"unappeased" poems
her rigorous objections
are herded slowly down the sheep trail
by studious pencil thin men with stylish mustache's
who have deep pocket pickers for friends
they gather round the weak willed and the willing alike
looking for cheap thrills and spare change
everybody needs a new road
when the old one seems to never end
but she with eyes cast down
mumbles her unappeased desires
as she shuffles a little closer to the truth as she sees it
she has it all written out in secret languages
she has books filled with life's coded thoughts as she see's them
barn burners and dare devils grace the cover of her latest creation
self titled to her own romantic name
she is stylized in her own way
so she adores the pencil thin men
with their dashing devil may care good looks
i wrote her a letter yesterday
full of stories from the great highway
full of chipper go getters and the glum go gotten
she is a forever stone on a necklace
she is a moonstone on a bracelet
she is graceful when it counts and
thats more than enough for me
the pencil thin moustache men
come to conquer the all night diners
in the small shoreline towns
but slink away in dawns first light
with stolen smiles and borrowed kisses
that they promise profusely to return tomorrow
but never do
such is the romantic night by her side
such is the wonder-wheel days of our
journey on the great highway
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
It rhymed, it seemed sensible
Although maybe reprehensible
Because it didn’t quite make sense,
Questions with no answers
Intensifying with the questioning
But never mentioning any answers
Just mysteries but no attempts
To justify
What was being said,
The page being fed
with more words
read felt and heard before
But never quite sure what it was trying to say
It carried on anyway,
It rhymed because it seemed sensible
But it was questionable whether it
Had any meaning,
A room with no floor but walls and a ceiling
What?
Are you sure you’re not looking at it
Upside down?
Surely it’s more appealing
The other way round,
Less falling into nothingness
The ceiling as a floor would be best
Or spinning really fast so you can’t quite fall
Because it catches you,
Hopefully no nails from pictures
In the walls
Because it scratches you
Spinning round
In a room
With no windows watching you.
Butterscotch table for two…
What?
It doesn’t make sense,
But for recompense it rhymes
I said that already I know
But I need certain lines
In there because,
Well…
You know why.
Ladders wrapping like snakes around the branches of
Trees
That could be climbed unappeased
Were it not for nonsense
The cycle repeating over time
Not pleasing but feasible
reasoning untangible
But more manageable
Like conditioned hair
More easy to bare
The sense that the
Dense trees of time
As they climb entangled with ladders like snakes
Or vines
in their hair
Mangled
They don’t make much sense
They just rhyme.
That’s just life.
And that’s fine.
What?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
And our brother, too, the metal shaman
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
We chant, guttural grunts, primal urges
And fierce grinding teeth clenching and screeching
The shaman dances and
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
And we SCREAM shrill
Bare our necks and bring the knife across, ****
A sacrifice to the metal beast
The shaman stares straight up,
Plucks knowledge from the stars
And the blood leaves us
Hair turns grey
Daily exploits lost in deepening wrinkles
The macabre ritual culminates...
The Shaman, unappeased
Laughs like Hyena, cackling
REACHES UP AND PLUCKS KNOWLEDGE FROM THE STARS!
The existential cacophony diminishes
Din dimming
Beast is empty
Bits flow like blood
Ones and zeros in a jumbled pool
The shaman delivers
The family sits around the glowing box
A tribe in an ancient ritual
Flip the switch, change the channel
The children plucking out their eyes
Little blind Oedipus
Smashing faces through the tube
To the life on the other side
Celebrities, products, and reality shows
Forget thought
Present your mind
To the beast
A cinematic ****
Send Damsels to appease the Minotaur
Change the channel
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Soft light and fresh sense,
cooling air descends.
Lungs expand more gently at ease,
apprehension slides with death.
Breathe in to converse with greenery
as the day now dips and sets.
Though the clucks and clicks continue on,
colours no longer reflect to bounce
the burning image of a molten head.
Nevertheless we're not done yet,
tomorrow's bound to come along
with new problems until we're laid to rest.
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 12:14 PM UTC
Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
A scene of wondrous glory, as was told
Of some great God who in a rain of gold
Broke open bars and fell on Danae:
Or a dread vision as when Semele
Sickening for love and unappeased desire
Prayed to see God’s clear body, and the fire
Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:
With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
Before this supreme mystery of Love:
Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face,
An angel with a lily in his hand,
And over both the white wings of a Dove.
1.6k
Were there things of I scarcely write,
Flesh-bound secrets: my darkest plight.
Unaided heat and aching skin,
A howling instinct come from within.
Such carnal longings... my guiltless crime
But none do know my mind sublime.
Left to myself, I twist and turn,
Frustrated flames in which I burn.
I feel the madness course through my veins.
I pull my hair; frustration reigns.
From my bit lip and furrowed brow,
Aroused, I ask myself "how now?"
In vast bedchambers, I lay alone.
My mind basking in depths unknown.
My toes curl tight and nails dig deep
for nowhere will my wetness seep.
I groan quite softly, left unappeased.
Such torment stands eternal tease.
Just one is tangled in pillows and sheets,
Trembling of wanting and unshared heat.
All over my skin the goose-bumps rise.
Perhaps a beast you'll find in my eyes.
What secrets be there in my physique,
Hidden within an element mystique.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
about aboutness thematizing themes
flowers need not say, marching into war--
enraptured gaze their petals open far
to seek horizons conjured from a dream.
they grow to measure limits of all selves,
become the symbol-meaning recombined
--plucked to toss an emblem for the mind--
humming under captured sun, ecliptic quell
paper cups of burning blood becoming sky
bolster or efface the heart before its fate,
poetic flare leaves hunger unappeased--
the ruthless earth imbibes its digest dry
as interspiral helicals of age
assume finality's supernal ease
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Your words sizzle,
spouting fire in the back of my mind
from kindling
to flames from the maw of an unappeased dragon.
They twitch at my lips,
begging to be set free
but I keep them trapped.
They want to flee
so my mind rinses cleaner than Pilate’s hands.
They cling like spiders to my gums,
finding holes from which to poke
a solitary spindly leg
and then explode,
scattering shadows and hallucinations
and vocabulary *****
But now the monsters are lurking in corners
not just in my brain
and they reach out with scaly claws
to brush passersby on the shoulder
or neck
and I am Pandora and you are
the box.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
My trombone binoculars bend
right back into my head and I
can see the growth in all that
which I’ve fed – still no trees,
unappeased vines bending the
spines so that they too bow in
need. Apples san seed. No
lending from the skies. Not a
desert but a safely stagnant
demise.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 2:41 AM UTC
Immorally, my lustful gaze eyes in a false bid to need you
Unappeased from the respites of my attempts to dream you
And in my efforts, I’ve still yet to ascertain my conviction to find you
But until then, an entire sense devoted to imagination to taste you
However, taste is a mean fraction of my malicious, intent to use you
And in a blinded craving, good intentions eluded, will involuntarily scar you
In a perverted aim to behold and savor you, to protect, enjoy and **** you
Is the beginning of my undoing, as I callously sin again and again, and break you
And then with no further defense but to erase you,
and politely in my heart, I move bitterly to bury you,
I return fruitlessly to the beginning again, to need you.
© 2014
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:33 AM UTC
Over the muttering, a sputtering candle is down to the quick
Flashing and flickering, the wick goes out
Rumbling skies threaten with scowling fingers of unappeased gods
Grey hairs curling in rage at eviction from Olympus
The sky then screams in a tumultuous rage:
A sacrifice is dire and desperately needed.
A maiden-green tree implores to above,
silently surrendering still arches
as she kneels in the earth, longer than any man has lived.
Cleaved by a fissure of light from something dark and then
a tremdous clap, thundering and thrashing
the towering tree, goes down, face flat.
A mother to decay she will become.
The rain drums into the humming hills, running down the mountainside.
It ruthlessly rushes tearing away grainy earth,
bouncing and bubbling in crevices galore,
turning all green and lush in an awakening as old as age.
The hills inhale blue and green.
Buds will flower, petals will die
but an end to all is not nigh
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Reflex
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
Some intuition of her despair
for her lost brood,
as though a lost fragment of song
torn from her flat breast,
touched me there . . .
I felt, unable to hear
through the bright glass,
the being within her melt
as her unseemly tirade
left a feather or two
adrift on the wind-ruffled air.
Where she will go,
how we all err,
why we all fear
for the lives of our children,
I cannot pretend to know.
Keywords/Tags: mother bird, brood, nest, chicks, fledglings, children, kids, song, despair, protection, protective mother
But, O!,
how the unappeased glare
of omnivorous sun
over crimson-flecked snow
makes me wish you were here.
Keywords/Tags: mother, bird, brood, nest, chicks, fledglings, children, song, despair, protective
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
My body aches in the places that
crave your touch,
Fingers brush, face is flushed.
Insatiable want is torturous,
Makes me feel almost virtuous;
Guilty for feeling passion's rush
Curiosity is crushed by a pious clutch.
Lick your way past the path of lust,
Make me curl up, make me gush
About emotions mistaken for love
Like a butterfly that's really a moth;
I'm getting lost in the flame
Of your smoldering tongue.
Unwillingly, I gravitate
Flickering to sate. I shall burn.
Waste away, into ash I turn
Nothing conceived
Nothing born.
Unappeased
Sentiments scourge.
These insatiable demons
Mourn, and it hurts.
-SLuR
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
Loneliness creeps inside the hollow parts
As I sit here with more to spare in this gnarled tree of a poker game called love
For you It's just ***
For me the slow tide of a frozen ocean
Calling you my global warming
Take my natural state to the black market
Not even selling me whole
Wishing wells the promise of the unappeased
Choosing hope
A seed unable to grow in my hostile soil
Of a star gone wrong
Trapped in dark universe alone
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
Open up the Wound…by Jessie 7/05
Time has healed the wound
The scar thick and numb
News came today
Picking at the wound
Tearing at the flesh
Until the bloods released
Memories close at hand
Feelings unappeased
Am I still attached?
By this single thread
Is his blood half mine?
Have I been, deceived?
Do I want to know?
Was everything a lie?
Open up the wound
Memories will not die
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 6:58 PM UTC
They say that life begins at deaths front door
Well I was a poor man, a beggar
pounding on that door with all the strength I had left in store
Knock! Knock! Knock!
but when my calls went unanswered
and my pleas unappeased
I was very un happy, I was very displeased
I said I have nothing left to offer, Id rather be dead
the line we walk is a tiny thread
weaving through others paths
and through our own head
at the time we may not understand it
we may not want it
but we must accept it
I awoke the next day
to the stroke of a cool breeze on my face
yet still held disdain
I wanted to end the pain
and the only way I knew how
was to end it all
I realized
thinking upon my laments
I was wrong
I realized
that ending my life would only cause more pain
that the delusions about how my death
was somehow for the best
were just a test
a test to see if I could reignite the fire inside my chest
I realized
that sometimes this life doesn't make any sense
it has its ups and downs
twists and turns
freezes and burns
that in the dark of the valley we don't realize the sun is shining
on the other side of the mountain lining
I realized
that there are people who love me
there are people who care
that if I would just dare to reciprocate,
it would make it so much easier to bare
the trying times that from time to time seem to stare
you down as you try to find your place in this life
I realized
that being genuine, and showing real love
to others, is really the best
way to love yourself
and that feeling you get in return
Is so much better than any
narcissistic pleasure you've ever felt
I realized
I had found my inner peace
and for the first time in my memory
I could finally say I was happy
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC