Unblossomed poems on Hello Poetry

Srishty Mittal Jan 2015

She wakes up with a start-
Tacit fear in her eyes.
Another nightmare-but I know
That a hug would suffice.

Holding her in my arms I think
Of the first time I’d held her.
Holding her in my arms I think
It might the last time- I shiver.

This makes her look up
To see if I were fine
And lift the weight of her hand-
Tangled in pipes and wires- and place it in mine.

I hold back the silent tear
And the muffled cry.
Helpless, my girl, how helpless!
I can’t save you whatever may I try.

The sanitised scent makes me
Furious at this unfair game.
This tender age-an unblossomed flower
Plucked by the disease with no name.

I know you feel what I do
Child, as you look through your hair’s net,
Because the last words you utter before sleeping-
**“Mama, I don’t wanna go yet.”

I know this is a little glum for this time of the year, but it is a reminder that not everyone is celebrating. This is an ode to them.

#love #thoughts #tragic #mama

Megan Jun 2010

a mottled snapshot of my mind

clutching at pebbles
thrown hard into sky as birds
bitter yolk of unceasing raindrop
ideals personified, then scattered in leaf
a coarse blending of the soul and what is
scream of forgotten swing alone in sunshine
a fear internalized, an unquenched song of watery despair and silence
pacing, pacing, toward and away from a melody that is
as intangible as balloons whispering to decaying stars
fading into nothingness, brief respite, void of sound, emptiness most
profoundly pierced with kaleidoscopic shards of senses and memory;
with music of blueberries, gleefully dropped
into tinny pails overflowing from wistfulness
with touch of unblossomed rosebuds admired,
unyielding like crabapples moist in calloused palms
with smell of tree, unrepentant and unchanging,
yet gnarled and longing, indistinct, uncertain
with taste of wind, speckled purity of truth elusive,
of realization categorized, of wispy but unrelenting passion
with the image of a hope
etched, recessed, scorned, repressed, grasped, suspended in song
the maybe’s and the why’s
the can’t’s and the shouldn’t’s
the have-to’s and the why’s
then slowly fingers defiantly uncurl from stone, in motion unrefined
and quietly, fervently; quietly, fervently, I begin to sing...
a mottled snapshot of my mind.

Jay M Wong Aug 2016

Unfair Fairness in Farewells

Her gorgeous eyes but a mighty dam for none to know,
Shields her like curtains---the unpredictabilities of tomorrow,
But aye a foolish boy who've fallen deeply in romance,
Her love, her kiss: fairs thee, in inescapable trance,
Shall with grand sails flee beyond the ocean's horizon.

Doth she wears the gowns of unfair fairness in farewells,
For a love unblossomed must she leave far too soon,
Ath daggers thy chests at the thought of bygones like hell,
Incapable of sleep tonight 'neath the glimmering moon,
For her beautiful eyes makes the midnight skies far too bright.

Must we always harbor love like shipments far too late,
In which had pale doves flown their Winter paths,
And shall by Summer's end, does her 'membrance await,
In uncounted miles shall separates what once un-hath,
And bids this glimmering leaf of love an unspoken adieu.

A gorgeous pearl to whom had but drifted out to sea,
Until one day doth it perhaps drifts back to me...
And like a child to whom with bright eyes wistfully wish,
For the magic of Winter and her beloved, angelic kiss.
Oh, now maybe--just maybe she feels the same...
The wretched wrath of life and the unfair fairness in farewells.

Kane Jan 2015

To Spring

The leaking beauty such as rebirthed life
And of the muddy earth slowly reclaimed
Persephone’s return, a dance of strife
Returning vividness, again, unmaimed
Escaping the monochromatic cell
By return of green, such luscious pigment
By Flora’s grace and by the Shepherd's bell
Revive events long free of merriment
The songbirds relearn their forgotten tunes
The bees prepare to collect flowered boons

Hibernation ending, returns routine
With warmth radiating, freely flowing
Crawling from thy shallow cave, sunlight seen
Flecked through dewdrops caught in Spider’s sewing
A land of new dawns, forgiving thieves
The fruit yet unblossomed, life is still ripe
The tree naked, still missing its leaves
Coverings absent before the first gripe
The animals hunger to end their fast
Humans hunger to remember the past

Come, serenity destroying pigment
Rend the ebony earth delicately
Spread your lovely, inebriating scent
And thus, set every fashion of life free
Free from that immaculate white prison
Free to frolic in fresh fields, unrestrained
The sun, in more wakefulness, risen
To maintain, nature’s mischievous work reined
In preparation for the coming time
The time of heat, growth, and color sublime

#life #nature #spring #color #seasonal

CH Gorrie Jul 2012

Blank Stare

I've been called jealous,
insufferable,
eccentric, forgettable.
I've been high,
loved,
punched, laughed at.
Whether anything I've been
matters much now,
I am,
I will,
I was.
In me the fading pop star
sings again.
Once more after ten silent years.
Still my nervousness is
an unblossomed bouquet.

Taciturn Dec 2017

Drowning

I try to drown myself in music.
Forget all my sorrows.
Choke down my tears.
Keep my chin up and face my fears.

The posture of a Queen.

But my head is so heavy,
It keeps falling down, starring at the soil beneath my feet.
My hair hides the tears dropping on the unblossomed dandelions on my last walk.

I don't want this to be a farewell,
So I turn up the music til my ears bleed.
But at least I can't hear my own thoughts.

At least I cannot hear the voices in my head, telling me,
I am a disgrace to my family.
That I am not worthy of living
And I can't do anything but be the songless bird in a golden cage.

Yet I do want to scream and yell and curse at the world I was born in.
But instead I put my earphones in
and listen to tunes,
Trying to drown everything in a melody that once had me swoon.

I am trying.
I am trying.

I am trying to walk through fire.
But I still feel it;
How it's biting my skin,
Leaving me bruised.

I am trying to inhale shards of glass;
Yet I can still feel them cutting my throat,
Making me choke
on my own blood.

But all of this goes unnoticed
after the words
"I am okay, just tired"

I am tired!
Wouldn't you be as well?

But don't worry, I am not going to sleep yet.
Maybe later.
Maybe not.

This is not a farewell.

This is my excuse why we can't meet in the evening.
It's because I will be sitting
in a field of Lilies drowning my head in the tunes of once upon a time.

Ah. It's the first poem I am actually publishing so I am a bit scared.
I feel like it's still very rough, but I suppose every first try is?!
Please tell me if you liked it, or if you have critic to offer I will gladly accept it.
I hope you can still somewhat relate ^^!

#drown #insomnia #music #emptiness #depression #empty #rough #farewell #dark #drowning

Alyssa Rose Evans Jun 2011

Purity of Morning

Hazy purity of morning
Beautiful uncertainty
Of the unblossomed bud of day

Walking down familiar halls
Searching for the face I love;
The clean scent of sanctuary
On freshly showered skin

I smile worth a hundred words
And keep my lips in silence.
Your hand in mine,
Our interlocked arms,
Together, you and I.

And as we go our separate ways
Our days unfolding the innocence
of optimistic morning sun,
we join again
in weary afternoon

The smell of your hair,
The hollow of your shoulder,
The light of my waning day.

And as evening ages, side by side
we sleep in nighttime’s shadows
before the sun awakens the sky
as we rise to the clear of morning.

Noah Roberts Mar 2014

To The Fly

To the fly
buzz buzz tap tap buzzing on the ceiling of insanity-
*******
you are. Worth nothing
abandoned by family and imprisoned in a glass house
your death will be a grace unblossomed
a ******* of the ears, an unholy echo
my consciousness is screaming
outoutout **** fly
fly. out ****
your death was a pleasure to me a
smudge on the comsos

**** bugs.

YV Jan 2014

Ghosts

Trapped inside a room
A man sits with her
A man who loved her
A man who held her
A man who caused
She was at a lost
Why'd you leave me?She whispered
Its was for me
He claimed he was a man
A man does not leave love
The sun does not leave a unblossomed flower
You'll heal he says
A father
A man
A son
A human
He is a ghost.

Alex May 2018

Bright Day's Sky

Where lies a field of unblossomed flowers and unplanted trees in what man stands alone?…

Where lies the final season, where the unblossomed flowers grow? In what field do these trees stand?

Where a wind is the hand of God…gentle will it let us fly like pollen gold in the bright day's sky.

William Marr Nov 2017

AFRICAN BOY

Day and night
a monstrous stomach
wriggles in his bloated belly

******* up
the unblossomed laughter
******* up
the teardrops that moisten a mother’s heart
******* up
the meager flesh under his wrinkled skin
******* up
the indifference in his eyes
and eventually ******* up
from his open mouth a ghastly cry
which we take for soundless
but is in fact at a pitch
well beyond the limit
of our comprehension

#africa #famine

ællæ Aug 2019

Green Pine Cones

So we found some green pine cones
with black spindles poking out
and a funny, fuzzy fur.

When we pulled apart the scales,
a pungent Christmas smell
wafted from its fruity core.

Speculations ran amok
until we recognized an
unblossomed magnolia

#curiosity #silly #discovery #absurd #flowers #nature #wonder

Alma Apr 2021

I’m sorry for always saying sorry

What luck!
It’s like it was meant to be...
Look at you, you’re beautiful!

Who says one can’t mend a broken branch back up onto its rightful place?

With time,
I know you’ll sway up above
with the breeze of the wind,
in the heights you were destined to reach.

Seems as if the vitality of the poor thing was ****** straight out of it!
Look at it laying there in the soil;
It was just too weak to hold up its own weight,
the humility.

Don’t be sorry, All you need is strength.
Even the burliest of flora lack this.
Sure one can flaunt their heights,
but how deep do their roots flow?
That of which they formed their beginnings.

It’s not too bad of a branch,
one could root it.
It’s fight shouldn’t be over yet.
It must have been so heavy my darling,
was it truly your own creations that caused your demise? No?!
What caused you to quit?
Oh, The crows?
Those beautiful *******.
I’m sorry.

It’s covered in unblossomed beauties,
spurring with unnoticed complexities,
The tangled twigs make it look unkempt.

But what a waste of potential!
It would have made the tree so full.

You are enough, my beloved.
Can I keep you?
Nourish you with all I’ve got
Can I grow with you?
You’ll be your own tree.
You’ll see! I’ll love you.
I see your potential!
for I see myself in you.

A poem about societal standards and failing to reach them

#selflove #nature #failure #love #society

matthew scott harris Apr 2019

My Wife The Paper Shredder

Buried in an avalanche you
might see on "Hoarders buried alive"
back and foreground
white sheet with limited pay per view,
nonetheless sky scraping heap

(Uriah not kid) nsync with a 'U'-
shaped tube anchored securely thru
solid wood - sporting
towering, leaning, bulging, et cetera slew,
sans huge sized mounds,

this goodfella cockily rue
stirs memories while
almond joying sifting,
(comprising ream mains of outdated queue
vee cee paraphernalia, bank statements, old

fair maidens faded letters, phew
against unrequited lovely lasses
kissed by either gentile or Jew
us gal, during young manhood
confession stated, aye did accrue

now (said besmirched Casanova
wannabe across floor I did strew
said, no longer promising princess,
whose once tenderly fresh rose buds
exuded profusely courtesy ingénue

argh..., how frivolous to argue
with cowardly former self, hence
into the maw of das spouse (Sibyl)
she more than enthusiastically
masticates regarding unblossomed

(romantic opportunity) yours truly blew,
when flickr ring spark flame snuffed out
before profound love chanced to hint
of compatibility, ah... nary a blues clue
maybe best not to fantasize

going down nostalgia avenue,
but cast attention upon motley crew,
no matter I traversed
boulevard of broken dreams
(but oh this...pray lemme tell you

more on this cool spring green day)
ornamented with boughs of churrigueresque
mother nature's divinely wrought
sensational beauty procreative forces construe,
yanking fanciful thoughts back to feeding

pulpy material pages of me child's worldview
scribbled squiggly blurred lines
no doubt gifted artistic prodigies shew
did evince talent this papa doth truly value,
yet an excess of near identical curlique

leaves little breathing room, plus report
cards shows innovative smarts,
frequent affirmations this dada paid due
tee, which gushing praise
my girls never taxed for, yet both knew

this aging baby boomer father decries
being swamped with exorbitant clutter
hence effort now made to save whar grew,
some artistic embellishment and/or

intellectual award, the majority hesitantly fed
into jaw of thee missus the human flew
where hard copy quickly incinerated inducing
me to sneeze atchew!

— The End —