"unconscionable" poems
It was a marathon race of
timeline. The days are bound and shot.
How do I come to you to express
my grief of the country
in tumult!
In shouting and screaming,
there was no magic wand to invoke
peace. Your mouth opens
and shuts like the shell valves. The
scollops― words, swim in
sea of burials.
The seriality was unconscionable.
It falls short of a stroke.
The blood splits. A riot erupts
to wet the lips of curved razor.
The sun retreats, to let
the stars find their sky.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
*To you, love was about multitudes
To me, love was inordinate
“I love you” I would say
“How much” you would ask
-Lang Leav
You like specifics, you like to hear
How much I do, how much I can
But darling, my love is inordinate
I couldn’t quantify, it’s too lavish
Sometimes unconscionable
And multitudes is never enough
If you ever ask me again
I’ll ask you to count the star
On every galaxy
Until you loses track
I’ll ask you to count every grain of sand
On every ocean floor
Until you ran out of numbers
I’ll ask you to listen to my heartbeat
On every second of the day
Until the infinite of infinities ends
And if ever you asked me again
Of how much I love you
That’s my definition of “how much”*
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
Vark sonder gehee
gloed van verspeelde perels
iemand se waansin
Unconscionable
glossary of wasted Pearl's
a swines glory
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 10:35 AM UTC
"I don't know her.
I've seen her;
A strong spectre of absolute femininity and a lingering presence so strong, that all things thereon.. revolved unto the centrepiece of her clear, imperfect, overwhelming and sinking magnitude.
The fortitude..
She's the most beautiful women I've ever seen.. and no, not that kind of beauty. Well, It could've been..
She has a darkness to her, so captivating; so dense that all article in her cense is stalled in mesmerising silence and anticipation for the next fleeting beat of her beautiful heart.. for the next pacing glaze that would tear me apart, along the horizon of mere "things" in her shade, as she looks around and so passionately drowns the world in awe.
The charm that she'd bestow..
When I first saw her, my heart stopped, literally, only to -and out of grave deafness, explode as if it has been beating 'cross an infinite expanse of scapes compressed in the swiftness of a second.. boom!
'cross the room..
Suddenly, the void that consumed out of me the very sorry existence that I am, failingly so distant to her proximity, exploded like a rose bursting into bloom.. exploding no less, from pale tasteless petals to mindblowing extravagance.
I don't love her, I admit. I don't even know how to begin to fathom such an implosion of utopian lust for the hazel green distance in her eyes, let alone love her. She might be a man-eater, in disguise, for all the possibilities of things likely.. She is, however unattainable, perhaps my greatest unembarked adventure; my Odyssey. Not so, perhaps, my greatest... the one other dream she, still that I of another kiss.. a bliss.. an even greater adventure, nonetheless.. but a rhythm for another rhyme; another prose for another time.
This.. She's ancient unconscionable forbidden bliss for the morbid spirit that I am, enchanted with sweetness and love. Volatile like wildfire, she has the world entwined in the gypsy black waves of unconstrained dreams.
But that wasn't her, who lingered back in my head... The residence was of another.. I saw her once, in my seems.. my truest endeavours for a place that screams for relentless torture behind sweet jagged beams of black light on black.
I don't love her, I reassure, nor am I in love with another. I'm taken by her like a leaf is in a storm. I am home. She's death in a green hazed gaze, for those of you who didn't figure it out by now."
A.r. Bazian
Nov 8th, 2015
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
We are wronged by people daily,
but to not forgive is unconscionable.
The Universal King had died for all;
for in eternity's view, we're pardonable.
He has given absolute amnesty
to everyone who has accepted Him.
Make no mistake about this unmerited immunity -
Grace's favor (over the course of Life) wears thin.
Death is inevitable, and our spirits
this mortal frame will leave;
so take advantage of God's condonation
to be granted a heavenly reprieve.
Human lives hang in limbo
under the penalty of death;
speak kindly of others and refrain...
From another wasted breath.
Author Notes:
Condonation is a real word: you can see more about it at:
http://www.m-w.com/cgi-bin/dictionary?book=Dictionary&va;=condonation
Since I believe in the Christ's resurrection, His death is in the past tense.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 11:18 AM UTC
abjectness is a form of inroads
toil the Woodlands Trust
all hail no coppiced beeches,
my first sighted R.S.P.B Avocet
the perplexed scale comparable
to competing blank stares,
endorphins withstanding,
clueless and unconscionable
instinctual pomposity
suffers Nature's either
way.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
This lonely container; used to interact and circumnavigate
the complexities of this earth, of this land, and of this temporary place.
To meet, mesh, mold, and communicate mentally and physically with other
fleshly canisters on this ride, this trip, this journey.
Then emotion is what our essence does, the spirit of us that resides within,
Yearning to unite with the ethereality of another, to bind with their intangible magnitude.
Loneliness connotes desolation, void, and emptiness; the heart weeps longing to fuse,
There is unconscionable comfort in reaching an island in twain, not in singularity.
Though these receptacles oft give us fleeting tastes of satisfaction,
It is yet impermanent and fulfills the hasty need of our lust in the interim.
Yet when we make exquisite LOVE to one another,
Our vessels dance whilst our souls provide the music, the dance floor, and the ambience.
We were made to be together,
And I love our fit.
ChawzzyScript
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Omigod, Donald T. ****
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.
It’s not enough for you
To have gold water faucets,
Crystal mirrors everywhere
And marble floors in closets
Now you want to play at
Being a savvy politician
Stands for Christian principles
From the missionary position.
Omigod, Donald T. ****
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
With a changing cast of women
You call your lawful wives.
And you’re the one who wants
To control our very lives?
You utter your vituperation
At poor and the non-Christian.
Is having the world hate you
Part of your final mission?
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.
You also want control of
Our country’s financial hopes.
If we fall for that stupid tale
Then we are a nation of dopes
Because you have bankrupted
More than the Monopoly game
Would allow a toddler to have
And that is quite a shame.
Omigod, Donald T. ****
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.
No, Mr. T **** please do
What is proper and fitting;
Call up the press and say
That you are finally quitting.
Tell them you were just testing
To see what the others would do.
So, kiss our collective ***** goodbye
And take with you that dumb hairdo.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
You idiots!
You unconscionable poltroons!
Your minds have the intelligence
Of helium filled balloons!
You had a chance to save us
But when it came down to the wire
You chose to let a circus clown
Win the race and play with fire.
Who could know you have learned
Nothing at all from before
When you elected those two morons
Run the show while you snored?
Who could guess that people who
Claim to be so Christian and good,
Would act like from the ears up
They were made entirely of wood?
You imbeciles!
Do you not see what you have done?
You chose a man who seems to think
Lying and embezzling are great fun.
You did not choose the candidate
With experience and knowledge;
You chose the guy who swindled those
Who signed up for his bogus college!
Millions of us with wisdom predicted
This man who praises Vladimir Putin
Would want to start World War Three
Because he is so fond of shooting!
He thinks, without a bit of experience,
He can simply put on another act
And all the rest of the world will
See his mad delusions as facts.
You chowderheads!
You have sold your country out!
Later when it all falls apart
You'll blame someone else and pout.
Now you cheer and chant USA,
And pretend you are so ****** brave
The rest of us fear for the world
And hope there is something to save.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
Caregiver,
You came into our family
As a river of hope.
Ever flowing, always there,
Providing loving care,
So we could cope.
Caregiver,
You became an uncaring taker.
With your undue influence
You spent her money
On your own selfish wants.
Under false pretenses, you dragged her along daily,
Using her vehicle for your own personal errands.
Like a foe you fought our family
As we became wise to your machinations.
And when your goose was finally cooked,
Your last act was to vandalize in secret,
Leaving her heart broken.
Oh, Uncaring Taker,
How unconscionable were your actions.
How hateful you became.
Why were you this way?
How I would like to make you pay,
But it's her wish to leave it this way.
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 9:53 PM UTC
The trains are always making me late.
Stoplights blink red.
Spend eternity here.
Feel the ground shake.
Make my legs tremble.
Feel tremor take my bones
railroad-hostage.
Watch the wheels roll over steel tracks.
Think my body splayed out on top.
Wheels make ****** body, bare
all the teeth
crush and snap.
Inside becomes chewed up and spit out.
Think yet another unconscionable death.
Another way to make the body break
open, tear out everything leftover,
push it through the softened skin.
Think another coward’s thought.
Call it what it isn’t.
Call it growing pains.
Call it impulse.
Call it coping.
Think through all this passing
train-time.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
LOVE AND LOVERS (31)
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Chapter 31
All people live downstream.
The greatest rage is when you scream so loud you cannot hear the scream.
Danger has anger in it, tragedy rage.
Anonymity vitiates worth.
First, do no harm.
Second, do no harm.
Third, do no harm.
Fourth,....
Pills are now our pillows.
FORTUNE 500 vs. MISFORTUNE 7,000,000,000
Knowledge sees that all are different, wisdom that all are one.
You cannot hoard love.
We are ordained when the sun touches our brow.
Back in their hotel room, Bian sat down with Jon.
"You know, of course, Jon, that the poor and extremely poor of the world earn less than $2 a day. That's about one-in-four of all Citizens of Earth. Unconscionable!" Bian said.
"You know as well inequalities such as fewer rights and resources are primarily based on caste, gender, ethnicity, and tribal affiliation. Decades of civil war across the globe have exacerbated these injustices. Now violence on local levels has become
increasingly injurious. Hunger and malnutrition stunt the lives of billions, weakening their strength and energy while debilitating their immune systems making them all the more susceptible to illnesses that hinder or **** them.
"Moreover, without viable health-care systems--especially for mothers and children--illnesses like malaria, diarrhea, and respiratory infections can be fatal. Furthermore, pregnancy and childbirth can be death-dealing.
"Over two billion Citizens of Earth don't have access to clean water at home. Contaminated water leads, of course, to waterborne diseases. Poor water infrastructure abets this deleterious situation.
"The catastrophic climate crisis Earth is now enduring, say experts, will push more than 100 million people into poverty over the next decade."
Jon stood up and gave Bian a big hug and a sweet kiss.
Mr. Ly and his friends had many, many other friends, large groups of whom lived in every nation on Earth. All were anonymous and all were devoted to creating PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE.
Concomitantly, these groups discreetly followed Bian and Jon into the country the two had just left and began helping the poor: food, water, housing, health care, education--in any way they could.
Love is contagious.
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 12:46 AM UTC
the two of them
attached at the hip;
inseparable.
how strange to be
such opposites,
yet forced to live in the
same prison.
one was an insomniac, while the other slept 16 hours a day.
one was confident and able, nothing could bring her down.
the other faulted inside herself, with arms stretched above her, begging for a way up.
one was flowing thoughts and new ideas, with an unconscionable amount of energy.
the other thought obsessively, always in the negative, lacking the ability to even speak most days.
one was a stomach full of butterflies, terrified at the thought of dying.
the other spent her days, chest aching and empty, begging for each one to be her last.
so tell me, how do astronomical
glow
and insufferable
darkness
coincide accordantly?
they simply don’t
with each constantly afflicting the other,
the small prison in which they inhabit
is collapsing
falling into itself
soon to dissipate
until nevermore
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
step away,
to watch,
the sway,
the notch,
in your gun belt,
as you
pull the
trigger, quicker
the more liquor,
you imbibe,
become a tribe,
of misbegotten,
choices,
and the voices,
cheering
you on
to spawn,
a new life
form,
usually only found in a dorm at university known liverless unconscionable -
"capacity
to drink
alcohol
unknown"
©DWE102013
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Darkness in a room where I lay forever
Embodied by a world that guarantees
Nothing
So I'll lift spirits up and ask,
To trap me in a graceful heaven
Created by a simple unconscionable love.
And just as a last thought,
I'll laugh at my nightmare
And I'll strive to never be
A shadow in memories
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Times are tough. Just a puff. One moment of despair.
Just a hair on a razor's edge. Just one step off heaven's ledge;
I'll dangle, before my wings
smoke
and fall from my back.
Just a puff.
Wings are for saps.
("And it's done," he whispers. "Too late to turn back.")
One failure is unconscionable to the voice in my ear.
There's time yet for that.
There's time yet for that.
My mantra reminds me of that will that I lack.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
In this unconscionable soul rests a being
Void of knowledge, yet engaging in life
He has become stranded in his path
Nevertheless, he knows where to go, but reluctantly does not follow
The inability to stick with his logic has become a downfall
Blinded by the subtleness of repetition
He continues, unsurprised
Caught up in his unrequited lust for more
Sometimes, however, he finds truth in the greatest parts of his life
But instantly the figure appears, blinding
The figure haunts his memory
As dark as it is, he refuses to release it
Some unknown burden holds him closely
Entangled from years of darkness
Is it possible to even discover light?
Or is he eternally traveling with bloodless hands, outstretched in potential?
I find myself only able to whisper softly among the screams echoing in his head
Is it worth your life?
Without this burden you can truly find yourself
Can’t you see what it has made you?
Nothing more than a spec of dust in the ground
Worthless, beaten down by others
He placed himself in this state
Continuing to wander, as he desires
Hoping that in his brokenness he can bring life to something
The only influence he has is the darkness that consumes his soul
At one moment was change possible
Yet once again he has turned away
To find his worth in the loneliness of states
Unable to find redemption in his hollow face
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 9:10 PM UTC
Far beyond
The coming dawn
I sail through a purpose driven
Alert to any alarm
To avoid any harm
To this wonderous gift given
Sometimes the view aloft
Hard edges appear as soft
But be not fooled and pulled into its clutches
So many rail at how they fail
By seeking to curtail your ability to sail
That juggernaut of jealousy
Destroying all that it touches
Blind devotion
To a false emotion
Would leave them could they sail
With unconscionable fear
As beauty would appear
That to live sans purpose is alarming to know
That distance lost
When a life goes stale
Far beyond the view seen
Time awaits those caught between
The two worlds pulled together
Those reasons left behind
When closing down an open mind
Accepting with no knowledge that you had been bound down by thoughtless tether
Thinking with devotion
To your own trust and vision
Will sever the tether that bound down
Giving life to hope by simply accepting....
.... that it is
your own decision .
To be purpose driven
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC
An Unconscionable crime
To live and love without you
Sad now to realize
a slow ghost
has no claim on time
I guess you filled up
A tic on this point
A fallen to sleep limb
came back
pins and needles.
For me
Dismembered
A grave only
flowers to high altitudes
nose bleed trickles
proof in deep red death hue
paint to make a sad story sway
And a lengthy jilted tilted stare
dead love gives a look
Hard to bare
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
Would that Hestia were in the Oval Office instead of **** Trump.
There would be warmth emanating from the veritable center of our
democracy instead of cold, cruel uncaring. Ignorance and gross incompetence are reasons enough for me to throw literally this imbecile out of the Oval Office into the Rose Garden, then onto Pennsylvania Avenue. He alone will be singly responsible for millions of deaths of Americans who contracted the coronavirus, but died from the unconscionable inactions of **** Trump that in turn resulted in myriad medical supply shortages that would have saved untold American lives. Hestia was the Greek goddess of the hearth. Even if she was a mythological figure, she would have at least cared about the well-being of the citizens of any Greek agora.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 1:01 AM UTC
slipping in and out of an unconscionable haze
but drawing back into the dark; one phone call away.
after escaping into the bathroom to cover up the red, my eyes stare back, out of apparently my own head
unrecognisable i stare at the girl
who just one more year ago was loved and unsure
two hours later another call becomes another wave,
i cater myself a slave,
to the sadness on the other line
in this together but 930 kilometers away
there's not much i can do than to sit here and pray
not quite religious and little if no hope for a chance, i pray for your little p*** and heart,
to feel no pain for one more day.
i also pray for my message to reach you;
your incredible ways we couldn't have taught you
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
Boundless
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
Every day we whittle away at the essential solidity of him,
and every day a new sharp feature emerges:
a feature we’ll spend creative years: planing, smoothing, refining,
trying to find some new Archaic Torso of Apollo, or Thinker . . .
And if each new day a little of the boisterous air of youth is deflated
in him, if the hours of small pleasures spent chasing daffodils
in the outfield as the singles become doubles, become triples,
become unconscionable errors, become victories lost,
become lives wasted beyond all possible hope of repair . . .
if what he was becomes increasingly vague—like a white balloon careening
into clouds; like a child striding away aggressively toward manhood,
hitching an impressive rucksack over sagging, sloping shoulders,
shifting its vaudevillian burden back and forth,
then pausing to look back at us with an almost comical longing . . .
if what he wants is only to be held a little longer against a forgiving *****
to chase after daffodils in the outfield regardless of scores;
to sail away like a balloon
on a firm string, always sure to return when the line tautens,
till he looks down upon us from some removed height we cannot quite see,
bursting into tears over us:
what, then, of our aspirations for him, if he cannot breathe,
cannot rise enough to contemplate the earth with his own vision,
unencumbered, but never untethered, forsaken . . .
cannot grow brightly, steadily, into himself—flying beyond us?
Keywords/Tags: child, childhood, boy, son, growing up, maturation, puberty, adulthood, manhood, flight, flying, soaring
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:30 AM UTC
The massacres of our beautiful people must STOP.
It is unconscionable and unfair to destroy so many lives
For selfish, greedy and hatred reasons. God, in his archives,
Have recorded everything, which occurred, from top
To bottom, from sunset to sunrise, from the start
To the end. God knows what’s going on in every one’s heart.
God knows what took place in Cleveland, in Charleston,
In Santo Domingo, in Staten Island, in Sparta, in North Charleston
In Buffalo, in Texas, in New York, in Ferguson.
The Lord is fully aware of what has been going on.
The massacres of our beautiful siblings cannot go on.
The brutal and deadly violence against the innocents must cease.
Too many of our people are weeping, too many are deceased
From unnecessary gun violence. Too many have been unjustly executed.
Too many egregious mistakes have been made. We need to see a STOP
Put into this nightmare, this quagmire. We need an end to this flip-flop.
Human beings are suffering and dying. Let’s not apply a band-aid
On this humongous wound. Let’s do our best to provide appropriate aid
To our serious and minor problems. Real people are being killed,
School children, churchgoers and shoppers are being killed,
We are not fantasizing; we are obviously not at the movies.
Our People are real, with human flesh; they are not dummies,
They are not actors; they are not all guilty by association.
The massacre of our innocent people must stop in this nation,
In this state, in this borough, in this city, in this town, in this school,
In this cathedral, in this church and in this community pool.
The mental and physical slayings of our people must END.
All potential perpetrators must look in the sand
To find themselves, reverse the role, think of being
A potential victim of racism, bigotry, indiscriminate shooting,
Senseless firing, ignorance and all sorts of sins under the sun.
We need to defeat the negative feelings that are eroding the fun
That God had put in our soul, and are destroying our natural gift,
Which is to love our fellow men and women. Let the Spirit lift
Us to a higher ground, to a more sane and comfortable pasture.
Let’s be human again, and be stronger, kinder and more mature.
The slayings of our beautiful must be something in the past,
Some crazy events in history, some horrible times that must not last.
Let’s free ourselves from negative emotions, let’s be free at last.
Let’s not be silent, let’s speak, and let’s tell it like it is at last. Alas!
Copyright © July 21,2015 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 11:47 PM UTC
my dream
last night
had colours
that i had no name for
like they some times do
colour i just felt for
as my unconscionable brain reach for
to me it happens all the time
so i can tell you
yes artist dream in colour's *
that as yet *
nobody has a name for *
or if they do*
i have not heard it yet :-)
thank you for reading :-)
my surreal poem :-)
of how i dream. :-)
P U A L.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
This feeling,
A million tonnes pinning down my chest,
A heavy heart sagging lower
and lower and for what?
You owe me Nothing yet my clairvoyance crafts unconscionable debts,
like a parasite, it eats me alive from inside to out.
Blue
car left parked and a lie l o o s e l y laid
but the knot was not as strong ro save me from such crushing weight.
Heavier and HEAVIER as lights start to spark,
with waves crashing harder and HARDER against the busting barrier,
I lose
and all hell breaks loose,
and I crawl back unto the dark...
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 11:04 PM UTC