"uncaged" poems
My mind is abuzz,
Like a hummingbird does.
It can't be still,
And it was my will
To make everything so,
Because how will I know
The outer limits of my essence
Without spiritual lessons?
Self-taught, fear not,
Happiness is sought
Through a curious burn.
The lessons I learn
From engaging my mind,
Is that I am not blind
To tuning into frequencies,
And avoiding delinquencies
With each new experience,
Learning to control delerience.
My inner being thirsts
For a gift labeled a curse.
I want to break these chains,
Be more than insane.
I want to be free
To be the real me.
Every great individual
Has ideas that are sensational.
So say what you will,
I will have these spiritual spills,
That shakes where I dwell,
And brings me out of my shell.
I have the right to engage
With my mind, uncaged.
Hummingbirds die
If they are caged inside.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Do you remember the garden?
Do you remember the garden?
Where
we
lived.
The Charlotte roses filled the wild,
peace was uncaged, unbroken,
and the dragons and doves flew together,
And the thousand horses ran free.
And the thousand horses ran free.
I notice resting inside your eyes
and heart hasn't been so hard. Wrestling for you,
holding you,
like a child, it hasn't
been so different.
I'm taking you back there, Eve
into the Land of Eden,
just drink of my lips
a little longer and you'll remember
and see.
Do you like to dance, Eve?
Let me make your imagination full
Then let me bring it to war as we step
into it's gates.
Let’s Dance.
For the wind of the evening
still weaves dreams between
the heavens and the earth.
There. Look.
For your heart outshines the moon, I see the hurt, the regret
The pain in the pool of you precious eyes.
And I still see you, I still love you
For you.
I hear the rhythm of your breath
and dreams, the electricity and earth
of your voice. I see the blood written
words in your heart, let me show you what
they are.
Now see the memories come
together, as you believe.
The endless garden,
the red cedars,
the cool four rivers crashing
near the rock, where we once slept.
And look, where we hid.
See, like I promised you, we are here again,
we are here.
Where the petals sip the dew upon
the face of the earth.
where the rain and the moonlight has
not fallen.
Now look at the stars, Eve. Everyone of those stars
are named, the star of Orion, the Bear,
and Leo, everyone of them.
Everyone of them will fall
Everyone of them,
Everyone of them.
So don't be afraid in your pain
in your feelings,
just come to me.
For you can take my hand,
and be safe in my arms of
love. Even when it all falls.
Even when it all comes crashing down.
Just
Trust me.
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Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Floating around, pretty and light.
The more of them that drift around...
The more beautiful the sight.
Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
They make even the messiest garden, shine.
No matter if the flakes are thick and heavy...
Or just a light dusting that's small and fine.
Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Gliding through the skies, uncaged and free.
Only resting when the winds conclude...
Gently resting on every roof, hill or tree.
Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Only present for such a short while.
A flying visit, and then they're gone...
But they sure do leave a smile.
Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Making your garden glisten and glow.
They go wherever they please...
And please wherever they go.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
The first time
I heard them
I swear,
I was to listening
to the most beautiful choir
in four-part harmony,
swaying
or angles wings rubbing,
& perfectly, playing
a common file instrument
angled, such a unique sound
symphonic & splendorous
they are all around
this free concert
an offering of
Mother Nature
chiming at once
uncaged,
& calling on the ladies
in perfect unison
sounding like church
telling one another
of sunlit hours
say the flowers
fending off evil spirits
allowing me to travel
into the dark again
leaping over obstacles,
alerting me to danger,
still in their silence
I am protected
by this harbinger of luck
a most powerful portent,
of coming things
they sit silently in the quiet,
like a copper cricket weathervane,
as the poor man's thermometer
spinning tales effortlessly,
in the wind calmly
watching over us
a shivering in the night
save you, are mine
my Native American totem
or God's Cricket Chorus
foretelling of Sorrow
of coming rains tomorrow
ex-lovers and death
a shrill creaking
stridulating in song
Oh, I fear that day,
your music should go away
please dear uncaged cricket choir
I truly ....
hope you'll stay.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
I remember what we used to be
Swinging and climbing up every tree
That time when everyone would go outside just to play tag
Now all we got is 8 year old kids complaining about too much lag
And all those ballin' teenagers saying 'We got so much swag'
Now one of the only things you see
Is teen girls selling out virginity
25$ at one time you could've almost caught a taxi ride from here to Tennessee
I feel sorry for the next generation
Swag ballin' COD players running this nation
Now just give me one second of concentration
heavy intake of breath
Sorry, all the violence in the world has sent my mind through so much rehabilitation
I realized everything we thought was right was wrong
Simple math, it shouldn't have taken us this long
But it doesn't matter cause everyone's taking a hit from the nearest ****
These geniuses go and call others ********
Thanks, we're all mentally unstable and needed an excuse to be carted
To the nearest funeral home
Cause no one ever put us under loves dome
Ding ding ding we have a winner
Obviously the one without a ring on their finger
Forever alone because others see them as a sinner
When all they're trying to do is get another night's dinner
22 years from now we'll all be middle aged
Stuck in a job wanting to be uncaged
The worlds resources steadily going down the drain
An we're all stuck on a one way train
To hell or up above
That's when you wish you'd just been born a dove
Life's quite tough don't be late
It seems today is quite an important date
Though you've already come so far
One day you'll be crying in a bar
Thinking about your past when it was so easy
Every day the wind was cool and breezy
And you were swinging and climbing up every tree
I remember what it used to be
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
You made a cage out of
your rules and your ideals.
You picked me up
and you locked me in it.
I’m caged.
I’m slaved.
And I’m lost.
BUT
You can cage my body,
not my thoughts.
You can dictate my actions,
but you can’t manipulate my mind.
You can exert harass my body,
but you can’t compel my soul.
Your cage can’t tame this free spirit.
Your cage is too small for these huge wings.
So, I will break free
and fly into the open.
And I will Fly high
as high my dreams go.
And before you know,
I would already be flying way high for you to reach.
Finally, the cage is broken.
I’m free.
I’m alive.
And I’m Un-Caged
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
How far can we fall
from the edge of a whisper
suspended above molten desires
dangling from a single breath
escaping through fragile fingers
pressed against
a reflection of lips
piercing the swollen silence
in words that belong to you
I am paused in patient syllables,
a hum on the tip of your tongue
searing the wings of uncaged secrets
spilled from your eyes upon my skin
sliding in the hush of immaculate worship,
in this ritual of discovery
an unyielding hunger,
your hands unravel passages
confessed in intimate testaments,
stained in your fingerprints,
translating the map of my body
in minutes that pass too soon.
Cradle my thighs in an estrus of dreams,
bathe my release in the burning hours,
drenched in the silk of lilac orchids
soft petals from your eyes,
leave a trail from flesh to soul
for lips to taste the jasmine-laced crave
softly veiling the naked lust
caged behind these sapphire windows
gazing into the depths of your reign,
I am stranded in exile
awaiting the guidance of moonlight
translated in the stroke of your fingertips
that brand my flesh yours
And, in that place,
Ours..
I reveal every sacred secret,
exposed and shivering
beneath your body ascending
upon the ****** truth of me,
beneath these sheets of midnight silk,
tangled in translucent urgencies
unfolding into a delicate intimacy
that preludes this savage awakening
so restless to adorn your primal sting
in a deluge of my body to your parchment,
scribe me spent in the ink of your resonant whispers
how far can we fall....from the edge
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
Bear with a sore head
Takes coyote on post haste
Bore v. Trickster tried
Hung court just verdict
Bought ideologically
Branded! Brig banished
Like Guantanamo
Force fed on stale chalk
Red glib ref to beasts
Totalists with clubs
Tabulate ***** ad hoc
Bring shame to beating
When stops suicide?
Noble savage survives best
Practice leads young straight
Where head caravans?
Lossless nomads swim through sand
To moor oases
Connect with bazaars
Extra-exponential rock
Scissors paper cuts
Exacto-knifed sharp
Cards tabled until sure things
Made deals pay upfront
Cold hard confidence
Wannabe men drive sweet game
Put all together
Touch trumps tears takes no prison
Uncaged roam space free
Our place ancients planned
Body mind spirit heart team
Here earth *** soils worms
Compost ground debris
Bred sustenance seeds rich peat
Brings about the end
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
The bear puts both arms around the tree above her
And draws it down as if it were a lover
And its chokecherries lips to kiss good-by,
Then lets it snap back upright in the sky.
Her next step rocks a boulder on the wall
(She’s making her cross-country in the fall).
Her great weight creaks the barbed wire in its staples
As she flings over and off down through the maples,
Leaving on one wire tooth a lock of hair.
Such is the uncaged progress of the bear.
The world has room to make a bear feel free;
The universe seems cramped to you and me.
Man acts more like the poor bear in a cage,
That all day fights a nervous inward rage,
His mood rejecting all his mind suggests.
He paces back and forth and never rests
The me-nail click and shuffle of his feet,
The telescope at one end of his beat,
And at the other end the microscope,
Two instruments of nearly equal hope,
And in conjunction giving quite a spread.
Or if he rests from scientific tread,
’Tis only to sit back and sway his head
Through ninety-odd degrees of arc, it seems,
Between two metaphysical extremes.
He sits back on his fundamental ****
With lifted snout and eyes (if any) shut
(He almost looks religious but he’s not),
And back and forth he sways from cheek to cheek,
At one extreme agreeing with one Greek
At the other agreeing with another Greek
Which may be thought, but only so to speak.
A baggy figure, equally pathetic
When sedentary and when peripatetic.
1.9k
Leave it for a day and the world forgets you exist. Not all followers, mind you, but most. Over 4,000 followers on Twitter and they'll retweet the latest tweet only. Most won't ask "Where's Kendra? Is she ok?" They won't go through my archives of posted poems to read or find some kinship. No. Only the latest & greatest, thank you very much.
Is it my poetry? Does it throw people off? Is it because I don't constantly write about erotica & flaming *** Is it because I discuss domestic violence like an uncaged soul? Or is it merely the beast of social media, itself? These questions I often ask myself.
I suppose it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself. Perhaps that isn't too far from the truth.
Not to put myself on some pedestal. I do the same thing. I simply find it sad. Thousands of poems posted between here, Twitter, blogs, etc. and it all goes unnoticed - except the latest one posted. Surely I'm not the only who feels this way but it wouldn't be the first time if I am.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
in the glare of space and light
she feels a terrifying fright
but soon her cramped wing
brushing aside the fencing
***** the wind into it
her little breast heartbeat
pumps all blood into vein
so they never hear her tweet again.
she flies not far
when the blaze swoops on her
and night's chill turns her into dust!
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
age extending by the severity of my mistakes
i am nothing but the hours I stay awake
everyone seems to know who they are
cutting jagged outlines of their personality with
cardboard boxes
friends afraid of waking up, diplomas in hand, graduating
but I am worried of staying up, stuck in this timeframe
watching lovers and childhood friends growing into
unrecognizable bodies
days becoming strange hellos and
short conversations
I imagine trees swaying
as if they are dancing to the sound of cars passing by
and I imagine looking at stars is a two way street
wishes being made from both sides of the cosmos
I imagine hope to be universal
and I imagine stray cats holding as much freedom
as the uncaged birds they gaze upon
both, hoping to be found
will I ever know the struggles of a man?
the loneliness of a stray?
the burden of a clock?
will I ever find my place in the Red Sea?
I sit unable to ask anyone this question,
no one understands.
--
it is 4:43 am
I am waiting to grow into an age I can look back at my life
and explain everything by saying
"I was a child"
and everyone will nod.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
John Berryman is dead
all his invitations, rescinded
unlikely as it seems, Pound has not been uncaged
and Pisa remains uncovered by the summer's sky
John Berryman is dead
his cantos have, indeed shaken my courage
expressions have been lifted
and letters signed and delivered
John Berryman is dead
it seems he did not die at too slow a rate, after all
the Washington Avenue Bridge spoke too quickly
and too loud, whispered in his father's voice
John Berryman is dead
released all his demons and avoided all his devils
grieve for this stranger, made friendly and strange
the bells sing too late
John Berryman is dead
bones go all the same all the same
accept our envy O winner of praise
sing your dreams dead poet
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 10:00 AM UTC
The blue-green ocean
spreads out like a fan
before us
our dry, sand imbedded
feet approach
we are timid birds -
uncaged
fearful of the gait
of our shadow
but sand is forgiving
and we step
inch by inch towards
the water
we are so close
that I can taste
the salt
brown seaweed
sticking to my
naked soles
what did we come
here for?
I wanted to see the sun
reflected on a liquid
mirror
I wanted to forage
and find
treasure
but we are stolen
by the waves
carried out across
the shore
we are made
of yesterday's
passion
our bare skin
wrinkling
with age
we have found
nothing but
ourselves
hopeless drifters, now
unclothed, unhinged
and tethered to
the tide
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
My favorite pursuit of happiness
is to recite the enchanting verses from the beauteous Quran.
To be lost in its splendor.
To Mesmerize myself with its grandeur.
Breath with pure sublimity.
I can wipe out my woes and blues.
And rise to the majestic heights of glee,
like an uncaged eagle who soared to be free.
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
.
So fresh his face,
Nutmeg and ginger
Like mine. I made
Apologies for being,
Being late.
He was more than
Kind, so mannered
Like minded, unwild,
Not unpredictable,
Like my ex.
In the cafe, earthy
Smells wafted at me,
Hints of loss, of sad
Things unsaid, wet
Piney black hair.
Black hair and blue
Unfathomable eyes,
Eyes of a lad I miss,
A wildness uncaged,
Once caging me.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
The most momentous utterance that has ever summoned forth an alteration escaped from his lips.
The room forgot its dimness as if the attribute had never previously existed.
Each syllable bombarded their surroundings in waves of brilliant neon.
Each percussionary word collaborated with the next to create a rhythm remembered by only two.
This unforeseen ballad to avoid embarking on Sisyphus' task.
This single verse sang by the jester to relieve Orsino's passions.
A battle song of beating drums being pounded by a racing heart.
A lullaby in remembrance of the warm pillow where her head once rested in soft slumber.
A requiem for the dying desires breaking through their cages behind her eyes.
The most momentous bravery that has ever required assistance was gasped into her lungs.
A dimness crossed her face following the shadow of her hand.
The room erased the color from each syllable that he had previously uttered.
Each syllable became a tiny vacuum attempting to pull the air from within her.
Each chiming tear collaborated with the next to create a rhythm remembered by only one.
This unforeseen ballad was a spell to repel erotes.
This single verse sang by Phaeton to Zeus in his last breath.
A battle song of once intact dreams being beaten by a false heart.
A lullaby in remembrance of the warm heart that put her mind at rest.
A requiem for the dying innocence uncaged for all to see.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
Friendship is wings
Unstrung and uncaged to fly
Even when it's dark
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
Shalom
you said
but Fay's father
ignored you
on the stairs
of the block of flats
you were only trying
to make peace with him
because of Fay
but he wasn't
buying into any Jewism
as he termed it
forgetting that
his Jesus said head
of his Catholic Church
was a Jew himself
but that was
another matter
so you let him go
on his way
up the stairs
humming some
Latin hymn to himself
later seeing Fay
on the way
to the grocer's shop
through the Square
she said her father
had forbidden her
to even talk with you
(the Jew Boy
he had said)
but she knew it was
impossible even
if she wanted to
which she didn't
despite the risk
she ran in seeing you
or talking with you
I only said shalom to him
you said
she frowned
it means peace
you said
I could have said
something else to him
less friendly
she smiled weakly
best say nothing
she said
o.k
you said
so you walked with her
to the grocer's shop
across the road
and along to the grocer's shop
by the newspaper shop
where they had
The Three Musketeers book
in the window
which you wanted
to buy at sometime
and you showed her
the book and the cover
with a picture
of three musketeers
sword fighting
and you walked on
to the grocers
and she bought
what was on her list
and you got
what your mother
had written
on a small scrap of paper
and afterwards you said
how about a penny drink
at the Penny shop?
and she looked anxious
and said
not sure Dad said
not to linger around
well don't linger
you said
but have a drink
and we can sit
by the wall outside
and see the world go by
and sip our drinks
she hesitated
but then said
o.k
so you took her
to the Penny shop
and bought two bottles
of penny pop
and sat outside
by the wall
your shopping bags
beside you
the morning sun
blessing your heads
and she talked
of the nuns
at her school
how strict they were
but one she said
was kind
and taught her
the Credo in Latin
word by word
and you sat
listening to her
and she sitting there
momentarily free
like an uncaged
song bird.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
there is a part of me that
chases, clamors for, craves your touch
(soft, steady, gentle or far too much)
a stubborn/reckless fraction
of an imperfect whole;
yearning to cage the still uncaged,
to catch myself a lost angel.
but your heart is too fragile,
too precious and too complicated
(untarnished and unremonstrated)
and my grasping fingers, they
would leave smudges and stains
handprints upon a handkerchief
****** white in this world of ink.
you are not a blank canvas
that tempts one into leaving a mark
(writing my name, my love on your skin);
you are a finalised masterpiece,
every line perfection,
and to change, covet or chain you
would be the highest blasphemy.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
You're looking at this poem,
Thinking I'm lonesome,
Or perhaps you're thinking I'm in love,
Though truly, I'm free as an uncaged dove.
Then why would I say I'm loving someone?
Truly, I'm writing this for you lovers, or just anyone.
My heart's been cold and dry for a while,
So this won't make me smile,
But here's hoping you'll give your heart a test-run,
Maybe find a loved one.
Have more success than I ever will,
Tell someone you'll love them even if the world ends, still.
Find a place in their heart,
Swear you'll never be apart.
Never let go of their hand,
As if your wrists are bound, you're sinking in your love's quicksand.
A brilliant drowning,
Minutes you'll never be counting.
You won't give up; promise me that,
Though writers are heartbroken, give your heart a door mat.
Let someone in the door,
You'll never need anything more.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
She came covered in satin-silk hair,
Displayed by rainbowed Ray's;
A visage of God's awe,
And wing's that flew uncaged.
I kneweth her once afore,
In the natural form of grace;
The welkin's own, a soul I've
Known, regalia clase.
O' athwart twas I,
That seized her
Breath, the
Roaring sky's o'er
Happiness. She tucked
Her head, into mine chest;
As the rest played out
As a utopian scene.
Twas not a dream,
Or drug induced
Illusion, some get
Amour confused
With the devil's
Confusion, though we
Art an infusion;
Two antediluvian
Specter shades,
Her color is yellow
For the sun, mine is blue;
From the deepest of water's,
And the river of life
Out of God's throne
I pulled Jane through.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
Here I am
Drifting like a feather
In the cool licked breeze
Under the pale moon of night
Where I may go
Only the winds know
I sway and soar
Like a dove in flight
Rising and falling
Like a phoenix in everlasting rebirth
Silently I drift
Drifting in the winds sorrow
Becoming one with the voices of the wind
Whispering to me there graceful, silent cries
Only wanting to be heard
But those who know to drift
Like a feather
To become one with the wind
To sway and be free like a bird uncaged
Will know the songs and silent cries
Of the wind.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
When eyesight dims and hearing fades,
when even memory wanders,
then the griefs and pains of age
might prompt one to fly yonder.
Our sister, Maya, was great of soul
and wears this cage no longer.
Her wondrous words still sing to us
if we but stop and ponder.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
catch some rays
where the sun blaze
on the **** days
I'm Moses
where can I flee
between the red sea
Egyptian army
are behind me
sink into a deckchair
boulder inside my chest
dancing with a feet bare
on a sandy beach, I know I'm very blessed
tranquil waters
let me be uncaged
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 11:36 PM UTC