and the words themselves.
And there is no greater insecurity
Than the one called Me.
Since the very beginning,
I have been openly listening,
Engaging in thoughtful discussion -
The subject of You, the percussion.
I immediately spotted possible repercussions.
I wanted, and I still do,
To know your essence,
But healthy exchanges
Involve equality,
And I don't want to be left hanging,
Feeling like I'm lesser.
I crave knowing the rest of your essence,
But have you no interest
In knowing the same?
Are our minds connected
Of the same fibers
Or are we what we weave,
Being different in how we perceive,
A lifetime of individual strings?
The only Person I should keep in my life,
Making me feel inferior and uninteresting,
Is Me -
And I shall escape that fate,
With unconditional love, and positivity.
I am deeply interested,
In knowing MySelf, loving MySelf,
And to You, who has shown limited interest
In simply knowing me,
You, I choose as a direction of my Purity,
You, unaltered and true,
You, and Me, Alone -
It all, once again,
Always begins with You.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
If you know low life and royalty
If you know how both of these work
If you have experienced both enough
You are blessed. You are blessed.
If you learn selfishness and also know selflessness
If you know which one to practice
If you know to see everything as an event
You are blessed. You are blessed.
If you can stay with the crowd.
And practice their idiosyncrasy
And if you still be yourself
You are blessed. You are blessed.
If you mingle with the crowd.
At the same time, stand out,
If you know to keep virtue while;
Being non-virtuous then,
You are blessed you are blessed.
If you practice all traits of men
And if that doesn't affect your self
If you still are unaltered
You are blessed, you are blessed.
If you know the fine line
Which separates habit from addiction
If you can manage to he safe
You are blessed you are blessed.
-The Silent Poet
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
THE moon upon the wide sea
Placidly looks down,
Smiling with her mild face,
Though the ocean frown.
Clouds may dim her brightness,
But soon they pass away,
And she shines out, unaltered,
O'er the little waves at play.
So 'mid the storm or sunshine,
Wherever she may go,
Led on by her hidden power
The wild see must plow.
As the tranquil evening moon
Looks on that restless sea,
So a mother's gentle face,
Little child, is watching thee.
Then banish every tempest,
Chase all your clouds away,
That smoothly and brightly
Your quiet heart may play.
Let cheerful looks and actions
Like shining ripples flow,
Following the mother's voice,
Singing as they go.
3.4k
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Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
I loved you strong, with all the recklessness I possessed,
Yearned to share with you all I had to confess.
Believed it would be palliated in your pristine hands,
Watched it slip through your fingers like worthless sands.
Enamoured and imprudent, I jumped right in,
Unaware your depths were too shallow to swim.
Naïveté; my judgement had faltered,
All of my worth lay bare, and you resigned, unaltered.
Gave everything I knew with nothing left in reserve
Long forgotten it was me I should serve.
It was a hope laced channel for all the healing I desired
but you were inept at radiating the compassion required.
No understanding for this fragile task in proposition,
A rare gift to be cherished that you gave no recognition.
And there was too much exposed for you to forsake,
Too much that wasn’t earned; my calamitous mistake.
For these blood stained bones you lacked the tools to unearth,
You were never the answer to my rebirth.
Gravely inexperienced for this feat,
Your heart was too sheltered
and your mind too weak.
I gave you completely this intimate token,
But you failed to see how I was broken.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
Grounded
root thrumming
spiral down Kundalini into rich darkness
the end is here
as is the beginning
I find I am Free
At Last
having grasped at the edge of reality
and lost my fingerhold before
I know what it is
to fall into madness
Here
here in this soul music
I find I am hovering instead
my breathing steady and cool
my muscles warm and limber
the fatigue passes
I float
I am pulled and ******
allowing each note and beat
to guide my body
my mind is elsewhere
I am entranced
-
I detach
from time and space
my breath and touch show cold
yet I am on Fire
I see all the nonsense in front of me
and cut the ties
suspended within the music
I leave the edge of reality
my embedded fingerprints visible now
and continue to dance
I see all the ******** around me
and cut the ties
this is Not madness, it is true sanity
it is my arrival to Home
and I continue to Dance.
I see the confusion, pain and hurt within me
and cut the ties
insanity leads into pitch black nothingness
This leads me into infinite light
still, I dance.
-
pushing through the darkness
leaving the illusion of this world behind
I have come to the other side
there is no edge to fall from
there are no bindings of obligation
the chains have always been self-imposed
easily escapable
why did I not shed these long ago?
I am taken through lifetimes and back
I am ******
I am *****
I am Moon
I am Earth
I am the First Woman
and the Last
I Am One.
This all within my full mind, sober, unaltered
the answers are right in front of me
all I have to do is open my soul and see
for this I do my Cosmic Dance.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Think you can walk on me?
Think you can walk away?
Think you can take me?
I know your darkness, honey.
I know your corners full of cobwebs and shadows,
The places within you.
Think I'm innocent and pure?
Sure.
I have not torn lace and tasted flesh,
Or sharped my fingernails on the ridges of a spine,
But I have been to hell, sweetness.
Been dragged below a grave,
Gouged wet dirt with mine,
Desperate hands scrabbling to pull me back
To rainy bitter nights.
I have lain bare and ****** on the cold stone floors, stained blue and black,
Burned beyond a breath, beyond thinking,
Beyond hope.
I've been brutalized and torn apart inside.
To compare evisceration to the blooming of a rose,
To say I've had the far away gentler time.
To think I am naive as you suppose,
That I couldn't possibly know the foreign lands
Traveled by your mute experienced hands.
Think because I ask for you I need you?
It is my nature to give, but not to take.
Not to take love when I am not offered it,
But also not to take any more ****
If you look into my eyes, do you see fear?
Of anything, in their depths?
Keep looking, search away-
You'll not find it here.
You'll see my rise and fall, my grand absurdity,
But you'll not see my obeisance
To someone who will not match me
Mile for mile,
Straight down.
I have seen hell, you see.
Gazed long and hard and deep.
Purred savage in its velvet caress-
The way you have unzipped a dress,
I have unzipped my skin
And stepped out.
So look on, look lust, look IN-
I am no white snowflake, glittering
Fragile and quick to melt and meld.
No sniveling child begging weakly to be held.
I am a rainstorm drumming on my own back,
A rhythm and reminder of the tenderness I lack,
I am a lightning strike,
Sudden focused and intense, the white
Hot touch of the phantasm immense.
I am the song of suffering and of love,
I need no substance to loose my demons,
No dizzy fiery nectar to lose my mind.
I am complete unaltered, and sublime.
I have known centuries beneath my skin,
If no one's touch,
And words of every meaning through my wanting veins
For wanting such.
And you, girl, are not worth my time.
Push her blushing into bed, raise her pulse to reeling heights,
For I have pushed the world beneath my kneading hands, and pulled the sun to night.
Ravage rashly through the silly schoolgirls that you find.
The way into a woman's soul
Is the seducing of her mind.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
I told myself when I write
everything I do will somehow be unique
but I've started 20 poems off this way
and ended them 20 different ways.
I would throw my sanity out the window
for just some peace of mind
and a mind you wouldn't mind
reading on top of mountains
and in front of millions.
But my sanity is what is needed most-
so take my hands and tie them to a typewriter
because this is my sanity
and a piece of my mind.
I have a way with words
and I have grown accustomed
to clinging onto metaphors
and reading way too into your lips
because they tell me things
your mouth does not have the guts to confess.
In my world, words are a blessing and a curse
and I've spent so long biting my tongue
that i'm not sure I even have one left.
So I apologize if my words are like swords
and pierce your heart like a fatal blow to the chest
But I am trying my best.
Years have been spent
hiding how I feel
So I promised myself
I wouldn't hide in dark corners
or cover my mouth with regret
I would speak with my truth
in a tone that only genuine ears
could comprehend.
So I let the words pour out my lips
unaltered and honest.
and I'm not sure if that is satisfying,
or my biggest regret.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Me! I! Myself! Mine!
I shout these words in militant exertion,
Demanding people to stop,
Commanding them to hear,
Ordering their full, undivided, worshipful attention.
"Am I not the centre of the universe!? Listen to ME!" I scream,
And sulk like an angry child as the world continues on,
Unperturbed, unaltered, un-adoring,
Without even noticing my voice.
If no one else will pay me heed,
Then I, at least, must do so.
So I worship my own image,
And prostrate myself before the alter of my self conceit.
I sing my own praises to my own ear,
And ********** myself to myself
in a vain attempt to satisfy my undying vanity.
Oh, you vainglorious *******
Made illegitimate by the illegitimacy of your false worship
And the hypocrisy of your heart.
Do you not know, you were made to kneel? Fashioned to bow,
Not to your own image, but before the visage if Him Who made you in His own likeness
That you might bear within yourself the most sacred cartouche,
The most precious signet,
The most holy seal.
For you have been called to higher things than this broken clay vessel you defile with your adulterous worship.
Oh, you conceited fool!
Puffed up in your own pride,
Unaware of how utterly worthless you have made yourself.
And yet your Maker still stoops from Heaven
To hear your piteous moans,
And His heart weeps to see your self-inflicted wounds.
Thus He reaches down
And whispers His deepest Love to you
While you are yet gleefully drowning in your sin.
So unaware are you of anything but fleshly gratification.
But He touches you,
When you least expect it.
Like pearls discovered in a dung heap,
He surprises you with the Treasure of His Grace.
And with the tenderness of His Loving touch,
Lifts you from your mire and whispers in your ear:
"Oh, my Little Worm, I am your Redeemer."
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
Bursting out of me,
like waves,
crahing against a distant shore,
my voice cascades wildly;
trilling and thrilling,
as it enraptures
and captures
the emotion of the tale yet to come.
Warbling,
and wavering,
the story unfolds-
a love concrete,
a life complete,
while time doth fleet,
and flitter away.
My passionate notes startle
the birds nearby,
silencing thier meager attempts
at music.
I am no virtuoso,
no child prodigy;
but the raw power
of my heart unrestrained
will put feathered tails
to the north
at the sound of my soul unleashed.
I sing;
not a question
or doubt
in my mind-
there is no audience to impress,
no friends to shame me into awkward silence.
I sing,
because I must release the fluttering creation
caged inside my soul;
unaltered,
it must emerge to outshine the stars,
to chase away the shadows that linger
in a waking mind.
I might offend with my noise,
my off notes,
and slaughtered choruses,
my silly screeching
that grates upon the ears;
but I am merely a vessel
containing these words and emotions,
unfortunately unequipped to perform justice
to these thoughts trapped within.
I sing
to empty myself
of these creative burdens,
these ideas that have a life of thier own
straining and pushing
to escape the walls that hold them here inside.
I sing-
because I can.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
I will flower like an orchid
In the forest,
Beautifully alone;
With only the sky to see my colour
The trees to call my home.
When I die, no one will cry
At the passing of my beauty;
As petals fade and leaves shrivel,
I will return to whence I came
Leaving the world unaltered.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC
his soul aches, and
the swallows guide me to him
when he checks the sky at night
it’s right there where he left it
clinging onto the mist of misery
we’ll dance under the moons breath
we follow each others silence without incentive
i'm impulsive in reaction to pulsating lungs
i could never sacrifice this non-existing moment
tears run through rivers
his lips leak that it’s alright
and that we are flowing
he is an old beginning
whispering wishful words that arch my spine
we are unaltered in time
silk skin crafted by the clouds
open eyelids pierce through chests
he left me lost in a familiar world
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
let’s live our lives
barefoot
let’s live our lives like
small children,
children so precious that their simple presence
evokes tears in the eyes of the most
stoic father,
so precious that the image of them
snoring softly in their Thomas the Tank Engine bed
causes the stressed mother to smile a mile,
so precious that when one of them
pushes back the blonde, wispy hair of the other
the photographer can’t help but laughing as she
captures the moment
let’s live our lives like
children who are not afraid of nails and rocks
in the backyard, but who are
obsessed with finding that elusive
white grasshopper that their uncle
promised was there,
like children who endure countless foot baths every day
in the heat of summer but the pads still blister
and their feet still turn brown
but they don’t care,
like children who have just smelled a flower
for the first time, who have experienced the
sharp pain of a first bee sting,
like children who are in awe as a deer
peeks quizzically at them from above the bush,
tail twitching, eyes twinkling
let’s live our lives like
children who make up odd games that
they remember years later, a complicated one that involves
Patty Cake, jump rope, tag, and somehow
hop scotch and charades as well,
like children who wander away from their house
for many hours, exploring like Columbus,
drawing detailed maps of their small neighborhood,
beautiful crayon stick figures dotting the horizon,
like children who capture and dote on an assortment of
toads, grasshoppers, frogs, moths, and butterflies,
like a child who thinks the worst sin is to
**** an animal that the Lord has made
let’s live our lives like children, with a
loving and unwavering faith in the Savior,
with eyes unaltered by the
whips and thorns of life,
with minds unchanged by the
Judas Iscariot’s of this Earth
let’s live our lives like
small children
let’s live our lives
barefoot
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
My life is a story of déjà vu; I sit and review the timeline, the dots along the fading epoch share similarities within the clusters. I draw a line at the points of change and the clusters remain unaltered. No matter where I go; no matter who I am with, my reality is always the same; I wish I could remove the blight that is my hidden curse. I can’t find my good fountain pen; my blood is losing its circulation. There are dilemmas on the menu, a feast for those who once hungered with ambition. Grinding my teeth in frustration from the disappointments in the room; these expectations gained are those opportunities lost. So many wanting so much for so little; history embedded within my skin. The weather is getting colder but it doesn’t feel like December.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
I refuse to sink;
I refuse to falter;
I defy to blink,
In reality unaltered.
I refuse to fall;
I refuse to crumble;
I will stand tall
Right after I stumble.
I refuse to fail;
I refuse to not win;
I will myself hail,
whatever I have been.
I refuse to in give;
I refuse to let die;
I am to live
With all that I try.
I refuse to dim;
I refuse to go do gown;
I will be the steam
That powers this town.
I refuse to flee;
I refuse to abort;
I, one day, will see
my vengeance retort.
I refuse to sit;
I refuse to fall flat;
I will the top hit
and become all that.
I refuse to fold;
I refuse to blunder;
I shall one day hold
For what I one wandered.
I refuse to sink;
I refuse to falter.
I know what I think:
My future I'll alter.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
see your bright face,
and the freckles that run lost on your cheeks,
I wouldn’t be crying myself to sleep.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I would ask how your day was with every fiber of geniality inside me.
I would not just say the words to progress the conversation to get to what maybe was really on my mind.
I would start with your day because that is real and important and helps me know you;
keeps me knowing and loving what I know.
Your day is more real than the delusions I came here to talk about.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
my hands would stop shaking when they touched yours.
I would order coffee because you did,
trying to hang with the big dogs.
I would ask the waitress for 10 flavored creamers and use them all for one cup as I cooly smiled at you across the table.
You would use one creamer, no sugar.
You like the unaltered smell of coffee.
It’s one of your favorite smells, in fact.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
you would already know what was wrong, so I wouldn’t have to. You would make me smile before I had the chance to tell you what I thought it was.
You would look at me so intensely that I could feel all you didn’t say and believe it so honestly.
We would make jokes about the corny verbiage of the breakfast titles as our inflection steadily escalated as we repeated them.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I wouldn’t be here wishing I were meeting you at a diner right now.
I would instead be memorizing the changes in your face, the way life does that.
I would love them the same because they belonged to you and told a story.
Your laugh lines would be exacerbated from the laughter you created and allowed in you,
by those lucky souls graced with your presence,
hopefully appreciative of it.
Your lips are still soft.
Your skin is slightly touched by summer which brings out your telling eyes that I can see when I close mine.
If I were at a diner right now, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be with you.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 1:14 PM UTC
Stretched skin
stuck through with
hollow, hypoallergenic needles.
Pneumatic ink guns have plunged
****** between my veins,
I'll never be the same
modified and adapted
some find it attractive
others find it pointless,
foul, and disgraceful
but I'll keep on changing
my flesh because it reminds me
of life, you can't get out
unaltered and it's
painful
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
& so the water
flows unaltered
time kept falling
no one caught her
lakes were made
of great mistakes
as all the problems
popped in place
& the bubbling stream
floats driftwood dreams
from desperate needs
to reality
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
Someone asked me what being a poet is like.
And I blushed.
Not because I was called a poet
(Which I'm not)
Not because my poems embarrass me
(Sometimes they do)
But because being a poet
Is like that dream.
You know that dream,
where you're naked in front of a class?
Being a poet, painter, and musician
Is like being naked.
You're exposed to the world,
The most private parts of you exposed.
Ready to be judged, lauged at, criticized,
And loved.
It's like the world is looking at you.
The ugly scar on your chest,
Stretch marks from being spread too thin,
Fat pockets from when you weren't strong.
Someone told me I have a comma problem,
It hurt, like somone telling me I was ugly.
I know I'm beautiful though.
I love my imperfections.
My writing is my own, unique.
No critisizm can stop me from being me.
I lay my words uncovered, unaltered
On the page. They wait, breathlessly.
Sometimes being a poet is hard and brave,
Other times it's fun and easy.
Someone asked me what being a poet is like
I said it was great, and then I started to
Write.
(Undress)
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
These masters of poetry
flood my mind
with rhymes
and pure
unaltered thought
truth
honesty
brutally at times
these master poets
dominate my mind
Changing who I am
what I see
in a small number of lines
When master poets words
take control of my mind
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Yesterday I sat
between the arms of
my loving mother,
the tree ! O tree !
Fail to realise I sat
unaltered untarnished
And do you know
What I saw!
The sun was trying to
lug the waters of the tarn
amidst which
was I and you together.
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 12:01 AM UTC