"unfathomed" poems
The Queen of Darken Dreams
Poetic Judy Emery
The dark unfathomed tide
That has fathomed my life;
Of an interminable pried
That blacken up my heart
That turned it into ice,
My life is only a mystery
Of many darken dreams;
I can still hear the ravens cry
Day and night
Always by my side
deep into the night where life
is full of fright;
it is a part of my early journey
where lies are always being told
while the creepy stories are
on the making of true hearts breaking,
where old dreams never made
a home of darkness;
where poets written down
what they loved;
where plays are making drama
that made visions come alive;
with wild crazy thoughts
moved the mind and hearts
to a place of the unknown,
where words are written
to a place of forbidden,
Where a place my own mind
made a written scene;
for others to play out in their own minds,
places in the mind is a journey of some kind,
where true imaginations are made,
where the spirit of me
hasn’t seen yet;
but I hold no regrets;
but at times I hold worthiness of my heart,
on dreamy eyes;
I do write what comes to my mind,
What my heart bleeds
For a world of mystery
To open their minds and read all about me
In darken dreams;
Poetic Judy Emery
The Queen of all darken dreams,
I let my inter visions of my spirit
Write out my misty scenes
for all to capture what it is I see or bleed,
My thought come with many plots;
to control the unknown;
where sleeping spell and rose dust
are being cast into a darken past;
yet; hunting down the brighter hopes in life
to come alive in my life;
There will always be the two dodo brides
In my stories;
You will hear many kinds of things
That will come into darken dreams;
Words of a thief to make the heart weep,
Where witches casting spell
Where only true love could take the spell off,
Where knights ride along the lines
Where queens are made in dreams,
In the sight of ancient time;
I care not about the evil enemies
Because they are a part of the story;
But my work of darken dreams
I do cherish because they are about me.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
which man has saved us from a dystopian future;
where each one of us must decide between good
and evil without fear of punishment from the camera
lens or laws that have become as onerous upon our
lives as a world without any law at all; which man
would be genius enough to survive his own evil
no matter the height of our intellectual achievements,
it is the emotional strain of one life in one world that
cannot care no matter how much we pray beyond
gravity’s last remaining outposts that lays waste to
souls that beg to be equal among beings made in an
image that has not been defined but merely assumed
when tears are no longer welcome as before and
when anger serves the strong well, then will the
light know to assume it’s place in the darkness which
hides from the absence of the knowing, undefined
by Gods or beasts that live in the depths choking
on sinks of man’s glorious quest for immortality
if one man knows of the legend if not each jot of
the law then would the spirit hover above his heart;
must he decide between living as a depraved knave
or martyred by unrecorded history, unfathomed
by meaning or the depths that have no end except
his will to suffer for what he once knew to be true?
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride—
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision on my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my wordly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.
2.6k
Midnight honeycomb
Songs of being alone
Funk chunk xylophone
Ribbons untied
Capsules split by
Things unknown
Rips unsewn
Floating free for all
Casket creep crawl
I dug you out of things too heavy
Too heavy
Too heavy
Broke the levy
We all drown
But the sound of things unfathomed
saved us from ourselves
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
Skimming through the water, like a bird on wing.
Feeling the currents flowing, water spilling along my flanks.
Surging into the deep sea, searching for sunken ships,
Lost treasures to those above, merely decrepit scenery below.
Perhaps, more, to the sealife that shelters there.
This fantastic ability, to relate to earth's final mysteries in the deep.
Granted me, through a fluke of nature, gills filtering,
Scales protecting, tail and fins propelling forward
To ever deeper realms.
Hardly noticing the increasing pressures
Feeling tides pulling, seeing unfathomed sea creatures.
Appreciating the beauty and the power of the deep sea.
Triton may reside here, only stories to those above.
But the mysterious, deepness of this realm, begs belief in other gods.
Continuous exploration of this vast world,
Only brings me a small portion of its bounty.
Birth, life, death, cycling forever.
Brilliant design of creatures and systems,
Only glimpsed from above.
Denied to those who seek to categorize and quantify.
Life is not averages, statistics, and clinical review.
Being judged in labs by coated strangers.
Life indeed is deep, resounding, complex in every detail.
Microcosms of universes existing in harmony
Beneath waves brushing the sky.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 8:55 PM UTC
The terra is only one
planted in clay soil
one planet of earth!
The sneaked out nightingale
here is never gone.
Unleashes soprano
at the same ancient roses'
still a perfumed home!
It's the starry upside's
dark down deep hole.
Sunset melting shadow
down the half light moon!
Eyes on in toto cool
after the day painter sun
is done colouring in full.
Guess, up from the sunrise mountain
who beams back tomorrow
into this unfathomed serene clay-mole?
Again see the sun follows by the moon!
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 1:02 PM UTC
I feel hurt
But I don't know why
My heart is heavy
Dark like the night sky
I want to cry
But I'm out of tears
Unfathomed words
Awaken are my fears
Why am I doing this
When will I learn
I am a disgrace
Nothing good will I earn
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
The gap is widening
the look of a bottomless abyss grows
as she craves the admiration, abiding
an attention of a raging life that arose
that flows like a raging waterfall,
with every sunset of the heart
a magnified life that will not call
it's what she lived for in her art
but to no surprise,
with feelings that were so complex abreast,
that dreams that advise
was welcomed to her quixotic quest ...
Her caring hands hold her heart
as she cries,
from her man she is apart
stroking her child's hair with little lies
she is about hope and dealing
when life lets her rest is rare she tries
she's brave and stands strong and she might
but still has unfathomed wounds
she fractures easily with the words of smite
of the profound that looms ....
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
with no maths for happy
i divided my ' why? '
by Zero
and fell in Love again
like a sceptic
with a wild falsehood
masquerading as
a plausible
X = " WHY ? "
but we know not.
better i should makes waves
in the cavernous
and strike wood
with earnest flint, and cheapskates
on golden ponds of ice
unfathomed, mostly
dark good
with sternest glimpse, for pete's sake
and i could go on, twice
as unaccounted, ghostly
numb soot
in the worm's mint sutures; an armour plate
of Unreal numbers.... kites
in the unfounded, frozen
in the floating point
of a Reason.
or I could call You.... hmmmmm..... ?
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
The Queen of Darken Dreams
Poetic Judy Emery
The dark unfathomed tide
That has fathomed my life;
Of an interminable pried
That blacken up my heart
That turned it into ice,
My life is only a mystery
Of many darken dreams;
I can still hear the ravens cry
Day and night
Always by my side
deep into the night where life
is full of fright;
it is a part of my early journey
where lies are always being told
while the creepy stories are
on the making of true hearts breaking,
where old dreams never made
a home of darkness;
where poets written down
what they loved;
where plays are making drama
that made visions come alive;
with wild crazy thoughts
moved the mind and hearts
to a place of the unknown,
where words are written
to a place of forbidden,
Where a place my own mind
made a written scene;
for others to play out in their own minds,
places in the mind is a journey of some kind,
where true imaginations are made,
where the spirit of me
hasn’t seen yet;
but I hold no regrets;
but at times I hold worthiness of my heart,
on dreamy eyes;
I do write what comes to my mind,
What my heart bleeds
For a world of mystery
To open their minds and read all about me
In darken dreams;
Poetic Judy Emery
The Queen of all darken dreams,
I let my inter visions of my spirit
Write out my misty scenes
for all to capture what it is I see or bleed,
My thought come with many plots;
to control the unknown;
where sleeping spell and rose dust
are being cast into a darken past;
yet; hunting down the brighter hopes in life
to come alive in my life;
There will always be the two dodo brides
In my stories;
You will hear many kinds of things
That will come into darken dreams;
Words of a thief to make the heart weep,
Where witches casting spell
Where only true love could take the spell off,
Where knights ride along the lines
Where queens are made in dreams,
In the sight of ancient time;
I care not about the evil enemies
Because they are a part of the story;
But my work of darken dreams
I do cherish because they are about me.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
white bright linoleum tile
leering up in angled shapes on the floor
my dad
is bent over
by the bathroom window,
pouring ink-red medicine
into a plastic cup.
the sky, dark with sleep, is
distorted to my eye
through the frosted pane
of glass.
dad
looks up at me,
glasses askew,
face hung like wet sheets on a line
and hands me the cup
tells me to
go breathe in the dew outside
maybe,
(his eyes are pooled and ragged)
it will help release your throat
the lights of empty streets, sharp as spines
lie below, rippling like waves on a lake
and above my head,
i watch the ****** of light
as they shimmer in the night
and slide past to hide in the hills
breathe in breathe out breathe in
i am small and silly in
my bare feet and little pajamas
standing on the splintering wooden porch
that hangs on the edge of my house
dad slides opens the glass door behind me
and comes to rub my back in slow circles
and listen with me
to the sound of hills echoing
with the hum
of rumbling semi-trucks
running away into an unfathomed depth,
somewhere i can’t see with my child eyes
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
In the scarce abstinence of self
In the dark mountains of reverence
Unexplored and unfathomed
Shone gold by the first ray of glitter
Our love will bloom
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
Through sleepless night my demon plays
A discreet prelude soundless and damp
Only to show the song it never able to sing
For its voice was tombstone as heavy as life
They said, find a demon who walks with yours
And since we can neither walk nor sing a song
We shall exchange letters in various forms
I will write my blood into words and yours into notes
And in the letters you sent to me at night
Are countable melodies that turn into bats
Which morph my nocturnal agony into dreamless ballad
With uncertainty of a sincerity I can never pay back
We are in different worlds but our demons are in the same
It was your countless letters of wordless phrases
Which keep us sane in a dying perfumed universe
Of self-abhorrence and longing never attained
And in my contemplation towards my ancient lover still
I came to reek that immortality and eternity
Are just unrequited sorrow for stories and blatant history
Of unfathomed longing never has been fulfilled
In a sorority painted by degraded hopes
Nothing mattered anymore as long as we walk
Upon the different dreams and on the same pavements
Caged by cracking skin and melted bones
And when we meet again in the letters
Or in outnumbered dreams
I hope it would be a blessed hell
Instead of broken old tales
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
Not from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within her ***** locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below.
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream
Begins to move and murmur first
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.
Born where the thunder and the blast,
And morning's earliest light are born,
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,
By these low homes, as if in scorn:
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves;
And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,
With heaven's own beam and image shine.
Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;
Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees--
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not--thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls,
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.
Rush on--but were there one with me
That loved me, I would light my hearth
Here, where with God's own majesty
Are touched the features of the earth.
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
Still rising as the tempests beat,
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.
1.4k
*Aimless wander
In the unfathomed depths
I drove into the walls of truth
And
Disentangled my mind
From the imprudent rationalisation
Of the subjective.*
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
I receive your native tongue
like a desperate missionary--
letting it run over my teeth,
stroking the roof of my mouth,
and dancing with my own foreign entity.
I come to you aching
to inhale your exhale,
place my lips to yours.
In the diaspora of spit
from your mouth to mine,
deliver unfathomed riches
of love and wisdom
into my trembling body.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
~
bits and pieces,
lines and creases,
dusty shelves
of storied past;
where could-haves
turned should-haves,
make half-lives gone by.
haunt in our reticence,
expressed in our sigh;
they hide in our silence,
betrayed by our tears,
from missed opportunities
down through the years.
this is no stroll
o’er memory’s lane,
but a pot-holed, hard-roll
on a boulevard unnamed,
where deepest regrets
must defend against shame.
~
i make my peace
by drawing a line,
before it can fade
shifting with time.
i say *“enough!
this far and no more!”*
i give it my heel
and walk out that door.
past the garden,
past the fences,
to the edge of my mind,
resolve saying, “goodbye”
to this pain i have known.
then for reasons unfathomed
i turn at the bend,
to see what i'll miss
as if that place were my friend,
yet that house where i lived
so long and knew well,
was standing no longer,
up in smoke, gone in flames,
now just ashes and bricks
are all that remained.
~
so homeless i felt,
with no place to return.
no basement to bury
the ghosts of my past;
no attic to wander,
no hallways to creep,
no corners to ponder,
no front porch to weep,
lost without home,
now no pillow to sleep.
“please turn around,”
spoke, a voice on the breeze
“there's a new life ahead”
and then, to my relief,
*“you're not homeless, my son;
you’ve a new windowed view!
square your shoulders
to the pathway,
see the journey anew!
in promising thoughts
so hopefully wrought
of brand new can-be’s
that only dreamers can see
these, are your new life
you're not abandoned, but free.
let regrets turn to fuel
build steam from this fire.”*
~
as i turned back to thank
the voice offering these words
i found no sage of advice
but here’s what i heard.
*"offer thanks to your own heart,
to strength buried within.
the matches lay dormant
’til your heart found its stremgth.
the mere act of leaving
was the spark for your fire;
for in striking your new path
your past built your pyre.”*
~
*post script.
after much stirring, much wrestling, we are now with anticipations imagining what will change as we light the fire. i’m excited about the possibilities as we let go.*
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
We need the tonic of wilderness
the land and sea. Indefinitely wild.
Unsurveyed and unfathomed.
A taste of beautiful cultivated outdoors
I wanted to live deep
and **** the marrow out of life
but we loiter in the winter
while it is already spring
The surface of the Earth
soft and impressable
carving deep
ruts of tradition and conformity
I’d rather go before the mast
on deck of the world.
Mysterious and explorable
amid the moonlight and mountains.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Continent bound – water
encircled, I ache
for audible
effortless
mediocrity
Jabbered exchanges
fluid vowels
spill unrecognized and
still lap at
my yawning consciousness
Words now sink
never surface
Drown
unknown
Oral habitudes,
usually uncomprehended
Watered
speech
bubbles up, from
unfathomed
depths I am submerged
constantly
Subsumed
by misunderstandings
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Flowers of the sea,
Bobbing in the tides
Colors dreamed by Neptune
Upon the ocean ride
Flowers groomed by fishes
To suit a mermaid's vase
Unfathomed as her wishes
Rare as her unseen face
Flowers untouched by humans
Growing free the wildest way
In salty brine they're blooming
Decorating sailor's days
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC
Globally dense, our ailing nation
makes one weep for sheer frustration
thoughts and dreams grow numb.
Tech-addled students scroll on phones,
‘midst scent of android pheromones,
wafting digital dumb.
Pop-culture, narcissist unkind
dispenses with the human mind
which, failing further, falls behind
the grimly global curve.
We read, in writing on the wall
arithmetic’s impending fall
while numbers loiter in the hall
to get what they deserve.
ENQUIRY, tagged as D.O.A,
a sheeted stiff, is wheeled away
her mourners left to grieve.
entitled maiden, full of sass,
LIBERTY begs a bathroom pass
her bladder to relieve.
When zit-faced rebels run the show
the dismal ratings plummet low;
a vulgarized cartoon.
Descending to unfathomed levels,
Ignorance applauds her devils
calling out their tune.
PATRIOTISM, tarred and feathered
headless, claws its cage untethered
foul, unloved, unfree:
Another casualty of time
which fell for want of noble rhyme;
to water FREEDOM’s tree.
CURIOSITY, half asleep,
now stirs and murmurs from the deep
uninterested, untaught.
She grows yet duller in her ways
returning to her ocean daze,
(her schools of fish uncaught).
HISTORY, dormant, lies in dust
a narrative no man can trust
a book no scholar reads.
Events unstudied as designed
wherein the heart of humankind
for want of context, bleeds.
DEMOCRACY degenerates
until God wills and activates
a nation’s drive to learn.
Curricula will be made void;
disheartened teachers unemployed,
their wisdom fit to burn.
You think the past was less obtuse?
Less prone to youthful thought-abuse?
Perhaps… back in the day.
And though it may have been the same.
this poet opts to place the blame
on digital delay.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
Do you prefer space, or the deep ocean?
Or the void at end of the world
where the ocean was before
it turned to salt? Or all of the above?
Me, I prefer the all-out sprint to the edge
where the toes abandon the sun-warmed planks,
the infinity of just existing in air, a moment
before the infinity of just existing in cold water.
There is boundless freedom only found
constrained to a minute's unreversed decision.
There is endless wisdom only gained when lost
to the great unknown, unwritten verities.
There is uncanny comfort in this pastel wind
over gray land, in the unconcerned moon,
in the one thing you don't even think about until
you need to find where you dropped your keys.
In reality, "all of the above" is the correct response,
and you can with joy fling yourself into the abyss
of any unfathomed mystery, any new creation
to discover whether you will float, or sink, or swim.
Or we could just spend the day together
at an art museum, leave your jacket and keys there
on the benighted beach, hold hands, and jump
through the wormhole at the center of the galaxy.
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 3:23 PM UTC
Because inventing heaven
from pebble and mist
was backbreaking,
heartquaking
work
and
because I
shivered with
fever, my body lit
by rapture unfathomed,
I sought stillness in the mouth
of the ocean, gave myself
to her shallows and,
with sleepy eyes,
said
*Leave
me here.*
You laid hands to my
dreaming curves. They became
dunes, shifting; you filled my sky with birds.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC