"undaunted" poems
This smile that makes your day...
This undaunted smile that seem to say.
Show me yours too so we both could play,
On a plane where everything is fine...
Everything's okay...
This smile that reaches out to you...
With nothing but invisible arms.
Caresses your eyes and draws you in.
Entices you with the sweetest charms.
Whispers you tales of a brightly lit future;
Where we're trapped in dance with each other...
Supporting...
Leading...
Lifting and,
Seducing one another...
Let the music ring clear,.
Over the thumping of our heartbeats...
Aggressively segmenting, framing the dance into seconds that would elapse.
Like two duelists entranced into committing tender jousts and retreats.
But know that...
This smile screams only lies.
For it is but a routine mask.
So well worn and adequately rehearsed...
You'd never see the need to ask.
Instead you'd just allow yourself be taken,
To a place where the tide gently beats...
Upon the shore our two ailing hearts.
A place where earth and sky would meet.
When in fact,
It hides the turmoil and agitation.
Guarding the storm that brews incessantly.
Continuously threatening
To breach this shared sanctity with me.
A haven would've then be erected.
That very instant we allowed...
This dance of smiles
From time of first contact to the time we bowed.
This smile... Only took a second
To paint a peaceful picture upon my face.
Free from the pressures building behind my pursed lips.
Just take this smile so that in that second,
We could get lost in the promise of a heavenly place...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
my darkest poems
bloodletting streams
are a kind of ******
fetishy cognitive inventory
malformed denizens
of the subconscious
a well of torments
soup of Salmonella
the souls gut
its cauldron
yet not with out lurid enticements
and voluptuous supplicants
gorgeous
like an eight legged woman
with beautiful feet
drooling **** lips
drunk on sacrificial rituals
of blood black tongued kisses
and hideous contorted pleasures
********
once
exquisite archetypes
gods and goddesses
are now
putrefied
cellar dwellers
moaning in nature bed crypts
of rock, stone
and engraved sigils
because honest pure desires
became fragmentary
and are now gimping amputees
by legions of primal disappointment
while faces blare in the world
like super bright L.E.D.s
shinning paths to others
our deep self
remains patinaed in tears
a black box pox with a lock
the skeleton key lost
in arcane seas
out of utter disgust
for those dark crawlers
that live within us
revealing them selves
as anxieties, depressions
suicides
and myriad quiet despairs
we appear undaunted
to others
and they to us
humanity
muffled ticks
and splintered sticks
my poems let my demons out
yoo who its me
my name is spray snake z
with my hooks and cries
and dark blood skies
in the misty night
i dragged out their earthen coffins
legends of the despicable
resurrected them
fed and loved those darklings
had every conceivable union with them
their healing, my own
ive sexualized them
and found love
albeit twisted
to be adored
in a hidden embrace
i bestow upon you a poetic fantasy
while obsession takes hold
bind it not
nor let it bind you*
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Driven and persistent
When a girl, I was undaunted
On acting I was insistent
By the stage I was haunted
A mere ingénue
At the odds I did laugh
Until the day that I withdrew
Now that ingenue lay neath an epitaph
To myself I was untrue
Now turn back to dreams
I must pursue
Lo, I am rebuilding
Her broken spirit within
Already she is healing
Anon let the journey begin again
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit graciously on silence's table,
And study my evolved, yet un-evolved self,
Undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
By world's brightest gulf.
...and smile back, as I watch myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit cozily on peace's table,
And watch my wounded, yet un-wounded self,
Un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
By world's sorry self
...and smile back, as I watch myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit calmly on agony's table,
And observe my painful, yet not too painful self,
Unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
By world's weirdest self,
...and smile back, as I watch myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit gladly on glee's table,
With my eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
Unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
By world's unrequited self.
...and grin back, at myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
Twill indeed be a blessed, contending miracle,
As that's when I could pat & greet myself,
In real, In real, In real!
And make this fact to myself perceivable,
That Our world may sure often demand struggles,
And our mere existence in it,
May just be negligible,
But we never gotta forget
To stay hopeful, smile and giggle at ourselves,
No matter how hard,
or harder are the struggles,
As that's the precious fuel,
That can truly cause miracles,
In a world,
Often so obsessed with struggles!
And then with a grin,
A sparkling hope within,
I'll bid myself,
A sweet, serene,
farewell.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.
Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.
And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -
And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it's been a life!
4.4k
*M:Million lives were lost
A:And families were torn apart but
S:Still our courageous forefather pressed on,their
H:Hearts set on a goal freedom at all cost
U:Undaunted they fought to regain independence or die attempting
J:Justice evaded them and they were subjected to inhuman
A:Atrocities,captured fighters were tortured and women *****
A:A sacrifice was made so we could enjoy fruits of liberty
selflessly they watered this tree with their blood
some we never knew made sure we have Kenya today
patriotism was their heartbeat as they endured all
to ensure that our generation live in peace in this land
their dream we never hide our faces behind mask
of slavery again*
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing!
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
3.7k
Fingers
Picking ****** flowers
Dripping spice burgundy
Staining serenity
A touch of
Surreal simplicity
Undaunted movement of
Molecular fractals
Bursting in waves
Of fantastical light
Sensual trickles
Tongue
Licking sappy mosses
Amber and honey
Expanding swiftly
An odyssey through the
Gums and divisions
Between ivory teeth
Ecstasy aplenty
Flooding down through
The body
Leaving stains
Of serenity
Nostrils
Sniffing smoky cedar
Microscopic air ripples
Orchestra of tune and note
Tune and note
Whispers and cries
Kisses and sighs
Invisible in form and sight
These do travel
Through tunnels
Those give sense of smell
Droplets of spice burgundy
Toes
Sinking through layer
Under layer of moist clay
Descending in time shaken
Matter
Pores of the skin
Breathing air and soil
Replenishing vital veins
Rivers of beating blood
Unending
Molecular fractals
Fingers
Picking ****** flowers
Dripping spice burgundy
Staining serenity
A touch of
Surreal simplicity
Undaunted movement of
Molecular fractals
Bursting in waves
Of fantastical light
Sensual trickles
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
i can smell the hymn
the life i want to be in
noxious as it seems
undaunted i'll sing.
i hear the bright sun
auspicious,tells me i can!
amidst of winter
savor the invincible summer.
sighting the sweetness
this life has lot to offer.
i feel its scent like a flower
blooming from nowhere.
who will there?
trying to decipher
my incoherent thoughts
i'll share...
1-17-11
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 10:49 AM UTC
*keep folding your cool designs
they hold afloat all your dreams
waiting on that raft
to it all*
1.
how I marvel at your vigour to grab any sheet of paper
to create shapes to your fancy
your vision sees further-use in adverts and pamphlets
so creative and undaunted by the wide-ocean
windy-rains may come, whip away your lovely paper-boats
but you set forth fleet-footed in salt-spray
your eyes follow their route on bobbing-smiles
you watch their trail and scout over rocks
yes, they sink soon.. yet, you don't cry
how you run ruddy your cheeks -- oh, how you do inspire!
2.
I didn't mean to silence you
when you sang your song
it's just.. I had a headache
(but you know -- that is poor excuse!)
may the lilt in your voice carry so high
and I pray that grace be mine
when you speak your thoughts
3.
black wings with orange-beaks congregate on the shore
beauty untold when they all take flight
high up in the sky -- what a sight
a flock of blessings in the rain
flying over smiles on paper-boat
*with every flap, thunder rolls its power
and there's little place for lightning to hide
its splendour
it crashes smack-bang within
the silent-blubbering
of sightless-whales*
may dreams land sweetly
and yours..
come true
S T - on 2 march 2014
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Words run down rutty cheeks and phrases pour out of ears and snotty clauses pool on a top lip. A sleeping lizard with tough skin fills the mouth with a little bit of space for the foot propped up against the molars in the back. Some magnificent ******** can part their jaws to let cascades of magnificent sense pass from them. This unfortunate individual, however, cannot stream any quips out of the correct orifice. If some promising witticism manages to squeeze past the big fat iguana under that palate then the bitter thing would flick at the uvula with its tail and the witty remark would be gagged out in the most broken form it could possibly take. The lie it cultivates is that everything inside is at least a little embarrassing. Desperately romanticising about growing a soft, lizard-less mouth must somehow cure the hard working mute someday. Because what the hell else is there to do when one needs to be undaunted and well-spoken?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
If 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth graciously on silence's table,
and studyeth mine own evolved, yet un-evolv'd self,
undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
by w'rld's brightest gulf
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth comf'rtably on peace's table,
and gaze mine own wounded, yet un-wound'd self,
un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
by w'rld's s'rry self
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth calmly on agony's table,
and obs'rve mine own painful, yet not painful self,
unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
by w'rld's weirdest self,
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth fain on glee's table,
with mine own eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
by w'rld's unrequit'd self
. and grineth backeth, at myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
twill forsooth beest a did bless, contending miracle,
as yond's at which hour i couldst pateth & greeteth myself,
in real, in real, in real!
and maketh this fact p'rceivable,
yond our w'rld may sure oft hest struggles,
and our m're existence in t,
may just beest negligible,
but we nev'r gotta f'rget
to stayeth hopeful, smileth and giggle,
nay matt'r how hard the struggles,
as yond's the most wondrous fuel,
yond can oft causeth miracles,
in a w'rld,
so obsess'd with struggles!
And then with a sigheth,
a blooming grineth,
yet a sparkling desire within,
i'll did bid myself,
a farewell
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Turn back, O Hands of heedless Time!
When Life flowed gently day by day,
With no devices to outweigh
The golden melody sublime.
O! to regain those precious years;
A fortune I would swiftly give
If I perchance might gladly live'
Undaunted by these haunting fears.
Turn back! O Hands of cruel years
When Tranquility reigned supreme
And only Rapture wakened tears,
Life surreal flowing as a dream.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
*Play me a sad tune
And I'll sing to you
Play me a sad tune
And I'll dance to you*
You played me
A song about
A boy who loved
And was broken
The girl he'd die for
Toyed with him when
Her boyfriend was busy
And he treasured their time
The girl who promised to love him
Who made him smile and laugh
Even though she was shy and scared
He forgot to an undaunted charmer
But all she did was wait for
Him to fall
And she never helped to
Pick him up
The shy girl waited
And picked him up
Spent the summer
Trying to remind him
Remember April
And the I love yous
You stopped saying back
And never told me why
Remember both of us
Completely awkward
How hard I tried
To get your blue eyes
I just wanted you
To look at me
The way you promised
The way you used to
September even
I'd sneak up to see you
I threw away everything
For you
Now I know
That your blushes and laughs
Were you shyly embarrassed
Not shyly in love
Now I know
That the girl you loved
Cut you off to better everyone
You lost something different
Now I know
That you weren't heartbroken
You were lonely
With no one left but me to lust over
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
behind barricades
before the red bandanna meant you were a Crip or Blood
undaunted, refusing to be
..........intimidated
nameless
.....(known only
to
..........................YOUR LOVE
as "love")
the streets are red with the ******
dreams our youth is bleeding
on these streets
but then the gangs recieved from the c.i.a.
control over the drug trade
and killed us all
-----
(behind barricades)
the liars are everywhere and those most visable
are
the greatest of the liars
speaking softly sanely
to you all................
.....................in
words-
impossible
--
love is a powerful feeling
only love
means a thing
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
I.
Sunday mornings in Vancouver
even pigeons sleep in till 10 A.M.
Undaunted, I walk down Granville shortly before 8
seeking lox bagels with capers, red onions and cream cheese,
two breve lattes, and a newspaper. In truth,
panhandlers on the corner of Robson
have far greater chance of scoring.
An unexpectedly sunny February morn
suffices to spur me on. I am attuned to all vibration.
Breath of the awakening city
exhales manna upon the shop awnings.
Bagels rendered superfluous,
I scarf images instead ---
trolley buses, an umbrella shop, falafel stands ---
delicious Canadian visual cuisine.
II.
Vancouver is a nymph. Of that I'm sure.
I hear flirtatious giggles trill
from darkened alleys between hotels.
Spotted her once across the street on Dunsmuir,
seated on a walk bench reading a Margaret Atwood novel.
Bus passed between us and she vanished.
Caught a later glimpse through the window
of a walk-up dim sum restaurant in Chinatown.
Flew the stairs, only to find an empty table and
discarded napkin smudged with candy pink lipstick.
She watches me.
III.
Turns out there are no Sunday morning papers in Vancouver,
but I locate the bagels and espresso backtracking on Helmcken.
The barista smiles as I approach, sets down her Atwood novel.
I leave a Toonie in gratuity.
B.C. wind pushes hard on my turned back,
as I rush our breakfast back to the Executive.
A nymph goes roller-blading by toward False Creek.
The Gastown Steam Clock whistles that it's 10 A.M.
A flock of pigeons lifts in flight.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
Ghost of Night
Night engulfs me with its sombre darkness
Cigarette glowing with all its fury
I try to lit my heart and search,
something I never had
and that always went missing
Questions rumble loud inside
Lots of questions, like unending drops of monsoon
hitting the roof above me
And the question always starts with 'why'
I always believed I was hopeful,
Future will welcome me with good accords.
How long will it take to find the future?
Its scary to consider if I will be always stuck in past.
I try to find among the ashes going down on tray,
the answer to every why.
night slugs down its way
The rain piter-patter continuously, undesirous to stop
I wonder about the picture of damaged organs
on the cover of cigarette packet,
Are these even real?
(I peek inside and wonder why so much of smoke in there)
At times I peek out of window
hoping to see stars above rain.
All the lights from starry sky lost among heat of monsoon.
Hope always covered me with disappointment
If only I had a mystical pet of nine coloured feathers
That could fill me with colours enthusiasm. (why)
Is that moon that's glowing meekly over there
or am I just sleep deprived?
Every night ***** little life out of me. (why)
It won't be surprise to find my breath
held inside ,
cold and undaunted by questions,
one fine morning.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
In no way am I ready
for the bluster of winter
the deep freeze
and the ceasing of all things
green and growing
In no way am I prepared
for endless days of cold
the chill inside my house
and the greyness of the skies
for months on end
In no way am I ready
and yet
undaunted in the end
I am unwilling
to give up
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
O Thou, the Nymph with placid eye !
O seldom found, yet ever nigh !
Receive my temperate vow :
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,
And smooth unalter'd brow.
O come, in simplst vest array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd
To bless my longing sight ;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chaste subdued delight.
No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell ;
Where in some pure and equal sky
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye
Thy modest virtues dwell.
Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye ;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening through this vale of tears
A vista to the sky.
There Health, thro' whose calm ***** glide
The temperate joys in even tide,
That rarely ebb or flow ;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild, unvarying cheek
To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage
With settled smiles to meet ;
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread
He bow'd his meek submitted head,
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.
But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy !
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy
To tell thy simple tale ;
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss rose, and violet, blossom round,
And lily of the vale.
O say what soft propitious hour
I best may chuse to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway ?
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid ;
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whispering thro' the shade.
2.1k
It's not that you view the world in a negative way because your hopeless, you just don't like getting your hopes up. How can you be optimistic when every day is a crushing reminder that you want so much more then you're receiving?
You are proud, assertive, bold and undaunted.
The type of person many people don't know how to reckon with.
It's not that you're rude, you just have so many opinions and thoughts jumbled in your brain that sometimes they come out harsher then intended. You are not a mean spirited person. you are the type of person that rarely comes along, only containing good intentions. The people that stick around to realize this, they're the lucky ones.
People often don't know how to perceive you because they're the insecure ones. When someone weak is faced with a strong willed person, they become defensive. This is why you must stay strong, never let them flicker your ethereal flame.
You are the rain after a drought, bringing life and spirit to those in need.
You may view yourself as more harmful then helpful, rest assured thats not the case.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
I am
a companion for life
committed to relations bounded only by time
for those who understand the value of friendship
undaunted by materialistic wealth
indifferent to titles or social status
seeking the merits of sincere character
I am
an enemy’s worse nightmare
constantly awakening from deadly encounters
sometimes wounded severely
close to being a casualty of others
but never surrendering and admitting defeat
even against overwhelming odds
I am
a passionate endeavor
submerged feelings awaiting release
to confound then arouse the senses
beyond current reality to transcend the cosmos
caressing the lips of blissful insanity
only to curse rational existence
I am
a subconscious dream
desperate to escape a conventional life
surrounded by negative forces
polarizing insecurity and apprehension
with false vigor and zeal
until the images become unclear
I am
a loner with fortitude
destined to follow an unknown destiny
with so many cunning predators lurking
ready to end the journey and make it the last
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me".
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Your lies were the water I needed
For the plants I had seeded
In the depths of my larynx
Because you had all the words I could've wanted
which at the time seemed undaunted
But seeds need sunlight too
so this love never grew...
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
)
~
(
~
It comes anytime,
like a blowing breeze,
tenderly caressing,
but.....invading;
it creeps in, and
softens the toughened,
this breeze of fragility
makes ****** tissues
indispensable.
some days,
a *playful little girl
steers a paper boat
on a big basin of water,*
plays with dogs...watching
spiders weaving webs, perching
birds and butterflies, pretending
they are dwarf friends...while
munching a red, crisp apple, like
snow white.....playful, sleepy,
and.....forgiving.
on an undaunted mood,
wonder woman determinedly
crosses her gauntlet-wrapped
forearms...to protect loved ones
and in so doing, makes possible
the impossible,
come hell or high water
some days, a blend of all three
occurs, but, the child and the brave,
try to rule over the fragile...me,
every day.....is an adventure...
Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 26, 2020
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 9:49 PM UTC