"unbent" poems
1.
Each of us like you
has died once,
has passed through drift of wood-leaves,
cracked and bent
and tortured and unbent
in the winter-frost,
the burnt into gold points,
lighted afresh,
crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf,
gold turned and re-welded
in the sun;
each of us like you
has died once,
each of us has crossed an old wood-path
and found the winter-leaves
so golden in the sun-fire
that even the live wood-flowers
were dark.
2.
Not the gold on the temple-front
where you stand
is as gold as this,
not the gold that fastens your sandals,
nor thee gold reft
through your chiselled locks,
is as gold as this last year's leaf,
not all the gold hammered and wrought
and beaten
on your lover's face.
brow and bare breast
is as golden as this:
each of us like you
has died once,
each of us like you
stands apart, like you
fit to be worshipped.
3k
Paper unfolded is by far
the most beautiful possibility
Before it is folded
Twisted, refolded, untwisted
Doubled, tripled, bent and unbent
To be beaten into a form
A claustrophobic form.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
Your door is shut against my tightened face,
And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
But I possess the courage and the grace
To bear my anger proudly and unbent.
The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,
A chafing savage, down the decent street;
And passion rends my vitals as I pass,
Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,
Deep in my wrathful ***** sore and raw,
And find in it the superhuman power
To hold me to the letter of your law!
Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
Against the potent poison of your hate.
1.8k
I am energy,
not heaven sent.
I carry the world.
I stand unbent.
I am power,
of silence and sound.
I am no puppet.
I stand unbound.
I am universal,
where truth is spoken.
Night turns to morn.
I stand unbroken
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
I'm weary of this twisted world
Lacking virtue and moral
No one's perfect but this extreme
Is a nightmare, not a dream
Despair is closing in around
Not a person have I found
Who wants person over flesh
Everyone's demanding ***
Many years have I spent
Watching for someone unbent
But such a soul I cannot see
In such a world we are not free.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Water swept softly, caressing the malecon.
Fisherman hung tirelessly to rods unbent,
Lovers perched next to seagulls,
Looking to distant dreams,
Embracing one another, folding arms against freedom,
Denying the waves flirty approaches.
A place where coloured plates were signs of class,
Fumes of gas enveloped rusty car interiors,
Locals spoke of their better selves,
All a show, an act of unity,
Clothes hung loosely, less is more.
Skin soft from the sun's spirit.
Tourists hummed over finely tipped cigars,
Remains of better days memorilised with frames,
Sweets passed as currency for cemetario tours,
Family tombs, shines, the dog at her side,
Saint Amelia listens to gratitude for answered prayers,
Where gomez, Alvarez, gonzales make hay,
Guantalamera sung gently in the bay.
Queues formed on corners, no end to each line,
Rations existing in such plentiful times,
Disregard for professionals,
Hailing of crimes,
Hemingways cocktail maker still pouring in the Floridita,
Murals of Che plastored to the walls,
Architectural past dotted out in each street.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
My life is like a poem;
And a pure sleep that lasts forever.
Ah, sleep-sleep that is more flamboyant than the stars;
But for which I have not prayed; about which I have not even started.
My life is like a wind;
A wind that grows, within a pair of wings unseen.
My blood groans and roars as it steps forward;
My heart flips and leaps as it falls in love.
Ah, a love that arrived between roads foreign;
A love that slayed me, and tasted my juicy kiss;
Like a tame note, like a flood of roses;
Love that lights my rocks, and burdens my abyss.
And when everything is deaf and purely abysmal;
I shall bloom still, and glistening as rainfalls.
I shall listen to its greedy calls;
I shall begin my poem-as I'm thus hiding, behind the walls!
And the rain shall pour but bleak water;
A water so small, and thereby impure.
But thy eyes are like its earth-that stills and clarifies it;
And thy charms are magnets that charge-and wondrously cure!
As though I have ne'er been mystified;
When I am heartily scared-palely challenged and petrified.
I am but burnt, within this unmuttered torment;
But to my praise I stay loyal, and defined unbent.
Ah, Nikolaas, shalt thou be mine-and be my shield?
Shalt thou rewind my bones that have slept?
As far as I know, this poetry can no-one build;
Loves that other hearts shape; loves that their doubts have kept.
Ah, Nikolaas, shalt thou melt my, my very insane heart?
Of which thy breath hath owned a part;
I shall kiss thee; through thy mint arms-and thy cold sleeves;
I shall be the prettiest goddess God'll ever give.
Oh, Nikolaas, and shall thou purify my rain?
And liberate these tears-and their art of pain;
And let thy heart be the one I judge;
Make me all over sweet-like two twin bars of silky fudge.
And shalt be thou ***** by my shy verse?
For thou hath freed, and forgiven my bare universe;
I am in love, I am riding its wheels;
I am on the moon, no-one knows yet-how grateful I feel.
And Nikolaas, but shalt thou be my moon itself?
Over my darkness, thou shalt stay gripping and smiling;
And to my touches, thou shalt be forever truth;
Unlike this lone stranded poem-which thinks but stays mute;
Thou shalt be mine-on this wan land and in the keen hereafter;
Even when death is dubious-I shall remain and love thee like this; just as I do now-and perhaps forever.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Five years hiding
preparing and binding
reading and writing
Five years bent over old crumbling scrolls
weaving old words into wards
molding spells of fire and lightning
Five years plotting underground
in an unending round
of clandestine sabotage
with knives and lies
Five years to find men and women,
willing to help him atone
and the tyrant to overthrow
Five years to forge
them the swords and axes
shields and armour
that would crash and crack,
splinter and shatter edge to edge
for the sake of
his soul
Five years to the day,
the bells and trumpets rang
The horns were blown
and drums beaten
The earth was shaken
as the host marched forth
Five years to the day
the banners were flown
and in defiance of the dark king
the white pennants bore a fiery eye
At its head hooded
strode a man with a glowing staff
unbent unbroken and unbowed
proud, determined and uncowed
ready now at last
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
From my origin i've known you
You were a vessel of honour
a tree unbent,pride of the forest
A role all wished to play
You were part of the family's pride
Generosity of humanity
voice of the voiceless
The precious stone of the mountain
An epitome of beauty
A rare gem
A collections of respect
The purest of waters
The spice in our home
The wheel of our movement
The precious gift we've known
where have you gone to?
You whose fragrance freshes my breath
where have you hidden your face?
where have you gone to?!
The last time we saw i thought there would be more,
Why so soon?,without a wave of goodbye
you turned your back on us
I will never with eyes see you again?!
I will never with ears hear you again?!
Oh! This monstrous cold arms you couldn't flee
The monster that regards not one's delight
The monster whose pleasure is in our pain
Have Wrung us!
You pang our heart
You baptise us in tears
You hungry Earth unfilled
Our pain, your pleasure,
Having this monster your hunter
From Abel's slain you've been feeding
When will you learn to fast?
When will our pleasure know honour in your eyes?!
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
The sun's setting,
though it may leave you darkening,
is the start of the burning
far under your soles.
The browning now crinkling of
Summer's endlesseeming greening
is but the start of Springtime's
asylum in Xylem.
Phloem's sweet ware will
flow in 'em somewhere
down the line.
It’s pithy, I know
but life is born in death.
And though, come Fall,
trees seem seemingly sapped,
there's an inspiration transpiring.
The firepit's cooling
it's embers cast only shadows
and shades of memories of warmth
and story
and light...
None gather round, the gloomy.
The dormant circle
an ashen reduction
of oak and of fir
but its blackdust when wetted
(yes, ink!)
and dipped in by brush
will one day,
with luck,
be the source of a poet's
enlightening words.
The monarchs have gone -
a silent orange rustle
and, all at once,
the milkweeds go dry;
the once-green
stalks stand stock still,
Rods of Asclepias whose
seedlings are ever
the earliest snows.
Leaving home:
wherever the Earthbreaths may
take them -
bleak, brokenhearted,
hope in a coma...
How unlike the joy of the
flutterbys whose time now
has fluttered by, a chorus
as uttered by
the ungiven hope
who, though unasked,
has wandered the winds
to bring its daughters
(each healing, each hopeful)
a deathgiven panacea
to lands now in their
own limited unlimited Spring.
And you! I know
your (sic) fiercely pretending
not to be crying.
Hell, to never've cried.
I know your lifework is
'manly' (your words) or
some other idiocy (my words)
and unbroken. Hell, unbent.
But think on this:
if she's gone far enough,
far enough along,
far enough away;
enough time gone by
since you broke into One
('broke in two' is NOT how it feels),
if enough not enough Her
has passed,
then she's also
more than halfway back
to you,
to Whole.
Nothing can go,
nothing is lost
for there is no
'away' within this Here.
No one now, either
at a loss -
for the knowing
is nigh.
Even the knowing
cannot be going
for long 'fore returning;
the yearning is turning
from far-off to nearby.
The Sky lives as well
in every dark puddle.
Its blues, now on Earth
where all even All is at Home.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Gentle night, flower of life, roots ever searching
digging deep, sharp and broken, as the air grows course.
Wind takes flight, cuts like a knife, into pedals ever fading
and light creeps, skies silver token, lays shadow on remorse
Deepest dark, ferocious front, stem in desperation.
Holding fast, roots lacking anchor, hastened futility.
attempt to hark, become unbent, to find a foundation.
Broken mast... falsified fervor, the roots then release.
Wretched skies, horrid freedom, uplifted in darkness.
Lost direction, wrapped in chaos, fighting no longer.
Cast aside, wind dies down, landing on pages.
Found protection? trapped when lost, in the spine, now stronger.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Folded, unfolded, folded….
I will never have the choice of coming undone
Crashing, burning, and this relentless yearning
I have the privilege of seeing it all from within
Never stopping, never slowing,
Never breathing, never showing
I will no longer pretend, I will no longer look away
I am here to show you that I am going to stay.
Creased, uncreased, creased….
I am scared, frightened, and alone
Weak, no direction, no place to run to
No place to call home
No red slippers to tap away with
No yellow bricks to follow
I have no map, no compass, and no sense
And I'll face the fact that I will be lost in shadow.
Bent, unbent, bent….
I will do the right thing, some how
Knowing this, as I do, helps in the end
Makes it all clear, makes me mend
Always raining, never calm
Always screaming, never sleeping
I am no longer human, no longer whole
Always weak, never strong
Always right, never wrong…
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 9:00 AM UTC
Once I stood upon a clifftop
where the wind rose up to brush my face
my cheek,
blowing my hair behind me.
It opened up my heart to feel,
as if
God himself was coming at my heel.
As if I stood on the edge of time,
glimpsed beyond life itself,
heard the cry of gulls
beneath my feet,
howling some anguished message
in their desperate frenzy to eat.
I breathed the Ocean's scent
saw it's deep blue green erupt,
as it hit the hard rocks of time,
unbowed and unbent,
not to be tamed,broken or trapped,
mysteries remaining untapped,
forever.
perhaps only to be caught in my imagination,
like a photo, a painting,a dedication
for memories sake.
This magic,this ocean deep,
this pure,good energy,that heals and soothes,
the horizon,
where the water meets the skies,
these things,
I found
within your eyes.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Round and round the black tape went,
Swaths of it came, and left unbent,
Around my wrists, and around his mouth,
From back to front, from north to south...
Round and round the tape unfurled
Spinning and spitting, his lips- they curled!
Sneering and snickering, bitterly he yelled,
"What good is a God who's secrets don't tell?"
While mourning and weeping in this valley of tears,
His mighty hands shook with them ancient fears,
Tongue wet with wine, lips dry in stutter,
He buckled his knees with all faith he could muster...
While he, the mournful jeerer lost,
Quickly towards the garden rushed,
As darkness, nearer and nearer, hushed,
Left him to ponder its cost.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
When the air shudders
and the air is thick with
onyx pressure, dunes of war,
muffled gusts and stubborn iron --
A tree sighs barren,
unable to support their own leaves.
A giant of reverence,
testament to love,
time's lust and an intimate rot long gone.
The bucking of future's specter,
the manic hoarse thunder at silent soil
and patience lost to rain's unbent ear.
They who died with a full belly,
remorse only for wind's kiss and Earth's embrace,
laying with demons,
open door, dialogue honey, a bookcase full, sore legs.
opulent hearts
-- Heaven's ******* and Hell's divine,
the Hummingbird of West Berlin,
the mortal's roach and the stars' first undead
with taut bones and ragged flesh,
amongst carnival lights
and eldest fire's pride,
returns to the World again.
Apr 22, 2024
Apr 22, 2024 at 1:05 PM UTC
I want to hold the moon, in the stillness.
As a newly healed being, forgetting his illness.
With transcendent secrets, long lost, and unheard.
Converge with the earth, my body returned.
It's not just the glow that my soul truly seeks-
But the calling of a gnosis, at its brilliant peak.
The kind that would nurture without word or touch.
With pulses divine, surging through me in flux.
I want to push oceans, form the tides Mighty sway.
As nova's light the way, even brighter than the day.
Not where I am dying, but drifting sublime.
Through a cosmic stimulation of emotions and mind.
To hold the moon is to be as the dark,
The Infinite void with no ending or start.
To weave through galaxies in quantum ascent.
To be untethered, unmeasured, and unbent.
For there's a place where echoes of gnosis still call.
Where darkness is divine, as it stands without fall.
For when all existence comes to end, as we know it.
Darkness not only lives but will thrive by the moment.
The stars told a secret, the divine know our depths.
Our intentions are gold. We're not at fault for our steps.
I want to walk where quantum waves ebb and flow,
And merge with the calm, only the moon has ever shown.
To hold the moon is to live as the night.
No longer chasing myths of a misguiding light.
To rest with the shadows, unobserved in their allure.
My failing charred heart, reborn by the nights cure.
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 3:52 AM UTC
Always there for me, you are
Giving counsel even from afar
Abandoned me, you never did
Truly, you are the friend I want to be with
Happiness and joy, you always bring
Ah, my friend, thank you for everything
Many problems, I faced and expressed
As to your counsel, I never did transgressed
Really surprised that you haven't left yet
I'm sorry for always bothering you
Everything, I'm sorry for what I do
Joking all the time, you always do
Oh, but dear, I know you're hurt inside too
Very impressed by your strength, I am
Establishing happiness in your life despite everything
Rest easy, I'll be here through thick and thin
Everything that you do
Sophisticated, very much like you
Queen of happiness and smiles
Unbent, unbroken, and fueled on for miles and miles
I know you are not problem-less though
Love, know from your side I would never go
Leaving is not in you nor me
Oh, for you, I will always be here.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
What hope do I hold
When I’m next to the rest?
For I am not very bold
And I’m far from the best.
What hope do I have
Among Romeo Montague,
Who leapt into death
In one swift swoon?
What hope do I have
Among Mister Clark Kent,
The Man of Steel
Who remains unbent?
What hope do I have
Among Martin Luther King,
Who wore his heart on the outside
Rather then the hue of his skin?
What hope do I have
Among men like Jesus,
Who took his own body
And broke it in pieces?
What hope can I hold
When I’m next to the rest,
For I am not very bold
And I am so far from the best.
I’ve never climbed a mountain
Without losing my breath.
And I’ve never held a woman
Without being scared to death.
Perhaps there is nothing that I truly lack,
For rather then standing next to others
I should simply stand in back.
The question I have for each father and sage
Does the path I trek become easier in years
Or even harder with age?
...no...
I’ve set a new trip,
Followed my heart,
Taking life’s script
Rewriting my part.
I’ll embrace my own way
Rather then try to condemn,
I’ll discard the man
That I’ve been made,
And just be the man I am.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 12:52 AM UTC
god
spoke in
unbent folding
pubic tinder
from an inbetween
(onyx
follicles
manacling
the heaving notch
of cold
frosty magma
lurching
out
of
the
slouching
pouch of her
fine
giddy
pearl
and
in my beat heavy
pulsing
her monthly blood)rOAR!?
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 2:10 PM UTC
Unlike wind. tall and walking leaf's
curling in bushy locks of. the very,
naked and servile, moon she's
street bounding rills of semisweet
chatter. the togetherness too much
,in,of comely arms a fawn thing, in
the forest of metal's. just leapt vanishing
smoke, into, the carnival of neon
large singing signs. post day well,
in gloom unanimously, slunk with
girl's skinny. they brushed fair and wane
as light's face creeping furtive
, "weLL
i was said
in those walls
sterile and seething
manic lewd gracefully
stumbling,
i
was mounted with
paint of sinning luscious
lips who carefully
rampaged, blithe node
,a noggin, mine.
cavorting straight narrow
unbent sharp green eye's slip.
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Down my throat" (ouch!)
May 29, 2011
May 29, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
you had "tabula rasa" tattooed across your face.
and at first it was charming.
i thought i was being gracious by ******* you.
you knew nothing but you had dimples.
i thought i could teach you, mold you, make you into a woman.
you had the hips for it.
but you were raised in a cardboard box in the unbent hills.
you only had maybe seven words in your vocabulary
"yes" "no" "i don't know" and **** me harder"
okay, that's eight.
but you are just a girl living in a soggy paper bag.
this life is a circus where
rescued dogs flick cigarettes on orphans
a paradise i've seen in my dreams a hundred times
i'm riding atop the wild tiger you sleep behind and
you're small minded and i'm ugly on the inside
it's raining sharp shadows
and derisive rocks on the forgotten tombstones
of your favorite pets
while you sit at a bay window comfortable and dumb
and you went back to him, of course you did
demanding to be loved.
to be forgiven.
and of course he forgave you
what, with those dimples.
i'm a son-of-a-bitch, unshaved today.
a baby bounced down steps.
yes, i deserve this.
i'm climbing collapsible tables,
searching the lost shores like
a rich man staggering in a moment of hysteria,
scattering ***** across an afternoon.
i'm rising above the trees to caw
and cry at you from a distance,
singing on hot wires, frightened of my own voice.
i'm always making up imaginary scenes
and i'll leave you alone now.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Roses of glass fall from the skies
As, for you, Heaven weeps and cries
Nobel blood, crimson as dark wine
Drips down your still unbent spine
Your wings of ash, that overcame hate
Now broken and apart, as they were torn by fate
Sleep, sleep sweetheart, and dream of my love
That will always be beside you, when you'll rise above
Lay down, close your eyes, but do not cry
Because in my heart, you'll always be alive
Pillars of stone scratching in clouds of white
May you not be seen as ash, but phoenix bright
Finally raising to the sun and stars, that shine warm light
It has found an end, your everfight
Rest your head, too heavy to lift, in my lap
Close your eyes, close the gap
Now, sweetheart, rest in peace, and don't be afraid
You don't need no more to fight, you can drop your blade
Fall asleep, my sweet angel, that Heaven sent
Leave, go to Elysium, for this is not the end
Fly, and rise to the sun, elevated by this freedoms breeze
Run free, laugh, cry, and find a lasting peace
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 11:10 AM UTC
Hot tar and a thirty-year-old nickle's scent
broke the evergreen air as the bleak moonlight bent
shadows into the semblance of a grated vent.
On my cell phone I repeated what I meant
to a man behind three to four months on rent.
"Three or four thousand, come on Kent,
I'll let it slide for even two. I've lent
and lent and there's a considerable dent
in my wallet." He said the check would be sent
by the next week and remarked, "Time went
out the window. It disappeared in the events
of yesterday and was spent."
A week later a check was present
in my mail. It was crisp and unbent
but was written for "172,800 minutes and no cents."
I called up Kent, that incredulous tenant,
and said, "What is this check? It's content
is silly and makes no sense." "Relent,
relent, it's for four months of pent-
up time that was spent." "Time? The rent
can't be paid with a check to augment
lost minutes!" "You agreed to it before, on my word, as a gent."
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC