"undetectable" poems
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving*
*In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
for so long,
i made one with the cracks in the road,
making sure i never stepped on one.
and i never cared to notice
how tired i was from doing it.
maybe it was because
the innocence
and easygoing youth
shielded my eyes
like the white linen curtains
that used to hang lazily on my window.
for so long,
the nine o’clock news
never bothered me
as much as it does now.
and the fact that everyone seems to drag their feet
at the same miserable pace
never struck my mind.
days keep growing faster
at an undetectable rate,
and i’m just starting to see that.
maybe it was because
reality tore the drapes down,
letting all of the light
shine on the things that were
left in the dark.
because growing older
was one of the things
that i chose
to leave in the corner.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
Is it just I who gets that anxious, squirming
Sensational feeling? Like creativity suppressed—
But by what? My faults? The fates? My own self
For I cannot convey how positively debilitating,
Paralyzing, transfixing—
I don’t want to live in subdued twilight,
Sedated by my own ideas of inabilities,
But who or what, or what in me
Can prevent even the faintest of hindrances
From annihilating the depth of my inspirational understanding…
I’m yet to discern any of the undetectable barriers
Or is it that—metaphysics?
So engrossed, preoccupied, wearied by what
The idea that there’s something
Anything at all, preventing the finesse
As here I cogitate
Dimensions past me...
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Syndicate!
Venezuela.
A land of ghosts.
Where cell phones die.
Undetectable.
As families cry.
For their lost loves.
Hostages taken.
Vanish into night.
For minimal ransom.
Ransoms paid by families of wealth.
Abductees murdered.
Rarely returned.
Hostage takers.
Rarely caught.
In this land of class distinction.
Tension builds.
Some.
The lucky ones get taken from the avenues.
Taken to the ATM.
Where their bank accounts are drained.
Given drugs then dumped again.
Caracas homicide rates high.
Ransoms paid and men still die!
In this dark land where crimes flies.
Never solved in this land so corrupt.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
This game of life I'll explain it like chess
only the way she plays is with her own rule set
No King to start and she doesn't need one either
No Checkmate she still rules her board with authority no Rooks, no bishops she moves how she pleases
me I'm still sticking around like a pawn scheming
almost undetectable , unnoticed at times but I'm still trying to make it across proving to her
I CAN BE YOUR KING
if she allows it
still moving one step at a time in any direction I please
but I always keep in mind this is her playing field and that's the key
I'll keep taking out those in my way until I reach my final place
it's a well thought out game not to be played with emotion or distress
always calculated at my own pace every move I make I'll make sure it's to impress
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
a whisper of familiarity
a hint of deja vu
and undetectable scent
in a room full of roses
this is how i know you
at the bottom of every breath
at the end of every heartbeat
miniscule moments
of absolute serenity
this is how i know you
faceless throughout a dream
the tune i can't quite place
the lingering warmth
after an unexpected nap
this is how i know you
the peace underlying chaos
the hope that pushes despair
the truth that hides
in misconception
this is how i know you
the thread that ties the then to now
the link between before and after
the love that makes me
who i am meant to be
This, is how i know you
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
I have a memory that kills me
Like shards of glass sliding through my atrium,
Undetectable until it has ripped an
Irreparable hole in my heart.
His arm is tightened around my neck,
Pressure behind,
Pulling me to him,
My fear thicker than the air I could not breathe.
And then it was over,
Over like the red and sweat of my face
As the oxygen rushed back in.
Therapist says it was not an accident.
In 30 seconds he had tested me.
I was controllable.
Pass or fail
Depends on who you ask.
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
Outstretched
And
Exposed
To find
Yourself
In
The
Chasm.
Displaced
Consciousness
As if
A Phantom.
Holding your soul,
Close to your body.
Rolling
Into
A Cocoon
Of
Newly
Spun
String.
Rolling, rolling, rolling...
To where?
Towards
Undetectable
Cosmos.
Unending,
Then crystalizing
Over sudden sunsets,
Infinitely,
Across the horizon.
Moving towards
Abstractions
Faster,
As concrete
Fails to set
Within them.
Swept up
On the stairwell
Of a helix,
Waiting to
See where
It ends.
Caught up
In the never-ending
Space of Obscurity
That sometimes seems
Forbidden.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC
There's a very fine line between
Weirdness and Greatness...
And often the transition
Is undetectable.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
This morning
I woke up
and
told Melissa we wouldn’t
make it past three months.
We're at month two,
and I can feel it.
Either I’d drop her, or she’d
drop me, but either way
“we don’t have staying power,
and there’s no point
in either of us
pretending like we’re grown ups
who can just power through things
out of sheer complacency”.
I wasn’t looking at her.
Just up
at the spackle and a spinning fan.
It’s so hot in here,
that we sleep on top of the covers
sweating little puddles of skin
into the comforter.
Nightly,
we mash those deposits of dried salt
deep into the mattress
with our sloughing bodies
to get stuck
and form
tiny caves of skin and boredom in the springs.
She rolled away from me
swirling off a cloud
of stale, watermelon shampoo
And reached
With a tightly domed deltoid
towards the blue milk crate
where her purse sat.
She rummaged in there,
her back muscles working
like a landslide of flesh.
She finally dropped the purse,
after an effort of five minutes,
and I heard the successful flick
of a lighter.
She started
puffing and chugging down smoke
As she laid on her side.
My eyes watered
in the bluish smog,
and as the fan turned
raining down peices of our own skin
in a dusty, undetectable cloud of particulates
I could just see her,
out of the corner of my eye,
Shifting the weight of her body
from her deltoid
to her trapezius.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 11:39 PM UTC
Tonight, I'll be at it again.
I'll search the streets like
A detective searching for a
Lost child. Ironic, isn't it,
that detectives are looking for me?
But I'm undetectable, because
I look just like everyone else.
Except I'm not like everyone else;
I'm a monster, Satan in the flesh.
I'm a skilled hunter, just like
A lion. I'll sneak up on you,
And you won't know I'm there
Until I'm tearing into your skin.
The media is saying I get off on
This, well, maybe I do.
Every scream and cry for help
Is stored carefully in my brain.
The term "serial killer" is so
Unfitting. Although I do prefer
Pretty blondes with blue eyes, I'd
**** just about anyone.
Their eyes are my favorite;
That's what gets me every time.
The way they fill with horror
Just before the life drains from them,
It's exhilarating; it's ****
I cannot deny that it
Gets me off, it's the biggest
Thrill I've ever felt.
And the media lies to the
People, saying I'll be caught
And you'll be safe. I am
Unstoppable, I'll never be found.
I'm your worst nightmare;
Lucifer is my middle name.
This is all a game to me,
And it will never end.
Tonight, I'll be at it again.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Walked to the lake nobody around
Watery clear mirrored no sound
Fish made their move taken by surprise
Divine Love entered the clearing in disguise
Appeared from nowhere crossed time bridged space
How did Love know where to find this place
Knew from the start Love wanted her heart
To make her stay from far away
Destined to meet had no idea why
Kind hopeful passionate romantic guy
Foliage reflection silent forest clime
A window a portal a wormhole in time
Peeked through the veil past the Divide
Clandestine link to the other side
A kiss a chain two souls linked together
A golden moment personified forever
To a river where the crowds gather
Followed invited welcomed her there
Visualized materialized the crack sublime
The crowd parted for her proof paradigm
Her mission veiled her purpose oblivious
Death lurked undetectable ubiquitous
Invisible Denizen of Fear
Behind in front at her side always near
Waited for a mistake hoped for a lie
A justified excuse to take her life
Stalked her everywhere dragged her around
Wondered when to take her down under
The ledge behind the edge set up high
Nowhere to hide Death always close by
Steeled herself gathered her strength
Lethal Weapon disarmed; Exigent Innocent
Luminous Numinis shielded on all sides
Taken to dark regions unknown unseen by eyes
Brainwashed cornered Captive memory gone
Stood her ground as Death stared her down
Lured to the river hard cold fast water slid past
“How Can I .... You, I Love You”, Death asked
Brutalized left for dead her sentence repealed
Death needed permission the plan revealed
Passed back through the portal unscratched
Delivered home safe to Divine Love at last
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
I can be a wretched fake, in private, intimate performance.
I’m an actress capable of imitating spontaneous pleasure -
by tricks of hesitation, convulsive vocal play and postures.
A mimicry undetectable to an immediate spectator.
"Aww, thank you", I’ll sigh, as if leaving a good party.
“I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” I’ll add, a minute later.
To clear the stage.
Feb 14, 2024
Feb 14, 2024 at 10:18 PM UTC
with tobacco sitting open
in dusty papers on our kitchen table,
still warm from the glow
on your mint and cedar skin,
and with the sky cloudy and quiet in our window,
you kissed my crooked mouth
like the ghost hand that held the door open for you.
Heartache is an actor,
mumbling his soliloquy on the wide empty stage of my tongue
while the people in the back complain that they can't hear.
when people speak of a love not returned,
if you're lucky,
you can still hear a thin warm ribbon of blood
wrapping around teeth,
almost undetectable,
and the name hangs heavy in the room
like silver tinsel after christmas
if the still oozes hot, black heartache
or else it is a wound that has scabbed over.
the lover is left lying like
a ribbed dog on a dry path,
summer's dust coating organs and throats
purple and bruised,
church bells ringing through tall grass.
but you heard every word that Heartache was saying.
you smarted away from me,
as if I had bitten you.
I think maybe
you could taste all of this war
waging among the rafters
in the high ceilings of my mouth.
and all I could taste was copper pennies
for months after you left.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Conversations overlapping.
Suitcase wheels rolling.
Babies sobbing.
Mothers calling.
Headphones blaring.
People scurrying.
PA system whispering.
Starbucks bustling.
Airplanes taking off and landing.
And in the middle of everything,
The lady in black.
Sitting motionless, hands grasping her
Black umbrella, her sleek black dress
Accentuating her young body,
And whilst a black veil covers her face,
Her tears shine through, reflecting
From the bright lights of the airport.
When you look closer,
Her slim body trembles with concealed sobs,
And her calm facade is broken
With closer inspection,
Broken inside from something undetectable from the outside.
The lady in black.
We have all been her.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
Zeerow, The Hero
Was a spectacular fool.
An unrepentant tool,
He run on philosophy
Based on misogyny,
Of raging homophobia
And collected memorabilia
From the Third *****
He didn’t like to be questioned
Whenever it was mentioned
Because he knew something
The rest of us were missing.
He knew as he knew day and night
That he was one hundred percent right
And we were all certifiable imbeciles
That made him totally irascible.
His compassion undetectable
He thought himself respectable
Because he kept his bigotry quiet.
But few could actually buy it
Because his brow-lowering scowls
And not-so sotto voce growls
Gave him away rather quickly.
And sometimes things got sticky
When he found him surrounded
By those previously grounded
In his wordy, misguided opinions
That we were all his minions
And he was some kind of lordling.
So how could we find him boring?
Yet we did. The best we could, we hid
Whenever he showed his face.
Especially in a public place.
The only thing that made it worse
Was that in the final verse
Some idiots elected him to office
So he got to irritate all of us.
And he did so officially,
Doing so quite efficiently.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
(A Poem about HIV/AIDS & how humanity has dealt with it since its mysterious onset-and the future too…)
The mystifying howl is still irksomely faint yet vividly heard,
Akin to orchestrated footsteps of the undetectable command
As the new twilight tries to light-down the “smoldering fire” beyond the horizon…
It’s just so violent and it has been destroying everyone
Generations “screaming too loud” and many fallen
It has been “too thunderous”-“too rowdy”: it has stolen
From humanity-the Joy to enlighten-a Truth to reign-
A divine right of our existence here-but this pain…
Through our deepest thoughts-and dreams gone
Because of the “Teardrops and caskets”-loosing our own
To this “brutal-fierce beast” who “eats” without remorse and direction-
Evading all “the hunter’s Traps” to pursue an exuberate mission….
Life gets risky sometimes!
Are we now left with “frozen wrists”?
Or do we continue laying “stronger bricks”?
To lay a universal foundation with hooks
That will keep us together like strong rocks-
Even though we’ve suffered from “shell-shocks”-
…Which has only answered mother-nature’s call to catch
Humanity twice as much-and wish thrice as such
For a better day-a bunch
Of signs to watch….
Even though the “streams of tears” continue to drive
Mortals to an “invisible-penitentiary” without Love;
Perhaps one day-The “Light” will save
Us out of this awkward predicament-similar to a bee-hive
Through all this “fire and smoke”-when everyday is a test-
We can only control our mental-states: settle down and just set it straight,
Else this classical tale of “Loss-Vs-Triumph” will be a total waste-
Though some souls have learnt to take a second to “pump the brakes and wait”;
Will it be too late when they wake up-to let their “dreams-of triumph”….escalate-
Amidst so many trials and failures-making it hard to tolerate
An “Enemy” who attacks without warning-to even hate
On the most innocent “creation of nature”-an infant!
Though everybody dies-The “Dream of Triumph” is still straight…
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:53 AM UTC
some days, when the pain is bigger than before, when it manifests itself into a coyote hunting down the prancing memories of the good days, chasing the sunset,
it's these days I ask myself if it was truly worth it?
is it better to have loved & lost; to have lived and died, than to be a spec of dust on the wind, washing the sky in colours undetectable.
we painted the clouds in rosy hues,
& loving you was like painting a canvas in every shade of red from every berry in every forest.
but when the paint dried & oxidized, & roses looked muddy like they had been stepped on out in the rain,
it was days like that I felt it was not worth it.
being shackled to the ground, sprouting from the soil and instant destruction,
this love was so young, so pure, so new and senseless,
yet agony awakened as your spirit drifted away from these leaves & thorns,
& I am just a small rosebud begging to blossom but you keep picking petals, playing a game of "I love her, I love her not"
how does this flower bloom if every day she fades back into the ground, trampled by the crash of timber from the shaky earthquake of your voice.
cowering in the corners from the thunder your voice emits, from the high heavens.
so holy you seem with your voice so high, so above and beyond the trees my petals could never reach.
& yet so terribly close you feel, how your voice carries on the wind, howling from dawn to dusk.
so I understand now why it hurts so much.
how you were once all of nature, but the forest burnt to the ground, ashes to ashes,
we, the remains of nature, scattered across the earth.
you're love was so short, a glimpse of light, a lunar eclipse,
& the forgetting is so long, a year of April showers, a mourning period where flowers don't grow, flash floods in my eyes & around every corner.
forgetting is all to difficult, but I'll take it.
I'll take the rain any day, to have felt your light if only for a fraction of a moment;
if only to have it vanish like the wind.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
Protect these children,
Who have grown up without care,
Knowing technological screens better than
Loving stares.
These children who develop
Perverse minds before even hitting puberty;
That type of parenting is a disastrous,
Sick sort of cruelty.
Raise your children to know human touch,
And radiating love that comes from within;
Don't accustom them to finding enjoyment
In the virtual worlds they play in.
Children are still developing and
It is your duty as parents to protect their innocence;
To safeguard their beautiful minds that are barren of
The world's filth; falter not in this for even an instant.
To fail this is to admit that you have
Poisoned beauty in one of its finest forms;
I do not care what social rules you have to break,
Never break or conform.
If you succeed, your kids' light won't go out,
Even when they age and the world gets darker,
They will remember the values taught
By those who would not give into slaughter.
Do not slaughter innocence, for it seldom peeks
Through the rampant corruption of this world;
And I fear sometimes that it will be quenched
Or become undetectable like water vapor tightly furled.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Drug Sub War
The drug sub became the new menace
Replacing the Toyota engined powerboats
And outdated drug running planes that got splashed
Sleek, able to travel underwater
More than the semi-submersible craft
Using a snorkel like **** U-Boats did
A group of foreign designers made them
Contracted by the drug cartels
To make an almost undetectable vehicle
Costing millions fitted with both low and high tech gear
Like GPS, night and day camera periscope and more
Able to dive at will hundreds of feet below
Remaining silent under battery power
But they didn't realize how persistent the US Navy was
Who specialized in hunting subs and now had a new opponent
Not Red China or Neo Soviet enemy subs hunting American carriers
It was Narco Subs from Central and South America
Each one carrying between one and eight tons of drugs
Pure Class A narcotics to **** North American youth
The US Navy used P-3 Orions, P-8 Poseidens and anti-sub choppers
To find the stealthy subs and take the appropriate measures
Calling destroyers and frigates who chased the subs down
Forcing them to surface with small depth charges
When drug sub crews fought back with machine guns
The navy sank them with all available weapons
For this war war, a war of innocent versus guilty
On the ocean no law court was needed...
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 6:39 AM UTC
I am exhausted
with your
silences
The chattering muons
rain upon my
magnetosphere
this crushing
undetectable
force
of everything
failing
to fill
Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
Undetectable by the naked eye,
you slip threatening euphemisms
[Bruce Lee yelps and noise]
into the softer parts of my body.
Sleepless unlike god-fearing mortals
drink wine fermented of kitchen tears,
fermented in Dixie cups
held closed by the pressure;
image of a social butterfly
with wings torn off by
childish tyrants.
Sneak into my tonsils
and tear out every crown
on your way to my lips.
Pillage and loot and riot,
bleed from the mouth.
Held together by wire.
Sewn shut with iron.
Eyes as two independent souls,
each a decoy of the other,
hidden, even to themselves.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
Just shallow, raspy breaths in this hollow paradise,
and nothing that inspires me to open my eyes.
The barren ground gives me no reason to rise,
and I touch nothing that satisfies.
The shoes that hurt and clamp on my feet,
painful, black leather's the only thing I meet.
Smiling every day is such a great feat,
sad words in thousands of ink-stained sheets.
Uncountable, the laughs.
Unforgettable, the scowls.
Undeniable, the acts.
Undetectable, the frowns.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
Come,
Dig the question tiny dancers.
How would it feel to be one of the beautiful?
To do as you pleased and not be accountable.
Your bad behavior always explainable.
Anything you say is socially acceptable.
Everything you wear is said to be fashionable.
Though even on you it may look really terrible.
How would it feel to be one of the beautiful?
To live a life where everything's accessible.
But for others so incredibly untouchable.
Something about this doesn't seem quite ethical.
The law around you tends to be a bit flexible.
How would it feel to be one of beautiful?
When your face becomes not so adorable.
Your company not so preferable.
All of your accomplishments made minuscule...
virtually undetectable.
Everything about you now is utterly expendable.
Come,
Dig the question tiny dancers.
How would it feel to be one of the beautiful?
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC