"unenlightened" poems
Sweet gentle daughter of dreaming blue eyes
Reflecting visions from some distant sphere;
Untainted by nightmares of icy fear,
Nor saddened yet by fate's mocking disguise.
Unopened book of fickle tomorrow,
Not certain of how future may unfold,
With hours of lead or hours of molten gold;
Unenlightened yet by unknown sorrow.
Sands rush through the hourglass of wasted years,
While breaking our young hearts with shattered dreams.
The clock of life wrings disappointed tears,
Unhampered by our plans and clever schemes.
Beware grim reaper swinging ***** blade
Who mocks thee as childhood days slowly fade.
~Hilda~
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
A lone ship,
no particular direction,
thrusts forward and
pushes through,
fighting, often,
impenetrable waves.
Waves in constant rush,
pushing back,
slamming into its
outer walls,
repeatedly,
diligently,
never losing
momentum.
In the distance,
a lighthouse makes
its presence known.
A vessel’s unfailing
guide,
a beacon of
safety and light;
a way back home.
Providing a path
out of the dark
and noxious waters,
this pharos,
with aid of buoys
of encouragement
throughout this heavy
journey,
provide a stability
not often recognized
by other ships
in the night.
Oh lighthouse,
bring me home
where roots of
benevolence grow
and branches of
serenity
may take hold.
Embellish promises
of provisions
and comfort,
as route to never
be lost in those
unenlightened waters
again.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Despair unrequited asked of me;
*where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?*
do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or simply tire of expectation?
tell me
&
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
&
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!
show me
&
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
&
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.
only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures
&
when spent,
upon my epitaph do write;
*'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'*
© Qwey.ku
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
Like a stroke of genius,
of just plain blind luck
rising from the jungle floor,
the majestic rubble of the Maya calls,
at once the founder and judge of all Time.
First as the serpent whose plumes turn to wings,
then as the eagle boldly eyeing its prey,
and en fin! as the jaguar, sinewy and sleek,
El Castillo looms
against the hardened, sun-baked sky --
the shifting citadel of Kukulcan,
its shadow splayed across my days.
All of them numbered,
all of them too short,
*all of them fading
in the cold*, hard light of distant failure...
Perenially
built and rebuilt,
like the Church,
El Castillo stands
to meet the need of holy obligation,
to meet my need for initiation,
bounded only by the firmament and the underworld,
final triumph of the dead.
And so I stand,
alone upon the sacred causeway --
enervated, unenlightened,
the bitter taste of dust in my mouth.
Until I, too, will be turned
to stone --
the languid chac mool,
sated in sweet repose.
I will drift toward the sunken cenote,
drink deeply from its oasis of evening cool,
where the memory of man and grain and god is sung:
An anthem of order, power and vision,
the great Mayan hymn of meaning.
I will hear, at last, from the porous depths of Yucatan,
what it is to be called human.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
How do you spread peace across Earth? First, start with your heart. It matters not where or how you begin. Love is in everyone's heart. Your heart has infinite seeds of love in it, as do the hearts of every other human being on Earth. Toss these seeds of love everywhere. It is amazing, miraculous where they may land, and wherever they may land, they wll sprout. Those with megawealth, those who control global corporations, those who compesate their unconscious lack of self-esteem, because they were not loved enough, if at all, as they were growing up, beome not the bestowers of kindness and caring and magnanimity, but are twisted into despots and tyrants and dictators. Throughout their entire lifetimes, they know no love. Hydrogen bombs and all other weapons they know, because they absorb and pervert worldwide the invaluable recources that could feed the starving, shelter the homeless, heal the sick, educate the unenlightened. Humanity has spent millennia killing each other. Now it is time to take the real power on Earth, Love, and live and love as one. Fling your infinite seeds of love from your hearts everywhere and watch them sweep over all of Earth and watch Peace on Earth bloom forever before your eyes.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 2:17 AM UTC
You are the Ocean and I am the wave
moving in tandem as if I'm Your slave.
I rise and fall according to Your will
though once in a while I'm kept very still.
I have no real life without Your sanction
which now seems to be like a distraction.
There are so many others just like me
and I wonder somehow if they agree.
In this manner You just do as You please
and deploy us all with surprising ease!
Our goal seems to be on reaching the shore
then return back to You again for more!
The presence of the moon has much to say
with what goes on Your surface every day.
Its influence is more than we'd suspect
and has to be treated with some respect.
Beyond are other worlds and stars in space
along with the sun which dictates the pace.
They're orbs of living wonder in that sky
and cast their shadows if we care to pry.
How unenlightened seems this life of ours
when we consider how we pass the hours.
For our days are numbered lest we forget
but through One's realization some are set.
There isn't much else now that can be said
before a time comes and we're all but dead.
We can only hope that we've done no harm
on the Ocean's surface that's full of charm.
___________________
Nov 14, 2023
Nov 14, 2023 at 9:33 PM UTC
Our hands our calloused.
Raised old too young,
Too much, too fast to function.
Beliefs and needs
Underestimated in light
Of the weight of life.
Unenlightened self-importance
Breeds nuisance for intelligence
Struggles are active and bound
Revised, undeniable, retractable,
Forming, foaming at the mouth
We flow truth into new strife.
For those who can see through the plastic,
We made it out alive, with luck.
I try not to think of those days when
Dripping, pouring, outward noises
Made me their benefactor in shaking off
The incandescent light from garages long since passed.
I remind myself to shower, once more
This time, with every small drag I smell Propane...
Like leaves carnivaled in a spiral moth,
But it's just the smoke from my cigarette...
So maybe it is Propane...
I find this world to be quite amusing.
My body is a temple for the act of living once.
I am not concerned with long life, I'm mortal.
Experience all and see all, and thereby
Learn the meaning behind the words
That are written in peoples' eyes
So you can be trusted, too.
As long as you can trust yourself,
You'll see the colors realign
Unlike the mother who spoke before me
I will be the father this time
Swerving, slurring, shivering.
Can you hear me? Are you reading this?
**** not away those shreds of extra skin
Always remember how cold it is for me.
Try to conceive of a place for you and I
I will be sure to be asleep when the clouds
Erupt into showers of our pure enjoyment...
I invite you, too.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
I call upon their harmony
They honor me with artistry
The pupils of Apollo's
Lyre resonant inside of me
Calliope adventurous,
Intrepid in her recklessness
Emboldening my will to lead
The unenlightened on this quest
Through Clio's scrolls of history
My oracle clairvoyant
She has graced me with the vision
Of the future sky chatoyant
And a buoyant sea of Euterpe
All floating through the lyricist
That synchronizes all of this
Into a metamorphosis
Evolving as Erato's love
A heart as soft as silk
A dove, tabula rasa thirsting for
The Mother Gaea's milk
To rise from Melpomene
Masks of tragic flaws of Icarus
For I divine the comedies
Thalia simply can't resist
Polyhymnia, Terpsichore
My rarest of expressions
Still reveal themselves in forms
Of spirit guide possessions
When Urania in cosmic bliss
Transports me to the stars
Reborn again to join them
As Mnemosyne's memoirs
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
Do not ever let anger overpower your heart or mind
and you will get to be one of an extraordinary kind.
When anger is expressed in an ignorant or unenlightened way
it causes some door of the heart to close where love does play.
______________________
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 11:26 AM UTC
“Was thy loved ones’ existence still present
when she hassled an ***** position
to fulfil her responsibilities?
Where she endured multitudinous battles,
inhibiting every single darted tear
dying to transpire.
Her frame of mind wavering as she
suppressed her deadly psychosis,
stirring the emotions of her loved ones.
Unenlightened was thou
that as she rooted in their presence,
she nonchalantly decays within.
Her vehemence veiled into resisting mankind
fishing upon her burdens.
Insofar she is overpowered
by the mere evidence that she
cannot silence her sorrows."
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 6:37 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Why is she afraid
To tell her truth
That she was molested
And the proof
Is available
And can be found
But she’s afraid
Despite how it may sound
She has every right
To be afraid
Now that the allegations
Have been made
She has been threatened
Beyond belief
All that she desires
Is relief
Both of ‘em say
They Want to be heard
To not allow her time
Is just absurd
When it’s s a matter
Of giving her one more day
Why are they in such
A hurry anyway?
How come she didn’t
Say something then?
That’s a question
Mainly posed by unenlightened men
Who don’t care
How much she has at risk
That makes me mad enough
To ball my fist
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
You asked me what Samsara is,
How can I begin to explain?
Samsara, Buddha says, is this cycle
Of continuity, without a visible end.
It’s the world of unenlightened existence,
Where beings wander and run around,
Blinded by ignorance; fettered by thirst.
But Samsara is also a perfume,
Desirable, enchanting.
It is the object of one’s adventure;
The teaser in the perpetual chase.
Samsara is this floating world,
Transient, yet beautiful;
Samsara is the house of dreams,
built by the delusions of the ego,
Fueled by endless wants.
Samsara is the realm of suffering—
This world of blood, sweat and tears.
Samsara is the playground of the enlightened,
Who holds heaven and earth just as dear.
Samsara is the opposite of Nirvana,
Yet Samara IS Nirvana
When pesky illusions disappear.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC
You asked me what Samsara is,
How can I begin to explain?
Samsara, Buddha says, is this cycle
Of continuity, without a visible end.
It’s the world of unenlightened existence,
Where beings wander and run around,
Blinded by ignorance; fettered by thirst.
But Samsara is also a perfume,
Desirable, enchanting.
It is the object of one’s adventure;
The teaser in the perpetual chase.
Samsara is this floating world,
Transient, yet beautiful;
Samsara is the house of dreams,
built by the delusions of the ego,
Fueled by endless wants.
Samsara is the realm of suffering—
This world of blood, sweat and tears.
Samsara is the playground of the enlightened,
Who holds heaven and earth just as dear.
Samsara is the opposite of Nirvana,
Yet Samara IS Nirvana
When pesky illusions disappear.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
It's a fall down the stairs
the deliberate action of miss guided steps
rotates the axis of body and form
That crashes fast the nightmare.
I agonize to the pits decay
the frolicking thoughts
there displayed
against the window frame
the sheared glass
Where drips the red dye of life.
Crimson seeds populate the fragile
delicate balance of pain
To the nightly screams that draw
Fills one sore to the unenlightened refrain.
Ticking its seconds
awaiting some external cure
Bordering upon a fancy
Lusting deaths mask to sweep and bind
The lonely hour
The desperate sigh.
Raging inside
begging between the ******
and some hope for light
encouraged in the sinking
that choking plea
strangling the inconsistencies
I court the dark riders course
hoofs pounding nearer
the hearts remorse
Fades the gasp
Of suicide.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:07 PM UTC
if you wake up tomorrow
and find my bed empty and frazzled
with its own kind of morning breath,
look for me in the sky.
i'll be up in the clouds,
building my imaginary skyscrapers,
birthing an infantile nation
to fit in the palm of my starry-eyed heart--
playing god,
if only for a moment.
i'll be assembling scale-model futures
with nothing more than chewing gum
and a tuft of pocket lint.
if you find me there,
using the sun as my pillow,
don't write me off
as an unenlightened romantic.
but if you do,
don't worry--
i'll be up here in my sandbox
whenever you feel like dreaming.
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 1:14 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I search to find the truth in
you and all these places,
But the information turns purple
and loses its breath Each time,
Can't put the stress on my body
enough to see all these Faces,
But the circumstances are falling
out of silver colored skies,
Limit all of your chances,
Time to make some changes,
You've spent your whole life in
a house where people Don't get the message,
Why the long face,
why the sense of unenlightened feelings,
Like a punch in the face each time
I make mistakes,
For that....
the information has died.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
I would have pried open the eyes
Of the blind and unenlightened
So that they might gaze at your light
I would have opened the ears
To the lullabies of the slow evening
Asking you only to listen
I would have let my heart burst
Full of youth and enthusiasm
So I could paint your face on the world
I would have taken your hand
Had his not covered mine
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
Perseverance in adversity, grief and despair
Harshness the essence of life we lived then and now
Student of Jerusalem did you learn your lessons well?
When you walked in Syria, Libya and Mesopotamia
Never giving up on hope, dream and future vision
Faith in the Master urging you to higher thought
Turmoil ceased with spiritual conquests under raging sun
Forgotten Apostle, quietly moving ignorant mountains
Barbarian and savage gentled by your trust in One
Who would show them a far better place of repose
Brethren of the Sacred Heart, you healed the ***** king
Where once despondency lived as an ancient friend
Blessed martyr, in your father's footsteps, a murdered son
Life blood ebbing away onto crude, unenlightened hand
A woman lays weeping for her sin as her baby cries
Weak men surrender to the violence of stronger will
A purple eyed child trembles against a wall with fear
Bigots destroy those who seek God by another creed
Sons of plenty steal the harvests from the hungry
We implore you to hear us, pray for us and answer us
Invocation - will this be our only salvation?
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
Nobody knows the stupidity Ive seen, Brothers follow each other into ponds and drown in stream. Try to pull them out and they will ask why won't you join them. I let go of their hands and watch stupidity destroy them.
Try to calm down, i always feel the drops of rain my back they slide down. Richer men placing fences round the high ground, taxing you for passing through exposing lies found.
No one is amazed, at least where i reside we often see right through the haze. Poison in the dirt where the dumber cattle graze, the shepherds ill intention working through his mental maze.
Wool over your eyes, some pull it off some choke some die. Watch your brothers struggle till they fumble and they fall, nobody wants to help unless they have a gain involved. Unless your soul is bright, if so i bet ill see it through the darkest of the night. illuminate the skys with your joy like the sun. Brothers unenlightened far from clarity they run.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Feared by unenlightened mind
death is seen as an act unkind,
in ignorance lies the truth
of death’s beautiful design.
What is called the end of life
Is merely a severing knife
Dis-joining one’s worldly crawl
From a blissful abode divine.
Death is truly opening of door
To release a bird caged before
Freeing its soul to fly away
Into the permanence of time.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
A nurse wheels me out
into the sun and fresh air;
I feel it on my face,
sense the sunlight
on my blinded eyes,
darkness unenlightened.
If you need me Grace,
just call out,
the nurse says,
and is gone off back
to the hospital ward.
I look around me
seeing nothing,
but trying to give
the impression that I can,
that I am not blind.
I listen intensely,
never thought
I would ever listen
so much to every sound
that came my way.
I am wrapped in a blanket;
my leg stumps
well bandaged.
I reach down
with my right hand,
feeling where the legs end;
feel a shock each time
that I have become
shorter than ever
after the bomb fell
and that was it:
my life changed forever,
blind and legless.
I sit and put my hand
back in my lap.
Voices come from nearby,
other patients maybe,
nurses or doctors or visitors.
I feel a prisoner
of my disabilities;
locked in my body;
unable to go to the loo
or bathroom unaided;
unable to see the beauty
of the flowers
in the grounds.
When the nurses
blanket bathed me
this morning it felt
oddly sensual:
hands moving
over my body,
fingers washing
between my own fingers,
my leg stumps lifted
and cleaned
and re-bandaged gently;
voices between them
in conversation,;
my body tingling
by the touches.
I recalled Clive in 1938
moving his hands over me
that evening he stayed
and we made love;
his voice in my ear,
his lips on mine,
his fingers touching me
all over and in soft places.
Now all gone,
no kisses,
he dead,
no more faces.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
If only it was as easy as just understanding..
Belief with parallel action is what we need to master
Most of us know what we need
Many of us know what the world needs
Few of us act on that enlightenment
Therefore remaining unenlightened
If only it wasn't so easy just to remain a bull *******
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
I'm onto all this.
My perspective is in alignment
I hear the trees and feel those
Who watch over us and whisper prose
That many fail to notice.
I live in a parallel netherworld
Filled with strange, glorious music
Where time and everything you see
Just ain't what it seems.
It's really very strange
Watching everyone pass by
In slow motion monotone
As I glide through the sky.
I guess enlightenment is for the unenlightened.
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
Queen bee said to flower:
'They know there is no true love,'
. . . Sad contrarians.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
Part I - She and Her and The Shadow of She/Her.
Her soul, blanketed with strings of bittersweet memories of love,
picks daisies and puts it into the pouch on her left sleeve.
The daisies wilt.
At the scent of her self pity.
She is in touch with the moon and connects every constellation with the tip of her index finger and feels she doesn’t belong to the place where she is right now.
She feels unenlightened yet aesthetic.
She has an inconspicuous connection with anything and everything that isn’t
loved/understood by everyone.
Or maybe she feels they all have
one thing in common.
They’re all,
Unlovable.
Part II - (Illusion of/False) Hope
The feeling is curable.
Maybe someone needs to reveal from the horizon during the
green flash before the
be dazzling sunset
someone who ‘just’ needs to make her feel special, not even ubiquitously. Someone who would reach out their hand when she’s drowning in negativity.
Maybe she’s better off alone.
All she’s ever done is live vicariously/bottled up her feelings and self loath her precious self.
People stomping on her broken heart held together with double stitches and incisions, walking all over her, using her, breaking her trust, treated like she has no feelings whatsoever.
People replacing her.
Her dreams thrown out the window, shattering the glass and her dreams. The shards stained with the blood of her unfulfilled dreams is a constant reminder that no one is going to support her.
People leaving her, with deep seated scars and etching memories in the depths of her heart. These people are not mere strangers crossing paths on the boardwalk, they are the people who mean/meant the whole universe to her.
There is no shoulder for her to cry/lean on and rest her weary head.
No arms to encompass her feeble frame.
No hand which will fill the gap in between, her fingers.
Desperate calls rattling back as desperate echoes.
She has everything and nothing.
She has everyone and no one.
She’s alone. She’s used to it.
But every once in a while,
she wishes
she had someone who would
make her feel loved and
she’s worth it.
special.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC