"unearthing" poems
Tantalizing, Tantalizing, Tantalizing
Frigid, Frigid, Frigid
Distant
A game we both play,
a game of tag..
Confident they'll win
Sure that I'll lose
Hunting
Sharp, Sharp, Sharp
Powerful, Powerful, Powerful
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 11:44 AM UTC
Tongue in cheek I detest you
Hand over foot
Make a peep *****
And I promise I'll ****** you
Bad tact I'm a cesspool
Festering in the nestle of your daughter's
well developing *******
Everyday I follow her home from school
This unnerving pervert unearthing fervor
making ya catatonic &
giving your heart murmurs
Nurture the thought
It's just the tip
(Of the iceberg)
Gotta stir the paint before you make a mural
Ma'am, I'll purloin your ham purse until my burial
Don't be a sourpuss
It's final
I'm vile
And I swear I'm not a *********
Want some candy?
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
I fathom fatherhood
His invincible feats
When that magnanimous shadow danced
Bowing his head lowly
And my cryptic looks
Staring that pugnacious shadow
To what he's been unearthing for
A little later in the twilight of dusk
My drooling curiosity burnt in persistence
As I observed a twinkling toddler
Following the lead of his father
With merry- go rounds and exciting swings
As docile as a lamb
He embraced his daddy
Cause that was his world's best swing
And then blew his index finger in air
Spinning around everywhere
The father introduced the whole world
Without shutting him up
The next half hour passed away
And there temple bells rang
And wind blew
Everything became grave
A reverberation echoed
Together with temple bells
Rung the devotional clap
Of a son
And his father...
Worshipping..
Never ever can I fathom
The unconditional fatherly love..
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
can’t stop the waves
wane until they dissipate
caressing your bleach blonde waves
crave until it dissipates
everything is impermanent, imperfect
until you came into emergence, unearthing
roots that travelled deep towards the centre
i did not think i could ever have a happily ever after
but your potency feeds my possibilities
your royalty fuels my bejewelled dreams
there is no competition, no adversity
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 9:14 AM UTC
Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Breathed in the breath of the saviour,
To richen the soul of the poor.
I puffed out a portal to the cloud kingdom.
Holding onto the scales of a dragon.
The earth beneath my feet begun to shrink,
And the sky above my head started to sink.
I caught a glimpse of what was behind the cloud,
And was dropped from a million feet high down to the ground.
I met an angel with a kick,
Wanted by the government.
Eyes as wide as rabbit holes,
As bright as a solar moon.
Black stars in between white spaces,
Generating a reluctant mold.
There’s golden flakes in its hair,
Its string chokes my throat.
I thought it was my angel,
Turns out it was fool’s gold.
When the fog sets,
And everything fades away;
I turn off my car headlights,
And stear into the grey.
I like to hide in the clouds,
They make me so happy;
But when I come back down,
They make me so sad.
Digging in my grave to find heaven,
Inhaling the smoke of another dragon.
I think I might have found my God.
I’m melting in his eternal sunshine.
Smoked the crumbled image of his face,
It turned my tears into wine.
The earth's my grave,
The sky's my cradle.
Unearthing my new low,
To find the highest place one can go.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
Providing evidence to myself
I sense boredom
As adventure
But solution to a rusty bolt
Without smeared oil
While unearthing self
Before boredom detects you
In the vicinity
The environs speaks
Actions are no curiosity
To be nosy
While others exist with their dealings
A character brings passe'
To detect
But not evaluate
The boredom
Which leads to nowhere
How can a heart stop pulsating?
Only to have no charge
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
When you approached me,
I was smoking a cigarette
listening to Macklemore
outside my favorite coffeeshop
in the rainy city
You said something,
but I didn't hear you,
so I removed my headphones
as you asked
"Could you help a veteran out
by giving him a cigarette?"
I said yes,
asked you where you had fought
you told me Saigon
"Oh yeah? Vietnam."
you looked at me
dressed in a coat
that was a color of blue
not found in nature
face of canyons
and told me
"We got those ******* good.
We did.
We got those ******* good.
Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
and you walked away.
I was stuck in a trance of
What the **** was that
and yeah,
we did get them
but I don't know if I'd lay down
Agent Orange
and call it "good"
Take Civil and Guerrilla warfare
and try to tie it next to butterflies
and welfare checks
I don't know
what you think is good
But me?
I can't find any other words
for 1.9 to 3.9 million casualties
in a war that should never have been fought
Than sad
and wrong
I wonder how many Vietnamese women
gave birth to half American babies
That they never wanted
that didn't even desire to participate
in the act
of child making
I wonder how many
Loved their children anyway
how many were honest with them
how many of those children burnt that odd color of blue
that should never exist in nature
But then again
neither should the bombs children are still unearthing
in the North
and South of Vietnam
I want to know how many of their parents
learned that American
is another word for a ************
How many of these parents
grew up telling their children
never trust an American
until you know where his gun is pointed
because he's always got it pointing somewhere
I want to know
If you would understand
where Saigon, now ** Chi Minh city
is on a map
if you had never fought there
Would you be on the streets of Portland
alone
asking a college kid
who was not alive
when you fought in Southeast Asia
for a cigarette
I wonder where are you going?
How many people did you ****
how many are you sorry
for killing?
and then I realize I really don't want to know.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
SHOPPING LIST
after the funeral
your fingerprint lives on
in a jar of Pond's Cold Cream
a shopping list
dug out of a drawer
now a precious artifact
I an emotional archaeologist
unearthing a smile
buried in the past
all our I wills
become the past
tense
the touch of your skin
still so real to me
a teardrop trickles into my ear
Death
unreals you then
makes you more real
I call your mobile
just to hear you say
you are not there
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
the one constant in your life is you.
I am the tectonic plates, shifting and burying and grinding
changing against myself with little cares for trees and bushes,
I do not mind that my earthquakes destroy sheep
I do not lose sleep over my sinkholes, nor does the
fresh breeze disturb my actions- you
might think your life changes when someone leaves
or someone dies, or someone new comes
and maybe yes, it does, but you are really far beyond the scope
of one meteorite, one blast of destruction or creation-
this is no apocalypse. The world is different, now, but not really-
it still exists, and it still is called by the same name-
no matter what physical shifts occur, it's made of the same mass
of **** and dirt and rock and pure lava tossing in the celestial laundry.
What do you find there?
You are more unchangeable than you know
and yet, once you are changing- there is no stopping
the earth from folding in on itself and unearthing your new truth.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
What an honor
It would be
To inspire someone
Lost and suffering
Trapped in their own mind
Of relentless criticism
Who would have guessed the semicolon
Would hold such symbolism
This desire I have
To change just one life
May not affect the world
But it would ease their strife
Because I know what it’s like to be exhausted
At the end of every day
With no other reason than the constant war
Of keeping my demons at bay
How incredible it would be
To stop measuring my self worth
By judgments and comparisons
With everyone else on earth
To stop unearthing past mistakes
Then uprooting the pleasant memories
And throwing them aside
As a gardener does with vexatious weeds
Constantly tortured by little things
Until it's miserable to survive
Sweetheart don't you realize
It's a privilege to be alive
Why is it we search for happiness
Like its something waiting to be found
When it is only from the inside
That we can turn our thoughts around
My dear, please don't give in
You don't have to feel this way
The demons may be frightening
But you have the final say
No matter what they say to you
It's you who has control
Don't let them turn your soft, kind heart
Into a numb black hole
The numb black hole
I know it well
Then waves of pain
Like an ocean swell
Just as tides come and go
Your darkness will too
As long as you keep fighting
The whole way through
Keep your thoughts positive
It is your mind you must transform
For there are always blue skies
After every storm
Your sorrows may not be gone for good
But you have a bright future ahead
Inspire others to change their thoughts
And dry the tears they’ve shed
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
It makes sense that a mummy was required
For the exodus out of my king rut
By wrapping me in silk and satin
And embalming me with love
But my brief time as pharaoh ended
A tomb at the pyramid I once attended
Thoughts of my sins plagued me
Did I get too froggy?
Or maybe he just met another sarcophaguy
Or maybe I misunderstood him
When he invited me over for desert
I wanted to conquer you
Like Brendan Fraser
Now I just want to talk to you
Like John Edward
I tried unearthing artifacts to channel your spirit
But your grave had been robbed
And after swimming in denial for so long
Wandering through the Sahara feels wrong
Your carefree kingdom is where I belong
But the evasive Ra warned
That the ghosts of snake charmers
Are abrasive and horned
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 1:50 AM UTC
Lifetimes
She was mine
Lost and devine
Unearthing sublime
Inside
All the time
Our love was nuclear
And is
Lovers, foes and friends
My student
My pride
My weakness
My place to hide
The inevitable slide
Every time
I won’t sign to realize
It’s not mine
To decide
I cannot get her
To the other side
Despite my pride
And plans I devise
She rides out
On the morning tide
Everyday
Without me
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 5:23 PM UTC
Here lies my dog, motionless in his kennel
unable to wag his tail as he always did.
Yesterday when I saw him, curling helpless on his mat
he still wagged his tail and from him arose
a faint tremolo of love
punctuated by gutturals of pain.
At some bleak hour of the night,
the last ember of life died down
and his supple body turned stiff and stark.
Now he lies straight and majestic in death
leaving a track record of love
far difficult to break,
- a love no vessel can hold
or equated with what we humans feel.
Speechless as I stand, memories churn within.
He came to us - too young to be weaned,
a glossy black puppy with tawny gleaming eyes.
His short, sturdy limbs, large drooping ears,
slender waist and elongated frame
well proclaimed his pedigree aloud
So full of mischief, he capered and hopped,
like a new born calf, always up on his heels.
Sniffing with moist nose, he dug and dug
as if unearthing a treasure trove
buried deep beneath the soil.
With alert vigil, he guarded our home,
barking at strangers and driving rodents away
He expected nothing in turn but love.
His loyalty as we deem was never servile.
Never was he on chains to be hauled like cattle.
He enjoyed sauntering through the courtyard
giving company as we took our evening rounds.
He gloated rubbing his body over our knee
and sat content as our stroking fingers ran all around
Licking our feet and arms,
what he conveyed in inarticulate words
could be deciphered thus -
‘I love you, love you true’
Like the bouncing ball, he often played with
our hearts made to bounce up in love
and our hands fold in benison
for a comrade who departs,
valiant in life and loyal to the core
hoping to meet him anon
on the far green meadows of bliss,
still wagging his tail, avowing a bond
too strong to be snapped or splintered.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
what is this body but a vessel to you?
carrying your what if's and
your unborn children
a fixture
to *****
This body is but
curves that turn
and cut your wit
dim forest
that you trail-blaze
converting rolling hills
to farmland
unearthing soil,
to dig your pleasure graves.
what is this body to you?
But two bouncing *******
under a cotton summer dress?
what is this body but lips spread wide
open, teasing
a flash of teeth?
does it make you break a sweat?
what is this body but your chess piece?
mantel piece
piece of ***
strip tease
arm-rest
a body
beside you
to look down upon
and fake a smile at
in photographs
what is this body to you
but a vase?
to fill with your complaints
to empty your sorrows into
to empty your ***** into
to let down
then help up
to coo over and
cry on
and cry on
and cry on
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"
–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"
And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.
Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.
Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.
Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."
Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.
Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair
Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions
Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.
Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.
© Sia Jane
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
Finding yourself
Behind these 8A walls
Not knowing who you are
But faking a personality
while walking through these middle school halls
Going out with him
Or talking about how bad you wanna get with her
Telling them you love them when you're not really sure
Soul Searching
Deep down underground, unearthing
If there is anything
I learned worth knowing
Its that finding yourself
Requires soul searching
I have seen everything in 8B
I have conquered the giant in 8A
I have survived 8th grade
I have been shaped, molded, and made
I have discovered a new me
Without drowning in the sea
I soul searched
And I love the new me
That has emerged
While discovering my personality
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
My sleeping mind cannot contain
{the horrid images of waking life}
All that my waking mind soaks up
{sponging filth from gutted city streets}
Dreams turning into lucid experiences
{the hypnotic effect of being drawn closer to a blade}
All colors, sensations too intense to categorize
{molded into a colony of unthinking, unearthing drones}
Wind down inside of me
{boiling tornadoes raging from the depths}
Concentrated awareness of my subconscious obliviousness
{the benefits of obsidian isolation}
I wish that I could weave them all together
{the stitches at the seams are wearing thin}
Like tall grasses woven into baskets
{like scythed grasses cut down by rampant Monsanto}
Strong, unbreakable, able to withstand the heavy weight
{pressure baring down on fracturing ribs and shoulders}
Of my spirit
{i feel alone}
Instead I leak through the seams, tear through edges
{leaving me tattered in a massacred pattern}
Five am cannot keep me
{six am will never know me}
My thoughts scatter
{my mind dances with madness}
Drifting in and out
{drifting in and out}
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
Her alias was Sunrise
The affable Sky
Brags her entity
In the high latitude
Her voice was heard.
There exists Energy
He puts up the plug
With the invisible outlet
Of the naked Sky
His charged particles
Brought collision
Brought wonder
To the full-sized Universe.
The solar wind
The Earth
Both were crowd-pullers
Every one knelt down
As they see
The Roman Goddess of Dawn
Her melodramatic entrance
Her chameleon-like aptitude
The neon lights
Without Christmas *****
Made her zone broaden.
I am the Seeker
A Dreamer
In this winter breeze
I lied down
With the techy remote
Unearthing
The Goddess of Fantasy.
(12/5/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
i am lost in the wisp of your faltering
the fluttering of concrete entrenched
into stoic rigmarole
to reach out layer by layer
peeling unearthing
a catatonic subdivision of disjoint subdivisions
a limit ordinal
between touch and feeling
where we kiss on the cusp of that silent ocean on the edge of sound
drowned in the nebulous familiarity of
a distant melody
a tired resolve
re solve the old puzzle muscle memory's misted amnesia
half the pieces falling out the warn tinderbox
inarticulate drowned severed isomorphisms over
brea(d)thless infinities
self adjoint matted topologies
nestled snugly in the amniotic absolution
of form before being
hands of matted ice
contorted into perfection
by the sculpting propensities
of undulations of estrangement,
where we touch in the cusp of self reflections thousand mirrors inverted propensities
infinite infinitesimals
nestled meromorphic partitions
hidden corners in the brevity of dusk
multiplicities fragmenting behind empty veils
( to be seen is to be made discrete
to be discrete is to flicker
and disappear
(inevitably invariable
inevitable invariability))
we
stand in a waterfall of gravel
and drown our voices in the choke of our cellophane hearts
caked
into fillets of aphasic tundra
where we whisper our nothings in the desert on the boundary of silence
our words
escape us
like rats from shipwreck
we are
disembowelled catharsis
intentional and fatuous
retching upon itself
severed
and free
and dead
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Please keep talking.
Bring me home.
Each brush stroke inflection
Stokes fires of resurrection
Bringing back memories of
Baseball diamonds,
Karate lessons,
One-room school houses and
Overlooked blessings,
Of hills so high that we
Named ourselves kings
And of our fathers' shadows
That reminded us
We were yet princes.
The sound of your voice
Is unearthing ruins of me,
Of blueberry fields
Where we stained our clothes,
Of the sulfur we often
Held in our noses.
In your ebb,
In your flow,
It echoes more clearly
Than my heartbeat:
Will a tree forget its roots?
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
They always told me of my pneuma,
This creative spirit,
Capable of conquering nations or liberating the unjustly incarcerated
Unearthing fabled, folkloric myths,
With all the pummels I’d expect a brain cyst—
Still, he trudges on,
Like a scapegoat in its farcical, ineffable glee—
Why are you telling me
To manufacture and market my life
Like an indulgent, indulged on swine
Conforming to the convention,
Supporting units of straight edges
What in this straight-edged maelstrom
Can help the creative pneuma
To thrive in a place so confining and restricting
And detrimental to discoveries, breakthroughs,
Spiritual sustenance?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Superhero man
Defier of all odds
The world’s a symphony
A guitar chord
A melody
Everything is song
Buried away for all the years
Slowly, surely unearthing
Through the cracks
I see a familiar face
yet worn from the world
Sobered by truth
Flattened by reality
But in there somewhere lies
a glimpse of optimistic youth
That shines through
within every note
Music man, impossible man
Laughing in the face of
probability
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
Beautiful
Is a colorless flower
If I am to use it
Describing you
The wordsmiths
Must work well
Into the night
Smithing away
Until morning light
To find a word
Suiting your definition
Unearthing
Is a waterless brook
If used to convey the look
Radiating from your enchanting eyes
The same that left my heart wounded today
When you used them to drill to the core of me
No doubt making a profound discovery
Love
Is overused and clichéd to ruin
Much too pedestrian to capture what you found
When drilling deep into my underground
Without a sound it happened
That word we can’t use
Due to its short and burnt up fuse
Turned on its light this afternoon
And in a magic moment we both knew
That beautiful, unearthing, love
Built a bridge between us
Founded in truth
Always open and fireproof
Today around 2 o’clock
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC