"uncelebrated" poems
There was something wrong with the sky today
in the melancholy cold September sun.
Frost sculpted clouds hung in the empty blue,
bereft, uncelebrated
The swallows are gone.
No more exalting
in our wet summer
unfettered by earthbound grumbles:
now they scythe the skies
to Africa
leaving us completely behind.
A white-spattered woodshed -
over-bold insects -
and perhaps
the promise of return.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Elegant necklaces never hugged her soft neck
Fingers were never adorned by fancy rings
A crown never rested on top of her hand
But, regal was she
A frame which never nestled on a velvet throne
Hands never touched a sacred scepter
The finest fabrics never worshipped her skin
But, regal was she
Her feet never walked on a grand castle
Never had the servants, soldiers, countrymen bowed in her presence
A name never honored by anyone
But, regal was she
Dressed in homely clothes
Immaculate beauty concealed by the dark
An existence made from gold
She was the queen of my heart
If they only knew.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
As you gazed across the room,
My eyes caught your lingering stare,
To a woman who was not me,
Both not seeing, unaware.
Like a giddy school boy, I watched,
As she asked about your day,
Standing in disbelief,
Sensing this was wrong in every way.
My stomach hit the floor that day,
Followed closely by my heart,
Sadly not realizing,
This was only just the start.
Never enough, too much,
Imperfect in every way,
Wanting to run, scream, hide,
Like a coward, I choose only to stay.
Birthdays uncelebrated,
No tinsel on the tree,
This union isn't working,
The fault is always me.
Lousy cook, deplorable housekeeper,
No tiger in bed,
Tears stream down my face,
From words uttered & ones left unsaid.
Listen up 'gentle' men,
This shouldn't come as a surprise,
The true beauty of a woman,
Does not in fact lie between her thighs.
Love her laugh, her heart,
her smile,
Value these things,
& she may just stay awhile.
Don't win her over with baubles & bling,
court her with fancy dinners,
These mean nothing.
Write her a poem,
Leave her a letter,
These are the honey, gold, & nectar.
Moments shared, hands held,
A warm hug, a gentle touch,
These are the things of true value,
These are the things we all want so much.
Forgive me if my honesty
Isn't quite on trend,
But truth be told, what this world need more of,
Isn't lovers,
But ride or die friends.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Do we really know how often
We love?
Not the right man or the right woman,
But the beautiful souls that illuminate our way
No matter how scared we get.
No matter how lost.
Oh, that honest love left uncelebrated,
Just because it is not the love that everyone talks about!
Not all great loves are the romantic ones!
Some of them grow in the forgiven silence of a tear
In the patience that harbors the unspoken questions
Just knowing that at the right time
answers will come.
That’s also Love.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
Lost in an unfamiliar home, deep inside a book
In the comforting glow of that lamp that stood...
Standing to attention in that gloomy nook
The words jumbled & spun on that page
So I slammed shut the book
Above me burned a coil of tungsten
Blazing bright
White
And from it
Every angle burst its miracle of light
Beams/ waves destined for far off places
But shackled by the shade
Mocked by the tasselled trim
Harnessed by the braid
My mind wanders...
It is a marvel of our age
That we choose to create lamps so bright that they need a shade
That they need to be shaded
Those lamps can't shine so bright
For without the shade the dark won't creep in and we wouldn't be aware of the night.
I step outside
Into that night
Shadows cast by the city street lights
Down that dank alley
Lives an uncelebrated man
In a tattered box with faded damp
Barely noticed
Camouflaged
To most he's just another jaded *****
If only they could see
He
They
We
Individually tailor the shade for our lamp
Privately (inside translucent shields) we all burn bright.
Shaded by fear and notions of what's wrong and right
Right and wrong
Wrong and right
Creations of those that had the strength to fight
Not by the humbled, battered and bruised
Too shaded to raise a blazing revolutionary fist
Too fractured, hungry and confused
Afraid of the attention caused from cries for any justice
Instead
Inside my head
I imagine I have my own bed
A good book
An cosy reading chair
And a lamp standing to attention with its thousand-yard stare
Staring out to the ever rising seas
Cometh the great submerging eviction
Mass migrations fleeing war, famine & filthy camps
Oceans rise and tears fall with whispered benediction
How many of you will become degraded tramps
But we just keep insisting that it is farflung fiction
Back to my box and its faded damp
Silhouettes of four impatient horses appear on an windswept horizon.
This false paradise we live in with its twisted ergonomics?
Should we really sit and wait for the catastrophes to appear?
Surely we are collectively able to create a smarter economics?
Or is it just easier continuing to accept living in fear?
Because when all is accounted for
All the pros and cons have been weighed
What matters most
Is not the brightness of your lamp
But your choice of shade.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
Clear Skies Vanilla
is the only soft serve
on the days we have no clouds
and none can be seen
floating on our horizons
it is our seasonal choice
that we wish could come
all year long,
could be as predictable
as Pumpkin Spice in October
or Eggnog in December
even uncelebrated Baseball-Nut
springs up at the right time.
If only our skies could
be the layers of a sundae--
a limited selection
that always comes down to
hot fudge, nuts,
with a defrosted cherry on top--
then our decisions
would be made for us
we could never
be wrong.
Instead we deliver
Icy Thundery Blueberry BubbleGumy hard serve
on those days--
too complicated to understand
too unwilling to shorten their title
too difficult to be simply BlueGumTuesday
because the sky,
too mixed up to be...Blue.
We raise our scoop
for each serving to dish out--
with them we learn our taste
what calms our nerves
and how to evaporate the rain,
because when we get
to have those cloudless days
we'll have the day
to be flavorful.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 4:24 AM UTC
A precious moment is lost
As it’s chosen to be unnoticed,
Uncelebrated for what it’s worth,
In pursuit of the next moment.
And it reflects upon something else
How wings flapped could cause wonders,
A greater joy is lost in sequel.
So choose not to ignore the moment,
This, now is important,
This, now, should be thought upon,
This, now, should be acted upon,
For once it goes, never would come
And thoughts for it would only remain.
Go slow, why do you rush,
It’s life that you are speeding through,
You won’t reach anywhere better
Because the end is just the end.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
Art is discovery
Creativity
Entertainment
It's the stoke of a brush
The wisp of a pen
The sweep of a leg
The peloton in motion
The touch of a key
What is an artist?
One who seeks
Beauty and beyond
Who celebrates
The uncelebrated
Who breaths excitement
Into the ordinary
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
there's no couching this effort...
celluloid film jitteriness of memory...
akin to a centipede thrumming
about a dank cellar.
i can not vacuum this stead...
with mind over matter...you
are It...the holy of holies afforded me.
noteworthy, and uncelebrated...we are--
as far's love's itemized.
incommunicado, and legendary--
our poetic licenses bestowed upon
one another...years would go where they
go...and concerned parties would head-butt
the genesis/apocalypse of our Go...minus been.
my love's no recourse to lovelessness...
(for you...that is) for...i'm drawn to a
picture, picturing overexposure.
Hardening, hard, and harder times felled
atop us...now help me lift.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
ONE STAR
lifted mast high
how it dolls up
the lonely sky
as i lumber over my terrace
while the dusk breeze in
envisage some analogy
between that single star
and this forlorn lover
waiting since forever
for a mere touch
of his mere fingertip
just how this luminary
waits to be embraced
by the angelic moon
so i close my eyes
let my hand
run over my hair
while the flashes
of an uncelebrated goodbye
make me unair them
and look up to find
TWO STARS
lingering in the sky
alone, yet not so alone
cherishing the entity of other
more than its own
i shut my eyes again
a gentle wind
vibrates through my veins
as i beseech
for their togetherness
THREE STARS
i look up and find
FOUR STARS
FIVE STARS
and all at once
about a THOUSAND STARS
gets the sky
a fresh lease of life
and gets me into
the swing of moment
now when i look back on
the blank sky
much like my barren life
this eventuality somehow
aids my hope.
#Stars #Brokendreams #revitalize
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
I believe that
Memories turn on themselves.
Just like the subconscious.
It takes what you don't want
To think about
Flips it
Skews it
Presents itself in a most appealing
Adam and Eve type manner
Then pulls it away.
This is for hands left unheld
For days left uncelebrated
For calls not made
Words not spoken
Dreams not lived
Tears shed when no call came at midnight.
Tears shed.
This is for falling down
That spiral that you swore
Was not for you
Too bad you don't get a choice.
Tick tick tick
Time is slipping
You're wasting time
Can't you see that time is
Melting through your fingers,
Falling through the cracks because of
The heat that pounds down on you
And your uselessness, your waste.
Your memories will turn eventually.
They were once shiny and new.
Appealing. Hopeful.
Now, they crumble like
Decrepit walls, abandoned homes,
Like hands left unheld.
Blowing away in the wind,
Nothing but ash.
Something so beautiful turned to
Something so, so hated.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 11:13 PM UTC
morning sun is brightly shining, but,
in the dark, is where i am,
protesting,
there is a war going on.
changes are seen, felt,
happening to me and around me.
they are unacceptable this very moment
i am bound by something that rebels in my innermost.
this questions my faith in myself,
my capabilities.
am i languishing?
deteriorating?
is this just a respite?
could i have been blinded?
is something being painted before my very eyes
that fails to penetrate this weary mind of mine?
why is it that, at the same time,
A passive countenance,
a vacuum...accosts me...
there's this sting,
a biting feeling,
it goes on pricking,
puncturing my chest,
because it has been
realized and accepted:
i haven't strayed that far from
I, Me, Myself,
so obvious, in this written piece...
no thoughts
except those of inadequacy...
dwell in my mind
they dry up my throat
as I leaf through trivial pages,
going through each phase of life,
where I find myself surrounded
by things I've taken for granted
people I've thought of as uncelebrated...
thoughts are shallow,
the mind is narrow...
compunction floats in the air
merges with the winds of sensitivity
that blows against my reeling body.
then I come across a well of words
that further stir my already troubled mind
thoughts that pierce my eyes, and
my heart to the core,
shattering my complacency
into pieces,
my numbed awareness,
is now more awakened...
this vessel doesn't offer much,
it is wanting, asking
for more compassion
it is just half-filled...
ineptitude is admitted
and acknowledged...
a cloak is thrown over my head,
a last-ditch effort,
to shroud my now enlightened mind...
but, these awakenings make me quiver...
i need another kind of mantle,
light and transparent,
to hide myself from shame
to shield my poor threadbare soul...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
The night when the purple people landed
I recollect I was brushing my pearly whites
one popped out of nowhere shoved a probe up my ***
a handshake would have truly sufficed
I leaped bolt upright from the basin
and shouted ****** hell, do you mind
she said you just carry on
then slapped my cheeks mumbling how tight and firm
They walked through walls
no one was safe
they made themselves a public nuisance
but none would ask them to ****** off
well who would really
knowing what they might do
I am sure no one liked the purple sods
taking such liberties thinking themselves gods
Then a plan was hatched
to rid these uncelebrated people
for no more would they probe
where no man could go
so we invited them to Mac Donald's
knowing all the purple people would choke and die
they ate some cheese burgers even fillets of fish and fries
and before they got to their ships all did die, and none did fly
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
****
If cupid’s arrow found me, maybe then I would’ve known,
The unspoken poetry that lingered in my head,
Will fade in silence, forever left unsaid.
If Cupid’s arrow found me, maybe then you would’ve asked me
***
parallel valentines never get to touch
held the words as the letters hush
as we danced in the quiet to the echos of your heart in mine
spaces between our fingertips never intertwine
handcuffed, blinded in hindsight
but your soothing mythical kisses hold me tight
escape reality, into ambivalence prose
unveiled morning, I will love you until I decompose
enduring this serene adoration
nothing else wanted, you're my occupation
brown depths look into mine
exploring the treasured island send chills down my spine
****
hold me close for an
uncelebrated celebration
that's all it's been for me
simply it's all that it'll ever be
By: Zoulaikha
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 5:15 AM UTC
In a tragic of despair
that she could espy of something unseen
but what I know now in the nowhereness of triumph is the oblivion that’s long forsaken . My mother, the earth , has loved the truth of my words . My mother of memories, where my intricate roots embedded in her many wombs , with her,
my mother who is the mind to my soul, with her crystal teeth, puncturing the veins of my spirit, I am uncured from the illness of illusion.
with the love that is filled with the sickness of the cerebral ;
that every nerves, they only now yearn to forget, to erase, to delete,
what should never end , will ;
of those forward to ,
is like catching light,
my mother's arms, wrapping my dead body,
for that great freedom that ought demands
but now encountered swords that I see no farther onward impulse stirr'd,
from every dew-drop in this sequestered heart.
it inculpates the soul’s wigwam,
to love , that is unpure
powered of perception ;
for me , do so as what say I
the abyss will never know -- without noise, bad field of unfamiliarity, to create the creation of layers, layers of spectre, phantasm, apparition;
I exorcise & exterminate this being of nothingness, name that is uncelebrated ; & be merrily skipping in their long farewell,
you gave your face , I gave mine
& there shall be a bow of
hypothesis, musings, mirage
I inject, dementia
trying responsibly to digest over
my own ignis fatuus
/
there will be hanging gardens
the commotion of untendered bones
down beneath your cloaks,
knowing sympathy, to bully an empathy
death come, came & in repeat
through the lullaby of Antioch,
sorrow wholly unexpected, in scarcely discernable; but far descried
black winged demon vanished through the chested barrier of feelings, when justice lynchings in the centre of my core,
twixt vows, where from descended upon myself alone, indecent, in deep scrutiny —
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC