"unanticipated" poems
These hands have clawed with blind eyes
Chipped nails on fingers working on knots and ties
Fingers that recklessly point to reproaches and blames
Never to self, righteousness through arrogant claims
Now aware, these palms have covered my face in contempt
For they've partook in activities; indulgent and unkempt
Rubbed skin raw on life's coarse sandpaper
Ever searching for the coming of the unanticipated saviour
Broken flesh hopeful for newly formed skin
Like tattered souls pleading for absolution of sin
Only skin deep but unfavourable experiences do fester
Expecting the proverbial infection to blow over
Here they are, held unclenched and riddled with pocks
Weathered and sore from time's infinite mocks
Maybe thereafter, will be awaited healing
Perhaps soon after, I will be forgiving
See now... Hands faced up, parted as halves
Asking not for alms but instead your acceptance as salve
Take into yours, these knackered, gnarled up palms
Let your porcelain-like touch relieve like life reforming balm
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Marooned in the island of loneliness
Shadows of delusion confront her
In a stormy sea, she got ship wrecked
And the sea had robbed everything from her
What unanticipated change comes over
When people let one down
What shocking realization it is
To know that there is nobody to care
She is now a drying brook
That has once been a river in spate
A deflated balloon, unable to soar high
A blind bird that cannot see a dawn
Nor sing a song to wake the sleeping world
She bears scars like deep cuts
On an ill maintained tarmac road
Vacantly she looks into the far horizon
When broken shards of moonlight
Paint pictures of dark demons around her
She screams in silence for someone
To come to her rescue, to lift her up
As a bird that with nightfall returns
To a tree to call out its solitude to the stars
She sits there alone, terribly alone,
Not knowing to whom she should call out!
Will the stars keep her company?
Tomorrow when another day of uncertainty breaks out
She wonders if she should wake up and greet the dawn
With the hope that her pain would go into remission
And her frozen inside would thaw by itself in time
Or end her life as soundless, as inconsequential
As a droplet let down from a blade of grass!
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
Dream to reach stars but dreams can be broken,
Bitter memories and the pain is unspoken.
It won’t be erased, but submerged beneath new pages.
Expectations do not match reality.
Reality is what you choose to make real.
Turn inside and guage what you have earned,
Smiles will not dissolve forever,
For there is always a lesson learnt.
Be ready to except a fall,
You might be just witnessing an illusion.
Things don’t need to be the way you dream.
'haps you're living someone else’s dream.
The dreamer was an artist, the hand that wrote it all.
Hate is not bad; it’s just an emotion after all.
Paint a picture on the canvas but know that it can be burnt.
Throw the ashes and treasure the scars, to remember the lesson learnt.
Life is not bad; it’s irregular, unanticipated but grand,
Changes make you alive, but through them only one will take your hand.
Time is a two faced arrow, your mind is vicious and vast,
It flows from present to future, but also to the past.
Light is just not beauty, Encompass the dark,
Your canvas will be painted, not alone but with the stars.
When your walk is not alone, when you’re whole you will discern,
One day you cried and now you laugh on what you learnt.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Writing of a poem
Oh! How it can be likened
To having a baby!
With the copulation of fancy and thought,
Comes the moment of conception
It can happen any day
Unanticipated or planned erstwhile
On a star studded night
Or a rain drenched morn
It swims into you as a seed
So tiny… so inconspicuous
Once the pregnancy confirmed
Comes irritation, nausea
Lethargy and loss of appetite
Your stomach rarely growls for food
Clouds of words hang heavy and low,
Refusing to break into showers
They don’t gush or rush.
Ideas dry up leaving the nib parched
Lines crack n’ break
Depression follows
Discouraged, you feel fatigued
But all the while you begin to realize
That a new life
Independent of you
Has begun growing inside you
Then all the care taken
To foster the young life
You read…
You refer the lexicon
You withdraw from other works
Take rest, relax in solitude
Slowly the foetus moves
The first stirring of life!
With fond fingers, as you pat your belly
Your pen pats the paper
The first line…..
The first faint beating of the heart!
Then words….
Like little harness bells tingling
Fall in line, line after line!
Drawing nourishment from you,
The embryo grows limb by limb
The miniscule of insight
Grown after months of waiting
Into a mature body of illumination!
A stretch of your dreams!
A suffusion of light!
After the labor pains
Of scribbling and scrawling,
Writing and rewriting,
Deleting, adding and editing,
With time stretching and contracting,
A baby, no, a poem is born.
Whether cute or ugly
No mother can dislike it
She marvels at its birth
Wraps it in her warmth
She must have had in mind a name
Or seeks to find a name;
An apt name
Thus a poem with a title is born!
She wonders if her baby would lit a smile,
On others lips too
Or from them would flow,
Words of endearment as from a trickle!
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
oh my baby
expectant seeds of memory
and truth do surge in unanticipated but ******
flows
surge and bring thee closer;
no, into my realm; devolve mysteries
resolve the unsolved, evoke and revoke my stain, my misery
be my home: forlorn as i am I stand proud
as your knight
and you my Queen.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
It's the first love's last kiss
The last love's first kiss
The unanticipated memory
It's the happy moments turned into tear stains on my favorite shirt i wore just because i new i was seeing you
It's the first love's last cry
The last love's first cry
The moments we can't forget
It's reminiscing to a time you found out you were depressed because you had never felt true happyness until you met her
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
Fittingly meticulous, finicky
Precisely mitigating routine
Tracing excessively
Over cornered mezzanine
Stray penciled lines
Candidly contrived
Archaic dossier
Balanced centers
Unavoidably erase
Guiltily lost the way
Confused compass oscillates
Irregularly unanticipated
Perpetually transitory
Tender heart insecurity
Ego sensitivities in vain glory
Sacrificed arrogance dignity
On the day of defeat
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
Shock waves, tremors,
rolling en force from the core of my being,
out of the impact of what has
transpired so unforeseen,
reverberating from my life to others,
and just as in me the rumble subsides
undulating back to blast me in the face,
a stark reminder of the force of the initial tremor -
unanticipated aftershock
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
The storms of life may never cease to blow in their unanticipated direction. However, you are able to withstand in the same manner as a Jacobean fortress which is not dissuaded by the extremity of Highland elements.
The color of your hair is a sure sign of wisdom, despite those self-doubts which are not uncommon to the sincerity of our humanity.
So, my fellow sojourner, in this perplexing yet beautiful pilgrimage: rest assured that the dark side of awareness can be applauded by our empathic insights, where those who are haunted by ghostly shadows can bask in the radiance of legitimate validations.
Therefore, I urge you to carry that blazing torch into seemingly unfathomable depths of human experience, and to illuminate those treacherous paths of uncertainty with the confidence of ontology.
There is no price upon that which you can impart. Therefore, humbly acknowledge the taste of apple pie, and display your bountiful banquet before those who are emaciated.
The universe requires your personal enrichment.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
I am already saddened at the severed tie of unanticipated disconnectedness.
Bonds of the soul are beyond the figment of our frail imaginations.
Black Sunday may give us what we call a “special deal”, but we have to pay greater homage to the powers that be – namely our ridiculous “White House”.
In the era of advancement and confusion of colour, I give thanks for your genuine being.
The forgotten will truly be remembered, and we will raise a final toast to the anaesthetic of contemporary propaganda.
Do you honestly think that you will be safe? Nobility does not reign in absolute finesse and the Fertility of the land is not without its benefits.
In my obscurity, I urge you to plough the fallowed ground in the spirit of the English countryside.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Wobbly knifes, nervous on
diner tables
How are you?
I wish I didn't know why
you are not here
exploring foreign floors
together where our feet meet
sinking into waiting steps
the hum's amplitude increases
as I fade out
to a state of mind
framed around you
built upon your grounds
Blurry eyed under hotel covers
where a man on a mission
scales fences that block
building backs.
This unanticipated destination
where have we found ourselves
by getting lost?
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
I used to hide out in blankets of ice
behinds walls of steel
reading a book written in his blood.
I used to let his ink seep into my nerves
and down into my spine
dissolving the backbone I once had.
I used to cover the mirror with rose-coloured tape
hoping to shy away from self-loathing
while laughter left my lips in bouts.
I cut my hair, hoping it would cut him out
and grow happiness in its absence.
But then you snuck into the crook of my heart
through the cracks in my skin.
And you saw a body pulsing with more than just blood
more than just flesh and bone and muscle.
You can trace my anger with your eyes
and settle the fear that ignites my bones.
I almost ran away, clutching my brokenness to my
chest but you didn’t let go.
You’re the first to make my tongue bleed with
happiness and melt my ribs into your body.
You taste like sin and smell like trouble
but I’ve never been good enough to care.
And even though I swore I’d never falter over
another man’s face as long as I lived,
all that’s ever been missing
was you.
-lf-
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
This time I have,
is but a gift.
Meant to heal
broken skin
and fractured bone.
But I realise
that there's more...
•••
What if,
repairing physical damage
is but a facet of
unanticipated tribulation?
What about...
Shattered thoughts?
Disjointed ideals?
Misplaced hopes?
Askewed trajectories?
•••
Maybe...
This time too is meant
to get my stars in alignment.
But right now there just aren't any...
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:50 PM UTC
Seems like anything that will tickle the corner of my mouth upwards or downwards simply walks straight into me.
Unannounced and unanticipated perfection of untitled somethings.
And before you know, I've caught you in my arms.
*Just
like
that.*
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
It all starts in the beginning, where the innocence of infancy is wrapped in swaddling-cloth and guarded from the prevalent realities which are, in hindsight, considered to be non-existent. Give a standing ovation for childhood deception, which promotes secrecy in the name of what is called “child protection”. Those obvious characteristics of what is known to be adulthood, have an expression of moral permissiveness which is grounded in a fallacy. But the best is yet to come, as it is more blatant than expected. That sheltered level of ontology soon becomes an unadulterated exposure to expectations that were previously unanticipated. Life truly is full of surprises, isn’t it? So listen up, and harken to the threefold beat of the womb:
May you have the hindsight to know where you have been.
May you have the insight to know where you are.
May you have the foresight to know where you are going.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
my baby....
expectant seeds of memory
truths do surge in unanticipated but ******
flows
surge and bring thee closer;
into my realm; devolve mysteries
resolve the unsolved; evoke and revoke my stain... my misery.
Be my home: I as I am stand proud-
as your knight-
and you my Queen.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Water white like ghosts falls
into glass. Upended,
sickly-thick liquid encircles –
a new, easy-access-brand elixir
for an old kind of contamination.
Burning more than should,
corroding boils and poxes
as it slides, falls, digs deep –
scoring chasms and lines
while falling – unanticipated –
a novel redress for an ancient affliction.
Internal temperature rising as fast as
awareness falling, composure sedate
but sentient, growing distantly fearful -
even though the snake oil accompanied
guarantee: “Whatever ails you.”
Wonder, I, if said whatever is said oil,
mentally transfixing that fast-falling cure
into a clever-cruel kind of contagion –
thoughts worsen as poison of aporia slips deep,
and hands-to-throat, digits dig deep –
archaic antidote; a brutal purge, and
mangled boils and liquefied pox
Explode
in a burning sea rising, aflame and
charring as experience-dictates-should,
while sickly-thick water-white ghosts escape,
screaming in exile –
face-to-floor, thoughts rod-grounded,
awareness – gone, snake oil - purged,
malady - sustained.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
i swallowed a butterfly,
to see what it's like to fall in love
she readily confided in me
"my love, your heart will find an escape
unanticipated, unforeseen
wrapped in a tight embrace
side by side, one content soul
lifetimes before, you suffered
infected with lies, deceits, and cheats
but you have a pretty, scarred heart
but i promise, you'll quietly be cured."
since then, i've invited that butterfly in...
i swallowed a butterfly,
to see what it's like to fall in love
she acts up, in the middle of the day
diving, from shoulder to hip
breathlessly, twisting up my lungs
fluttering wings, at any given moment
she recognizes your name
and surely your voice
she reminds me of your presence
and she too, longs for your absense
since then, i've invited that butterfly in...
i swallowed a butterfly,
to see what it's like to fall in love
and greedily treated myself to more
so you could find them with your touch
her wings are quicker than i imagined
chilling the weak spots on my neck
cradling words that hopefully suffice
caressing moments that make me smile
still...
since then, i've invited that butterfly in...
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
I got so used to the rain
that inevitably accompanied
a low-hung head;
irrevocably poured through
a foggy mind;
out my bloodshot eyes
you were so unanticipated;
I even grew to like the rain, or
perhaps I too easily trusted that
reassurance in a
feeling of
being
but now I find it in sunshine.
in you,
I've unraveled resolution;
contentment;
Life
though I still
tremble through trepidation and
am stricken by amaurosis,
I absorb your luminosity,
& darling,
you're the brightest thing I've ever seen;
you're my sun
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Slithering silently
entering
between blank spaces
of fragile fabric
of fiction
and real reacting
shivering
skin
it slips in
an idea
between dreams
daring
like an unseen hand
unanticipated
unstopped
And it floods
the mind
with irresistible
insisting
persistent
images
irrelevant to reality
but real
nonetheless
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
So, this spider was crawling up the wall,
The wall, which had its cosmetics coming off.
The wall, which was mum.
It had seen much.
I was there, under this cursed ceiling fan,
Which was creaking monotonously.
The portraits and the tapestries,
With the rusted nails and hooks under.
The sedimentation of soot,
On the walls,
On the ceiling,
And on the pictures.
All silent,
Dead silent,
Except this cursed ceiling fan.
The ambience,
Was in its nothingness.
As if, they were looking at me in awe,
As if, I were a trespasser.
Unanticipated, I heard rumblings,
And chantings,
And phrases.
The wind in the room suddenly came to life.
The Air, spoke something into my ears,
Something unintelligible.
The frequency went up,
And up, and up.
Ultrasonic vibrations, were those.
The portraits glared at me,
I was becoming anxious,
As well as having eerie feels.
My eyes glued on something,
Something creepy.
I remember,
How four score and seven revolutions of this planet back,
My 16 year old friend had perished in this very room,
Under this very cursed ceiling fan.
Now, not everyone can live for a hundred and three years,
And remember an incident.
Oh, and yes, my eyes glued on my own portrait...
...We do exist,
We defy science.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
I should have let the dogs
Bite into your awaiting
flesh.
Strip you to nothing but bare bone
I could have let them rip you
To shreds,
mere scraps of human nothingness
Your days were numbered.
But compassion filled my heart
And my eyes.
For some reason unknown to me
I let you walk.
Spared you of any extra pain, that you
Might have .
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:12 AM UTC
Scrawny figures.
Skeletal in stature.
Starved of dignity.
Dressed in hanging skin.
Crippled by cruelty.
Terrified desperate fingers clutch the wire fence.
Begging for release from hell.
A convoy of sorrow are led to their demise.
Cruel release unanticipated.
The smell lingered heavy in the dark air.
A collection of souls in need of cleansing.
Needed physical cleansing not.
Perhaps mental release reached.
Sought out by tragic hands.
The shower blocks looked inviting.
Almost appetizing.
To wash away the stench of death.
Wholeheartedly inviting.
Filed in horrendously.
The furnace burning hot.
Waiting for another lot.
Let the horrors of the concentration camp not be forgot.
Never ever!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:27 AM UTC