"unconsummated" poems
She sits
- untouched -
Amidst the pyres
Of unconsummated male desires.
Her perfect lips
- cold and unkissed -
Disappoint anticipated bliss.
No lethal weapon will suffice.
All ******* symbols turned to ice.
Yet, all around;
Sad men abound.
Each condemned to spend his days,
Unfulfilled ....beneath her gaze !
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 12:52 PM UTC
Who’s to say how
He might come back for a second
inhumanely heaped-up helping,
if we grant that immensity
of our assumption He did come
kingly first into this inside-
out size from a do-you-miss-me-
yet’s mirthfully mythical realm
I have seen Him
lurking in a particle-board fine
finish on the thin outer membranes
of our estranged and better faces;
He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent,
but far too theoretical
for our broadly practical, turned-
away gazes to rediscover
There He is now
rising in the favela’s gap-
toothed grins with fabulously naughty
corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists
using cur jests his ***** charges
imagine as flightless quarrels
grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle
were they over-stuffed on golden grain
And there again
on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered
conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts
with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps
of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid
as dainty fingers crawl in toward
a gelatinous glob still clinging
to the powerful pretense it’s meat
And there once more,
conceding oms, He restless flickers
at the margins of blocky beige
Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks
circumnavigate the darkling
smooth patches and spit-spark a few
conscious drips to squiggle out from
the babble of noxious red seas
Emerged, this welp
won’t toddle off to dribble-stain
the dressy linens of a made-up
nanny’s well-mannered and ornate
evil; it will curl up instead,
a swaddled yawn with no yearn to
suckle under His real mother’s
gaping wide and grungy bloused best
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
Wind keeps on
reminding the waves
something cryptic,
even the leaves
perking up their ears,
fail to grasp it!
Though wind
repeated it,
again and again,
leaves vacuously
rustled, remained silent.
The waves in a
spectacular pattern,
respond to wind,
desperately trying
to grab the truth.
Sitting on the shore,
between blue sea
and mountain peaks,
observing the grand play enchanting,
he feels excluded,
from this conversation,
that remains obscure;
unconsummated
between the wind and the waves.
"The meaning is right here,
but one hardly
gets it, unless
desire to attain it is overpowering"
in tears, she said
exasperated, not able to go beyond the shore.
"we are like waves and leaves,
give it a miss, get confused,
vision of ultimate truth is the crux,
unless the eyes are opened,
filled with light, one fails, has to repeat"
he replied, like one tasted failure many times.
"you've blindfolded
your eyes, willingly
and complain;
be patient
work on your
inner world,
let the light drive away the night"
the master smiled as he said.
"Roaring wind and waves
fire, earth and space,
the secrets they hold
are within the inner world"
At the end of narrow path
is the placid pond
where water is still:
truth absolute is reflected.
**"Life after life,
one walks round and round
seeking that blue stillness,
where one would
see one's true self reflected,
when the moment arrives."**
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 10:32 AM UTC
ironies usurp courage
adventure scowls unsated
Times New Roman ****
pixels unconsummated
similes sin-taxed for hits
stale nefarious negging
all heros on the page
reality waits begging
- - - - - -
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Every time the wind shares secrets-
she carry from the heart of the forest,
making me her beloved;
the brook, in love with the flower bed
in the valley, stops for a moment,
forgetting his mad rush downwards,
and wistfully say a few words of endearment,
though their love will remain unconsummated,
my lonely heart stops its beat, for a moment,
'my unknown love,' palpitatingly it sighs,
'where are you?'
my heart sinks in to a pit, which only
the lovelorn regularly visit,
i know, i know,
the life is transient, this eager eyed wait
to see, look deeply in to the clear mirror of your eyes,
and canoodle, is really tragic,
as i don't know how long it would take.
But a moment of effulgence,
a touch of your magic fingers,
is all it takes to drive,
the darkness accumulated in my
cloudy psyche.
Its my penance,
**to cut the Karmic chord
that binds me with Samsara's,
phantasmagoria of kaleidoscopic changes,**
get me free and put
on the swing
where you are on eternity's wings.
OO
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
This night
my mind is a homing pigeon eager to vector notes
to and from a distant
unmet,
Unconsummated
love.
It's the message content
I struggle.
Is it love when your words fillet me open
and render me carrion
in my own dreams?
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
Upon appearance of an untitled poem with no body in my Drafts
<>
never have I ever
written an untitled poem,
nor painted a human sans
a head; arms, legs, o.k., but,
but when the purging urging
enwraps me at 12:22 in the AM,
i cannot birth my babies
stillborn,
unnamed, forlorn,
it’s every breath would be
an accusation, of breach, malfeasance,
a child nameless, is the worst of all orphans,
the poem’s title is its inner essence, a preface,
a forward, and epilogue, just as your names is
both begin and end, a hint of who you are and from
whence you came, and where you are bound to be bound,
it is your birth name, and final resting place, a hint of who you
we’re, ared destined to become, to be, and to come,
an entitlement!
ah you curse or bless, thy given name, no longer do
you examine it, write it repeatedly, to despise or admire
the sounds of it exiting thy mouth, a roomful of teeth
and tongue in concert cooperating and conniving, silky
hissing your who-you-are-ness, you, who are poem, exist not,
cannot be, without your entitlement; ah you pause and say
to the sleeping woman who neither hears nor cares,
who am I, who I am, and the differences
entre deux
that are my
character
yes, a untitled poem is forever
unwished, unfinished
unwashed?
and to eternity, forever lost,
unsigned, unconsigned,
unfortunate
unconsummated
Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 7:36 AM UTC
Will I ever define love?
The trouble with this, twisty-fickle-phenomena,
This, celebrated emotion – and it is just an emotion,
This, elusive heart-thrumming, head-spinning, pleasure,
A pleasure not even eclipsed by unmatched wealth,
Not surpassed by the most prized possessions.
In fact, even prized possessions, coveted things of beauty,
(Insignificant as they are to the wise and knowledgeable,)
Have an attachment akin to love, a kind of love, I suppose,
At least to those dumb enough to think possessions are special,
Who no doubt gaze longingly at what is simply ‘a thing’.
Maybe a rare ‘thing’, but ‘a thing’ all the same,
No, I’m talking of love for another, caring affection,
Adoring eyes for a living breathing creature,
Maybe even an animal, a pet, but more so,
The love of another human, a special person.
This is a little ‘tricksy’ is it not? Hmm? Yes,
For such a love encompasses many things,
Often runs riot in the mind, tingling the nerves,
Experiencing loyalty, betrayal, honour, slyness,
Sacrifice, greed, trust, duplicity, selfishness, sharing,
Because, well, one never knows, not really, no.
This magical dreamlike emotion, and it is an emotion,
Is different for us all, for one person's love,
Can be another’s flight of fancy, an escapism,
For some, it is a lethal weapon, so deadly, so cruel,
While for others, it is the most beautiful thing on Earth,
Yet, it inspires the most horrendous fits of jealousy known.
Love, real love, imagined love, astral love,
Consummated and unconsummated love,
Love of the heart, love of the mind, love of dreams,
All, are in reality, true enigmas, beyond explanation,
I am in love, I am a lover, I adore love, all kinds of love,
I fall in and out of love, as do many, I know love,
I can sense, touch, taste, even smell love,
And yet, for all of this, I wonder,
Will I ever define love?
©Paul Chafer 2014
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
I am no judge of good character
(think I am the greatest poet-cum-bf ever)
I used to be a sharp dresser,
(then to the time twisted testing,
t'is of tiny import sense succumbed)
I used to love woman by the score
(Ha! fooled ya, still do, will dying do so,
but caught in a single spider's heartweb,
I read, and I love, and cheat only nowadays
with weak eyes and strong words)
I used to be young in heart,
(self impressed at my talented prose,
but then my eyes grew keener,
the more I read, the older I got,
the more others led me faster,
sweeter to the promised land)
so I trip 'n skip in the waterfall pool,
that forms where the poems cascading
are laid down to peaceful repose to keep,
and too oft, sad uneyed loneliness
yet, I see a graffiti on the clear bottom,
white paint upon an earthen rock,
wipe away the eddys, put aside the ego,
lift it, lift me up, that stone,
with caressing care to read:
So Jo Was Here
oh indeed indeed in deed another poet,
who blues my heart with words modest,
in combinations that say to me
you knew that, but not till now!
how did she know that
*words and words and -
ironies usurp courage
adventure scowls unsated
Times New Roman ****
pixels unconsummated
similes sin-taxed for hits
stale nefarious negging
all heros on the page
reality waits begging*
I read and I think
did I not write these words?
*love is a bittersweet borrowed lie
time is a slowly emptied sigh
deception is the sharpest yet rustiest lance
and rage the slowest, saddest dance
while truth's just polished-up confusion
with words - the slipperiest illusion*
But I did not!
nope but I read them cause
So Jo Was Here
stoked and croaking,
addicted, I read on
only to find my mirror image
once again, one mo' time crime
*But I was held unknotted only,
oblivion teetering on the pinch
of a thumb and forefinger.
Until slowly but cynically,
gasp by gasp,
all was forced out, and when
the moment came to go,
there was nothing left to go on*
so it is written, so it will be read
then you can say too,
as I did, as I here confess,
in my recesses unexplored,
trembled to find,
overjoyed to be
me revealed
cause:
So Jo Was Here
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
My hammock swings escaping
from a highway of life hurrying
On to your caring tree trunks hanging
With orchestras of cicadas noisily serenading
The cool breeze anaesthesizes
My thoughts that’ve climbed some distant ridges
At home in the shattered temple, unconsummated promises
At peace now in modesties that only time did bless
Within the underground cathedral lie:
The mind’s a hermit of hidden truths he’d prophesy
The will’s a gallant warrior refusing to die
The heart’s a playful child chasing a butterfly
Along the banks of rivers clear I weave
broken lines from silk spun, the caterpillars believe
to wait in purgatories of gold-laden chrysalises, then leave
resurrection is heaven as wood-nymphs emerge and live
When waters flow beneath the bosoms and bowels of the earth
The wizards in rendezvous, solace in endless mirth
Shadows of misty mornings embrace your trees - all heights and girth
I shall rest, heart in mind, that death’s a reality, as natural as birth.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
*
*YOU are my blood
I am your blood
We are running through
Each other's veins
My heart beats for YOU
Yours beats within me
This is what keeps us alive
We are crushed
Within our chest
In the longing
Of each other's touch
YOU are my sky
I am your star
Anywhere I see
Everything I see
YOU are everywhere
For me...
I dance to your rhythm
I sing to your tunes
I write your stories
In the rhymes of poems
So let me fall deep inside
Your LOVE womb
Into our Eternal LOVE
YOU keep me awake at nights
YOU make me dream during days
There is no time I live-on
Without YOU being here with me
I am alive through your being
I am living due to your breathe
My world spins around your sun
That's how YOU've re-arrange
My universe around YOU
There is much to do in LOVE
And we feel this life is too short
This is what makes us scared
The feelings we have for each other
And the LOVE that still
Remains unconsummated yet
I won't be able to breathe
One more second without YOU
So never leave my hand from yours
When we open our eyes
Let us only see each other's face
We are to each other thus...
- My heart inside your heart
- Your breath inside my breath
YOU have kept me alive
Since a millennium
And it's YOU
Who has kept alive
Our Unconditional Eternal LOVE*
*
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC
The Empty Field
In a cornfield lay a young girl,
With hazel eyes and brown curls,
Every Sunday she courted him,
After church when the light was dim;
Their love was the sweetest breath,
An unconsummated tenderness,
Lips touching, arms strong,
Did not hear the coming bombs.
Two years in the field they lay,
Grew closer at each passing day,
Spoke their dreams under the sky,
Hoped that neither soon would die;
A ring she wore upon her hand,
Something simple to understand,
His name was Bill and hers Grace,
Unified by a single faith.
At eighteen he went to war,
Left his sweetheart by the shore,
Held her warmth against his chest,
On his shoulders her head did rest;
Then one night she had a dream,
He came to her, it did seem,
To say one last goodbye,
To the girl to be his bride.
She waited but not a word,
From her handsome airforce boy,
Then it came, told how he died,
Flying in the blue so high;
It was the first day of his war,
That took her first love and her joy,
Now in the cornfield under the sky,
The grass has grown where she did lie.
Love Mary
Based on my Mother's life
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC