"unduly" poems
Gentle ballerina dance
dance your way around the world
with bold precision dance
with graceful arms unfurled
Tip toe to the passion of the tune
whirling, leaping maelstrom of romance
existential exercise of poetry unwritten
fluttering, a butterfly of souls unduly smitten
with love of life and dignity stirred all up into one
resounding splash of destiny
the last breath of a swan
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Surely you,
Jester.
Unduly-expressed.
Lambasted,
insulted.
Abrasive ...
au naturel?
I think...
Surely not.
Unless,
Had the aforementioned not just the will to rip through my throat,
but too the audacity to penetrate the inclement root you call heart.
Well, I had made my decision.
and lo!
I would have stood by it too;
had my own form of insecurity been given the chance to wilt.
Not further admonished on
how to think. how to act
How 'one' should primarily be.
Instead I lie bludgeoned,
berated;
and by the very thing that
antecedently spurred
a cascade of unsophisticated giddiness.
That too was far from the cry of a
Devil-may-care persona.
I would almost weep the lost opportunity,
Whereas I should simply, and most ardently
Just be.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
I am done with my graceless heart, truly.
For it only beats to make me survive.
It's taken me through stark streets unduly.
Broken into shards in his hands, deprived.
He took the moon from my eyes; tore my soul.
I became an empty grave in the sun.
As frail and lax as a newborn foal
Distressed, from my hunter I could not run.
It is always darkest before the dawn.
I awoke from my slumber in the Spring.
I won't be that shell again or so drawn.
Hold it to up my ear and hear it ring.
Grief doth fade and hope doth thrive, from ashes
My all no longer under your lashes.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
"Nadia"
"Hope," it means.
"Beautiful," they say.
"Kind," she is.
"Caring," they are.
"Nadia."
She is the ever-hopeful,
The triply beautiful,
The very kindhearted,
The infinitely caring.
"Nadia"'s.
They are the unendingly positive,
The unfairly lovely,
The unduly affable,
The unfailingly kind.
"Nadia," oh, how she shines
So brightly, so comfortingly.
"Nadia," oh, how she loves
Without judgement or favor.
But I am not "Nadia."
I am Nadia.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
*for Joe A., who wishes me that
"may your best days be in love's sight"
your kindness in words,
over the top,
unduly undue
"my best days"
très charmant,
mais aujourd'hui
students surpass
the teachers,
cause
sad, bad and life
tag trending
and we~me,
are simply
Sunday~done
with those
nowadays,
grandpa's tools
outdated, shelved,
in their final
resting place,
blades dulled,
the technology
of his verbiage,
rusted by old age
the reads diminishing,
his touch, antiquated,
his best days, resting on top of
the ocean internet waves
his summertime buddies,
sand sun grass and sea air perfumes,
singing, awe we got ya,
cosy and comforted,
awaiting you in your chair,
overlooking our truest
sheltered applause
my best words
turned inwards,
collecting recollections,
rereading my solaces,
and content that
my body,
still stirs,
when joined by
Barry White and Lionel,
forgot like me,
yet happy, in bed
with us
so you see,
Joe,
you are half right,
the right half
*on my bare chest,
blonde tresses,
blanket, keeping me warm,
easy like a Sunday morning
so turns come and go,
no more down the slide,
running to the back of the line,
up and down again and again
time of the tool and die maker,
to cut loose,
learn by crafting daily,
and not from the books*
***Ooh, that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning^***
write for me, write for her,
for with her,
in love's sight,
life is
easy like Sunday morning,
and
that's why I'm easy,
like Sunday morning
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Taking place where you calumniate
with hidden mask behind interface
An embolism hidden behind your lines
Where a falsetto lies your charm
How you create isobaric pressure degradation between your monodical screaming mee-mee's
Creator of sheol , abode of the dead poets
So supine in way and thought
Where will your Valhalla be
You valetudinarian
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Caluminate - to utter maliciously false statements .
Interface - a shared boundary across
embolism - a swelling of a blood vessel due to blockage
isobaric pressure degradation - lines drawn on a weather map marking increasing or decreasing air pressure
Sheol - the place of the dead
supine - failure to act due to moral weakness
Valhalla - Norse hall of God's where slain hero's are received
valetudinarian - one who shows unduly concern for their health
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
Prometheus gave fire
to humanity and had
his innards guzzled
by vultures for it.
You gave me the sun
and I
unduly set myself
wholly
to the task of tearing
apart your insides.
Top to bottom, I stripped you
strip you,
will strip you
of all that makes you you and
I don't know how to stop
turning your yellow
to orange
to purple
to black
like my innards too. See,
I too once gave fire
to people and lovers and friends and
then
I set myself to the task of
tearing up apart
those various necessities that made me
me. Things like basic human kindness.
Simple rules like don't
involve yourself with so many girls
that you lose count while never losing
count. That sort of
thing, y'know.
Do you know how long I've been
trying to write you a poem called
Darjeeling? I've been trying for
so long that I drink coffee now.
I've been trying for so long that
when the restaurant menu finally
reads 'Darjeeling tea' for so and so
price, I don't pay it and order
some mediocre hot-chocolate instead
(and even a Strawberry milkshake. What
does that say about me, I wonder?).
It was lukewarm. It didn't scald
my tongue like you did.
I suppose it never will.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
A Victorian Girl, with eyes forlorn
Wild and elusive since the day she was born
Her features smattered with a blanket of tears
From barbaric acts exposed through the years
Through **** and pillage she never would yield
Some hailed her as foolish as her fate was sealed
She trekked for miles with liberal endeavour
Innocence and intrigue in equal measure
Till she encountered a fellow who furnished the chance
And brandished a languishing olive-like branch
He beckoned her forth with ravishing guile
Bearing pomp and splendor and a fraudulent smile
In mounting the stallion, the deal was done
As the lecherous libertine embodied the pun
He savagely severed her ivory threads
And fiercely penetrated the pallid spread legs
With a barrage of torment unduly unleashed
A Victorian girl, morosely deceased.
(September 2010)
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 4:12 PM UTC
Lady Greene, maleficent in intent,
irrupted, casting pale blue shadows across
the stone walling which begged of freedom
willowy now in stance, plaid cloak
hanging loosely from her frame,
resembling a marsupial, with a gaping pouch
keeping her harness inside,
a typical crank, eccentric and
unduly zealous,
she would divulge those none benevolent feelings
frankly, without restraint
her sharpened tongue,
cut like a smashed glass plate
instinct told her now was the time
and as she rushed through the gate
of the enclosed garden,
the grassed open fields,
parted with fear, at Greene's
baleful stare
Able Master raced toward her
fitting the gear to his head
she mounted the saddle
darkness falling
at the first sign of movement.
© Sia Jane
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Surmise too often, likely a sheer redundancy, unduly supposition went south I'd slump it from high.
Curious? I'd throw down the gauntlet; fathom me out throughout the time of hesitation.
Feb 1, 2024
Feb 1, 2024 at 4:01 AM UTC
O Palestine
My Palestine,
Open your eyes
You need to reply all
in the language of bullets
In a voice full of hatred
I saw Israeli bombardment overnight.
Burning human civilization all around
The curse of our souls is upon
those who are engrossed
in destruction.
Those who take away our abode.
O Holy Mosque Al-Aqsa,
You are the essence of our existence
I swear by my Lord that
I will never allow this
holy place of yours to be defiled.
Where is my brother
Arab non-Arab
Qatar
Kuwait
and the King of Saudi Arabia
Who are holding the flag of Islam?
Who are contained an ancient heritage.
O brother
Are you engaged in oiling their palms ?
Now we want unity.
And there is no alternative to unity.
I hate all airstrikes
Bullets are falling from unseen dark
O Palestine
My Palestine,
When will you sleep unduly?
We are waiting for the good day.
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 3:32 AM UTC
The lane is light-less tonight;
But I’m not unduly perturbed,
For there is still enough sight
In my fancy not to be curbed
By a solitary lamp
Who was forced into silence.
© LazharBouazzi, October 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
*his tears used to wake him
from an unduly prolonged delay
her smiles used to hurt him for
their beauty his heart, dismay:
their love had locked them up
and threw away the only key
and mile upon mile of wishful thinking
pushed them further away, though free
he looked into a well-used mirror to find
the devil he danced with was himself
and the fireflies that once lit their canopy
have also lost their former glee*
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
i'll be the one fattening the nationalists like
they're worthy to inherit the swine skidding
kinds of talk of the famous winged Hussar toppling
mountain in stone as in grain of sand: avalanche -
and akin to a crows' kraken bellowing: gluttonous kra!
und tod! schatten överskuggar död:
and what yearn be dripped in acknowledged European -
loftier thought than done, kindred of what's called
the civilised / colonial world - toward the auburn horizontal -
and in due bereaving: left undone, and unduly asked for:
to be grasped as worshipped, quasi Lutheran,
mingling Calvinist and Catholic... but never the love affair
of Henry VIII. so much of modern English
history is bound to Las Vegas, and so much to the Hajj toward
Jerusalem no one cares about... then so few to mind
the invasion of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth by the Swedes... because this is England,
and Cockney speaks, usurper of the royal tongue, due to pride,
due to the elephant man, due to jack the ripper and
harry the stinker... and the joyous rhapsody coming
from the lonely mile in Irish slang; or said: Mamelukes -
because the Mongols were at one point defeated -
and thus grieved the Baghdad skull with tinges of Hamlet -
oh the grand library, what was left of it, could remain
enshrined in Texan avoidance - not to be:
Chilcot Coke - Cooled Coca and later Koala - Bruise and White -
thugs' select - later respect'ah - bony g and later bonbon
and much later bony m - and much much
later Alfonso Jalfrezi - alias gaga: and all the culinary sagas,
the Forsytes of Malta... or the Forsytes of Málaga?
i'm sure that question is all about:
wherever the peppercorn blows
and wherever the sneeze deposits a hunch
toward an itchy cartilage - from an itch and a scratch:
a butterfly! well, isn't this
the most beautiful of all possible worlds...
sorta makes you want to get up in the morning
and say good-morning to someone.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
I don’t speak in Morse,
so I shall make it brief.
Nothing more than a terse,
but a vivid message as well, it shall be.
My words shall be utterly clear,
OH Hannah my sweet loving dear!
I may have been a bit unduly far,
but certainly I haven’t been near.
With your feelings I tried to be on par,
but who knows, I may have been very austere.
Austere that I thought your passions were of a low price,
I still remember how I overlooked you twice.
It is my fault, that my chance of getting you back,
is no more than the prospect a number has on a dice.
One out of six sounds sporadic to the ear,
but I will fight the odds all over here.
For your feelings lie in a sealed sack
that can’t be released even in a year,
unless I amend the fact that I’m austere.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
One year later, I'm still where you left me.
Tired, undone and unfinished.
Untangling the knots
Of disappointment.
Two years later, I'm halfway there,
Still holding on,
To the promises you made.
Nearly forgetting,
You were never there.
Three years gone,
There's love for me to feed on.
Roughly recollecting the sense
Of your touch.
Four years lost,
There's so much I've gained.
Strength and happiness,
Unduly maintained.
Five years remained,
I've lost count now.
Too busy enumerating,
Favours of people
Who've loved me,
helped me,
And embraced me.
Tell me,
What won?
What gave in?
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 8:00 AM UTC
Echoes Life, that once felt from light,
Unduly ample for my individual sight,
A genuine Self-a particle ungrounded-
Each we see, all tinctures of all shade
By interposition of calignosity made,
Remain it veritably Life unbounded?
Ev'ry thought, woe, joy of live breath,
Is it stronger than inevitable Death?
-Life is Death, as yet unfounded.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 9:53 PM UTC
Open the door.
Step into the light of the world
and smile in the sun of renewal and rebirth.
Breathe in the breeze drifting through the blue
And prepared to jump
Onto a path yet lightless and shadowed,
shying from travelers' eyes.
Into a river flowing fast and full,
its cool fingers unduly joyful and alive.
Through a star's shine and gloom
there burns a wish on the lips
and fingers hold limp on the handles
of pathways held in darkness.
Forever burns the flame idle
until the candle is melted and decayed;
until the mind and body show its reflection.
Open the door to the world.
Open the door to the life meant to live.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 12:36 AM UTC
As told by me:
Shocked, over your indifference and coldness towards the end
Sucker punched, the second you said you haven't considered me a close friend in ages
Sad, that you pretended for so long
Sorry, for any pain I've unduly caused you
****** off, at all the feelings you were harboring that you let snowball into resentment
Certain, that things will never really be the same
Unappreciated, for everything I’ve done for you
Misunderstood, when you said its all about me all the time
Upset, for making you feel unloved
Relief, from the burden of being a perfect friend
Confused, why you didn't give me the benefit of the doubt
Regret, for not speaking up earlier
Selfish, that I took you for granted without listening to your needs
Concern, everyday over your wellbeing
Curious, how you are living/feeling/doing
Generous, when sending you light and love
Sincere, when wishing the best for you always
Love, because I always will
As told by her:
Shocked, that I was caught off guard by your indifference
Sucker punched, when I gave up on our friendship when you needed me the most
Sad, that we didn't see eye to eye
Sorry, for always having been a good friend
****** off, for not being heard for so long
Certain, that things will never be the same
Unappreciated, for everything you’ve done for me
Misunderstood, because you just wanted to finally live by your own needs and not anyone elses
Upset, that I wasn’t able to fully open to you
Relief, from always having to pick up the slack
Confused, why I took it this far
Regret, for not speaking up earlier
Selfish, for expecting me to be a good friend while I dealt with my own/family issues
Concern, everyday over my wellbeing
Curious, how I am living/feeling/doing
Sincere, when wishing the best for me always
Love, because you always will
--PY
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
There was another brother whom history forgets
And though born a fisherman, he preferred other nets.
The coterie of rink rats who lived on the Left Coast
Thought he was sine qua non, and they would often boast
*He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.*
His slapper had heat to make a goalie wet himself;
His wrister was money either five-hole or top-shelf.
After the goaltender felt another puck **** by,
He’d curse and bang the crossbar as fans took up the cry
*He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.*
He dominated rinks out West like no other man
From Calgary to Saskatoon, Fresno to Spokane.
He’d hat tricks in Winnipeg, six-point games in Moose Jaw
Moving scribes to hackneyed verse written in fits of awe.
*He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.*
Though the man was a fine skater, strong, agile and fleet
The slightest flaw in the ice caused anguish to his feet
And he would scold arena crews—*What’d you call this mush?
‘Tis nothing but chips and ruts; I’d rather skate on slush!*
(More prickly than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gio.)
After one match in Oakland on ice unduly rough
He stormed into the locker room, shouting ‘Nuff’s enough!
He didn’t change his sweater as he stormed out the door,
Hopping on a trolley car, to be seen never more
(He’s a bit loony, don’t you know.
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)
He was sighted in the Yukon, once or perhaps twice
Engaged in some mad mission to find the perfect ice.
Neither man nor beast can say what became of this fool,
Though bits of skate lace appear in petrified bear stool
(Tastes better than his brother Joe?
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!
So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.
To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm? Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.
My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!
So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?
Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.
Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.
Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!
If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.
Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!
So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
(Your turn Jim!)
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
Maya Akbar° feared going home
To her hometown in Pakistan.
The person whom she feared was her father--
Obviously, an intolerant man.
Staying with friends in the town of Peshawar,
She didn't trust her family's pleas
For her to return to her parents' home.
Her friends deeply felt her unease.
Maya's father assured the police
That his daughter wouldn't be harmed.
The 19-year old transgender daughter
Nevertheless remained alarmed.
Reluctantly, she went home.
Hours later her friends' hearts sank:
Maya's bullet-ridden body
Was found beside a riverbank.
Police arrested Maya's father.
Her uncle and brothers are also being sought.
All over the world transgender people
Die because of the hatred that's taught.
Some call it an "honor killing."
Honor? No, it's ****** truly.
When ignorance fans the fires of hatred,
Many people suffer unduly.
Efforts are made all over to fight
Laws that are discriminatory.
Laws can change, but changing hardened
Hearts? That’s a different story.
-by Bob B (7-3-19)
°Formerly known as Aftab Aurangzeb, from Nowshera, Pakistan
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC
—————————————
I thought I was unduly bent
with the burden on my head
No heart had ears that understood
the tales my face had said
I thought the path had sifted me
away from smoother stones
Where everything is forsaken
and no one truly owns
I thought and thought and thought some more
till I no longer; saw
For eyes, that I knew not I had
widened to stirring awe
In tumblements, I had arrived
to the hall of cynosures
where souls lit up in endurance
and patience opened doors
Accepted for defectiveness
revered for differences
Collected, all, in being dispersed,
closer for distances
Had fate and path not made me, me
and storms made waves I ride
and then I took all I held in
and looked around, outside
It brings you. where you need to be
it gives, what you require;
To then, become what you were, always
waiting, beyond desire.
©️Arshia
13.7.2020
Tokyo
For unexpected realizations, I am #thankful
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 7:19 AM UTC
Flying apart implacably
is the unruly setting.
Unknowing, unduly spreading
yet asking me (perhaps unfairly)
to hold it pressed against myself
to maintain and withstand
the force with my fibers
to keep the parts from trembling
to somehow keep the whole.
It screams aloud, it screams perforce.
It’s a painful constriction all around.
But stoically it lets me know
with eyes choked and bulging
The dire effort must be so.
So do not let me go.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC