"unconsidered" poems
I think it’s important to make peace with your long line of perpetually confused and self-indulgent ancestry once grasping at and fumbling through a life at which they, preceding you, assumed they occupied the centre of and sought to prove this to mostly anyone, with rapacious might and puerile visions of their own success story, which no matter how successful would always only occupy the dark corners of their blood-successors’ historical records of themselves, which is to say you, adding them up with other people who were once important to them and stuffing them into some numerical equation on which they occupy the left, and you the right side of the equal-sign, but all of which exists in the vast and endless vicissitude of spinning void, of which you both (and us all) occupy some cosmic equivalence (and importance) of the universes stray skin-cell, somewhere on the foot perhaps, unconsidered and left alone until we all disappear into the casket of an unrecorded history.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
I've been thinking
about
the art of speaking
auditory rhythms
and the like
in my very personal
opinion
these audio utterances
so often used
by the population
have become
somewhat
like pollution
fogging gracelessly
over the small drops
of wisdom
uttered
in near silence
if you actually listen
you'll probably hear them
somewhere
under the blurtations
of the unconsidered
thoughtless thoughts
they're there.
If you listen
the art of quiet
uncovers many surprises
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 10:14 AM UTC
The poet tries
with her words
to create something new
something hitherto unconsidered,
unthought, unspoken
She rakes the dirt for language
that is inimitable and rare
Fighting her way out of
prosaic platitudes
Searching deliriously for
a sharp-edged jolt of ingenuity
that will
awaken and inflame
In this great pursuit of something
clever
to say,
she overcompensates,
birthing a few stanzas
of exaggerated hogwash that inspires
more dismay than satisfaction
Out the window
her poem goes
A little crumpled ball of melodrama
and stale cliché
Then the poet sits in silence
smoldering with displeasure
wanting nothing more than
to finally write something that
works
It is when, radiant with disappointment,
she relinquishes her fantasy of excellence
that the true
poem begins
With rosy wings and
eyes like screaming bullets
it sails forth to proclaim
to declare
to profess without apology
or contrition
the wildest truths of her
soul
It is out of this realm of
deflation and defeat that
true originality is bred
Just a murmur at first, just a glint,
but listen, listen as
it swells into an exquisite roar
and watch,
watch as it rises from
the decay of the past
to flare
in a new light
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
The wink of the moon is a forgiving description,
The locks of your hair, brittle and worn,
Every tomb you forebear has a decaying inscription,
Your empty touch can drive even the most stoic to mourn.
Unconsidered by nature, but naturally torn,
The weight you must bear is never applied,
Vengeful at your mention, and your destruction they've sworn,
With the strength of cyanide, but your effects shall never subside.
You keep your fair distance,
Through your eyes you see no favorite,
Sickness plagues all at your mere insistence,
You're a people watcher, a natural behaviorist.
I can't avoid or dismiss you my love,
But Death, my fair maiden, there's not an hour you go undreamed of.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
Sewn-up into not caring
Modelled dispassionate
Roused into fantasy;
This one time would be
different
Oh naive optimism
His sight grows absent from reality when
he sees her
Leaving me unconsidered
he trades grins with her
With no forewarning
he trails off to her
Consinging to oblivon my presence when
he's with her
Nothing assuredly matters when
he's conversing with her
I'll bid farewell
to those so called feelings
Friends can fracture your
Sole heart
If you keep confiding
You will bruise nonstop
So let me advice you this one time
Become cold as ice
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
There is no such thing as time,
Just Globe and Mails that go unread,
Mugs of tea that go unsteeped,
and musings, oh so many musings, that go unconsidered.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
In the silence it ticks on…
So keep sighing, with no means to
an end that is inevitable yet
elusive, advertised nowhere
in the bolded Times New Roman type.
So let those breaths rattle through your chest
and remember:
a stopped clock is wrong 22 hours of the day.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
*the expulsion of emotions,
the absence thereof
bastardized emigre's forevermore,
no anger, no hate,
no debating love,
even the
commonplace
the merely perfunctory,
costless meaningless,
electrical like,
a banal banner of
a thumbs up
all exposed temperaments
lobe removed
the throbbing, pulsing,
expelled, expulsing
sayonara
not even
neutral-
nah, i'm neutered
emotions splayed?
no, spayed,
incapable of reproducing
this epitaph,
this writ
composed in a
unconscious blink,
an ill unconsidered moment
writ with tinged regret
to seal the deal
don't feel a thing which is why.
I
write*
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
My limbs ache in captivity.
I stretch in these shallow confines
and feel hard wall and harder resolve.
Freedom will be mine.
If only for these minutes
or that hour,
My god, if only for today!
I have watched you spend
time.
I have seen you preform these
great labors.
I have noticed the effort,
the struggle
the care
with which you constructed
the perfect cage to keep me.
I think you proud of these
walls and this narrow slat
that light can trickle through.
But there are so many things,
so many things, friend,
which you have left unconsidered.
Yes, you have left me no key
and yes, one would be useless
were I to have it.
Yes, you have forced me to
stay. Yes, you have created in
your trap a mechanism which I need.
You must sleep. In those dark hours
I may yet steal away.
You never thought I could learn to
need less and want only one thing.
You built this cage to keep who I was.
You didn’t consider who I am.
I will be free.
I will be whole.
I will feel the wind against my back.
I will not look back,
I will never try to find you again.
You keep me for now,
because I don’t know how to
be anything but kept.
I’m learning.
I’ve had a good teacher.
Apr 8, 2011
Apr 8, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC
The beginning was unconsidered people
Their night time mutterings familiar
Friendly voices during the hours of dark
Addicts of the slow uncluttered time
But some choices will haunt forever
White shards of sputnics flying
Starry explosions within the eye
Show a gleeful sense of malice
As huge storms gather in the red sky
Swift confident and totally predictable
Images flashing like neon steel bells
Gigantic whistles singing in white heat
Behind these invasions of her space
That keep her company when not asleep
He attempts to brush away likes specks
Ripples of dust in the texture of his life
But to her it is a slow painful process
An identity that has been stolen and
Her wide open eyes can only stare
Hearing acute for the sirens soft wail
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Unwittingly and surprisingly so often ignored is appreciation.
Of gifts, the love, the nurture received, given in true benefaction.
Even lack of spoken gratitude from the receiver, by the giver it is perceived.
Accordingly that which is given and is conspicuously wordlessly received
from the recipient, bathed in sublime silence, shines the appreciativeness
When physical attraction evolves into the love for each other entirely,
overwhelmed with gratitude for feelings, passion, desire, intrinsic sensuality.
In carnal gratification intertwined lovers, murmur words the moment in time set
as the act of true love, lovers appreciation of each other is a prerequisite,
kindling their deep and profound recognition of the symbiotic enchantment
Individuals have so much in life for which to celebrate in thankfulness
Taken for granted are emotional feelings of those who daily acquiesce.
Actions, items the mundane, all forgotten overlooked values unconsidered,
A list almost without end, descriptions of conceded gratitude left unsaid,
until its familiar benefits cease, revealing immediate impact of gratitude held concealed.
The Quality Feeling Of Thankful Michael C Crowder 30th December 2018
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
My pen wore red, and scathed a struggling stroke
Black became it better, until feeble nib broke
Blue cried abiding stains, after much impatient rigour
Green was inconsolable, and pink was unconsidered
It was led who was left when all else lacked
That was until rouge eraser attacked
Is it a conscious activity of the precarious pen
To cease work as you require it again and again?
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC
The man always claims that I am triggered.
But there’s some things he’s left unconsidered.
Sure, I am triggered. And rightfully so.
When a man can use his pinkie to use
parts of me I’ll never get back, and throw
me to a cycle of escaping abuse.
Rightfully so when a man can tell me
my experiences are not enough
to really warrant my ptsd.
When they can tell me my life’s not tough.
Rightfully so when a man claims to know
the true inner workings of the woman,
when he’s planted the seeds we’ve seen him sow
And refused to reap, blaming us for sin.
When a woman feels passionate about
what hurts her, what’s unfair, what pains her heart,
when she wants to disprove the hate you spout,
your reaction is what sets you apart.
they’re the reason when I’m truly triggered,
the light inside me has always flickered.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
“Pages of my life sealed inside a book
like bookends at a fairground
holding steady until the rider mounts;
Still unwritten not yet ready to wear,
this garmented padded book of tales
isn't finished yet”
~~~
from
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4871833/sewn-to-the-pages-of-my-life/
by
Vienna's Bombardieri
~~~~~
it is not a total rarity,
but not an impossiblty,
that one of yours
scripts feels
that it has been ripped
from mine eyes,
necessitating a gasping grasping of me as
if her Vienna words,
like stout hands,
squeeze my already
constricted throat to close in entirety
near ceasing my breathing
<>
for the writing comes easy,
add a page daily, sewing neat stitches,
smooth connecting linear designs
but the book
never finishes, and Wonder
if this unending is
a knelling death mark of Cain,
that my mythology resonates,
boasts of no resolution
this possibility previous unconsidered
now seen as a likely vision
and do not comprehend how to
feel
becoming
a page in a book,
to attic directed,
boxed for the
eventuality of removal by the
1-800-GOT-JUNK
a very busy institution
and put my shriveled fingertips down
in contemplation of
my erasure
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 12:38 PM UTC
May flowers, from April showers
But some flowers are year-round
As if they possess some magical powers
As if they have life abound
May flowers, sour and wilt
As they're crushed by what we built
And although I never laid a brick on the house of fear
I can't help but feel like I caused it to be here
Being afraid of what lies ahead
My older skin, my toughness, I shed
Losing the aid of a tough exterior
I've broken down, falling apart in the interior
I channel my fears into my arts
Ignoring my brain and preferring my heart
But this made it harder to make the right choice
And when I was confronted with your mesmerizing voice
I made the wrong one
I told myself that I was done
But I wasn't strong enough to make the right decision
And now between us, there's never been a greater schism.
You were my Mayflower
The ship that brought me to a new world
Now you're some evil power
Dragging me down to the cold.
My mayflower wilted by my own home
an irony unconsidered by my flesh and bone
For safety brought you only pain
And now the greater pow'r is my shame
And besides you, whom I won't blame
There's no one with which to share the game.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 10:36 AM UTC
We are
The new generation
The younger ones here
The new faces of the world
The new, the unknowns
The future of the world
We are
The youth
The people
The voices
The souls
We are
The learners
The students
The watchers
The unconsidered
The underestimated
We are
The inspired
The dreamers
The knowing
The open minds
The open hearts
The newest era
We are
The broken
The bruised
The beaten
The silenced
But we don’t have to be
We are
The fighters
The believers
The understanding
The new wave of change
We are the warriors
The advocates, the activists
The protesters, the soldiers
We are the people
The voices of the unheard
The bringers of a new dawn
The beginning of a new age
We are the future
The hopes of the world
The fears of the world
The newest force of nature
We are the change
The ones to turn the tide
The ones to stop the war
The ones to heal the world
We are the new generation
The ones to bring justice
The ones to bring peace
The ones to bring acceptance
The ones to change the world
We are
The revolution
- Jay M
September 28th, 2021
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 4:58 PM UTC