"unfeathered" poems
The orangey sun would soon die,
Dipping in the warm open oceans
Black unfeathered birds would fly,
Accompanied with teeth of draconians
The blue sky would be painted black,
And rounded moon would be lighted up
Little suns would start to spark,
With the cricket sounds, abrupt
After 12 rounds of the shorter hand,
The ball of fire will start blazing back
And by the shore, I would stand
Still, wide smiles and plenty laughs I lack
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Biggest, blackest vultures
perched above the headstones
Unbending sin collectors
sipping through the nectar
Ripping through the silver
Leave but ashes, purple
Bruises hot and breathing
unfeathered throats, excited
Talons drop like fountains
beaming bright and red as blood
Penny wishes sinking
under oath and God above
The meal is hot and ready
Can only vultures stomach
the melted shouts of children
the deadened eyes of mothers
the headless walking fathers
Biggest, blackest vultures
elegant as navy
Irony collectors
clean of human peeling
Of napkin trees, a shading
Their beaks are white and shining
Underneath the highest flag
of their tender country
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
Peacefully Prospero weeped
at the edge of these darkened seas.
Unfeathered flocks of fiery bones
flew above his heavy brow.
Giving not a moments notice
at the sorrowed actions of this beaten crowd.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Hate to wake up to disappointment,
Sleep was welcome appointment,
Now reality murders my consciousness,
Finding solace, again, in rusty restlessness.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
Comfort-blanket memories sooth,
Ash tasting, soul eating, ending youth,
Fleeing tears streak, stain and bleed,
Aches unspoken, howls and screams,
Black and beaten, unclean iron,
Hollow heart, gnawed to the bone,
Ember under water's weight,
Sizzling into last embrace,
Wings unfeathered, snake-eyes close,
The unknown hurts, together we lose.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
The sound of my fears,
choke out my dreams.
Throwing silence of the prism
in a burning city.
I want to stray
& uncover
the wrapped beauty of
the ocean.
And the garments of the moon
wearing silk roses.
& Capture
the soft, unfeathered sun
unchain orange butterflies,
and aqua sequins dancing
far out in the sea,
throwing rainbows
in the sky laid above me.
but for now,
I will close my eyes
& pray for this
memory
to paint.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
Life is not mechanical it's fluid,
I used to regulate my perception of
reality of my heartbeat
to the second but failing to see how
one
second flows
into another
and one heartbeat bleeds
lovingly into the next.
I hear Voices soothing my sou.
I am writhing in white and
you are watching
beckoning me
into the real world and
out
real from real
Crimson from Vermillion
a tarred but
unfeathered tree
bends against its back from the world in
It's face as I see you
naked
in my mind
I undress.
I caress you
as my fingers run through
your hair
I kiss you
softly down each chakra
my god!
your face is heartshaped but also
long
slender as your waist
fit
and fresh for not so long I
heave
and inhale you
but only in my mind.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
And, then the gray of vessels vast
cruised stealthily amongst daybreak calm,
wistful winds, aridly
asleep, blue, stolid
waters holding salty thirst
for the mermaids, and sip yellow hazes, with
the smells of dead fish.
Or boiled legs, weary, seemed
on boardwalks brown,
splintered, to never sting the sting
of sun baked grit, nor harbor a signal sheltered
or captain heresies light religions
weathered boil itch,
unfeathered, tethered here and now.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
Words theyv been feeble
Waves much unstable
Wallowing on the spectrum
Of overruling phantasm:
And eye have become...
Nothing.
Nothing but an oddball-
| Certifiable |
tenebrous influence-
| Socially unacceptable |
Day by day getting more and more..
un..available.
And All these Stoicism
All those optimism
Now have been
Swamped away by the skepticism
While every destructive mechanism -
They
Swift..
along..
The throat level
( choking )
And It is all inescapable
For them Crus are Tethered
Catatonic and unfeathered
Aaand
I am
choking
on
Every hit
of ripples
That I swallow
For this pond is
narrow
Way too shallow.
For me...
to
Sink.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
Go down these stairs with me
In naked eyed imaginations
A Briskly Grilled Unfeathered
Turkey Savoured in Hot honey
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
It is a world of randomness.
Photos play in
their digital displays.
Soft impression of
Of wet and salted sands
leave an imprint
of her sacred dance.
Another photo
catches her
soft features
strained in
fantastic effort.
Like a perfect sketch
her legs
are outstretched midair
in opposite directions.
A gray cement cylinder
with open circles
cradles her soft body.
She is a changeling
that bends with
it’s hard contours.
Switching with
a finger’s flick,
finds two black ropes
that hold the hopes
of the young dancer
hanging down
unbound
as she is.
With the fierceness
Of Artemis
this bare foot goddess
sweeps her feet
across the
white winter grounds.
Her steps are
hot enough
to melt the snow.
Later she
enshrouds herself
in a transparent veil.
The melody does not stop.
She moves
like the figure in a
faberge egg music box,
never allowed
to rest until
she breaks.
Beautiful and powerful,
she blooms like the flowers
her admirers plucked
to place pink petals
at her feet.
She is eloquence.
Arms outstretched
to open the doors
that lead to a
warm summer dreamland
which all her devotees
wish to explore.
Folds of blue fabric
fill her tiny hands,
rippling like water
hit by strange skipping stones.
She ***** the fabric forward
up, down, and back,
trying to soar
with the fury of her dance.
One knee rises.
Unfeathered arms open,
flowing back, up, and away.
This long legged
blonde blue eyed child flys,
a canary in the coal mine
barely concealed
urging us to feel;
Frozen in time
on Instagram
to be seen
and soon sidecrolled away.
A queen like Titania,
fairy winged,
a thing of dreams.
Nature’s surroundings
obfuscate her
transient existence.
Her body bends and sways
with the wonders of
old orchestras and concertos.
Till, eve falls
and December takes the dancer.
The soft swimmer shimmers
in the soon to be frozen water.
Feathers fall from the Swan’s
long lost daughter,
and the well used
dance shoes
refuse to move.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
A single man once had said that all is best to be left to the end
His words so spoken yet so droll; coined to a broken man
his history untold
It was in a derelict of sporadic pain
that the man suffered with a great weakness: sporadic disdain
He shunned those he loved with unfeathered remorse
and leaving only scars of his past to rebound the corrected course
It was a dark and dreary night
that he decided to walk for a two second delight
his walks provide him with an old sense of comfort
but nevertheless he still had the sense of discomfort
he cradled a picture of his former family love
of two or three people that he once had shoved
into a gloomy distance of broken deceit
the man unfortunately decided he could never retrieve to his feet
crying into the night as dark as he was depressed
a subtle stroll was what it took to take it off his chest
Cheated from a life he once enjoyed
his former lover slept with another and with this...
he simply could not control
still he looks to that long lifeless still image
of the broken dreams that long ago had diminished
of the love that caressed ever so deep
the man simply couldn't make the pain discrete
so quietly he wept as he drank to his knees.
remembering the night he expressed to his former wife
of the tale of time that brought him devilish delight
of the woman who once slept next to him his life to what he adored
could never return to him and this let him in despair
of that cold midnight walk in his agony anguished tears..
Its a subtle stroll to remind him of the past
that all he endured was simply on blast
and in the sheer night he pulled out his old gun
put it to his head and ended his frivolous run
and in the moment his midnight stroll
told his story of the last subtle stroll
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC
What? Conscious mindtrick
Souls impassioned to each other
To hold
To drink wine
To whisper through the stillness of an evening
In talk so sacred only the ancient ancestors and unfeathered spirits can comprehend
And pour a cup of their own to listen and laugh in joy
To love your life and see another's perfection as a full moon backdrop sunset dripping with the thickest ink with the most colorful pigment
Dear lovely
Dear sweet breaths
Your cheeks tell the story
Here I am not afraid
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
Wings clipped from edges of earth, dusted with flecks of golden triumph and darkened by the ashes from graves of opportunities missed but still tried for. I tried to break the cage that locked me in, the bars were welded tightly together and sometimes I saw no way out. But the mind, just like the powers of the heart, can compress the aches, the pains, the hurt into tiny boxes, only setting themselves (and you) free when open space to be us, appear.
I found a lot of open spaces lately despite the crowdedness of sub-urban life. I found spaces that encouraged me, that loved me, that even glorified me. It is nice to be so unconditionally loved even when sometimes misunderstood.
But the cage remains around certain parts of me. Around things I may not be able to let go of for some time–around the angst about the future, the worry around my potential, the uncertainty around everything amid chaos. I am still compartmentalizing. Emotional boxes are still bound tight with invisible tape, silencing my own words, own thoughts, and the chaos in the background.
The wings, albeit in disarray, still allow me to fly, sometimes to places I never thought I would go. And when they become so unfeathered, there is always another opportunity for transformation.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC