"unflappable" poems
Can the unstoppable force overcome the immovable object? The waves have been a teacher with more wisdom than any I have ever had before. Something so constant, so committed, so unflappable as the lapping or crashing of the waves upon the shore. If you need any evidence of her relentless nature, look no further than the foreshore, great boulders and cliff faces worn down to grit. A true mechanical entity, with precise surety, well versed in engineering, mathematics, weather patterns and fluid dynamics. Who would have thought a philosophical question would have an engineering solution? The answer is no, but the question lacks precision, it doesn't quite paint the picture as it happens. I dive into the crashing waves, stretched out long, offering no resistance, the wash thunders around me but still I glide forward in the water like a shark, no resistance. I am the immovable object. Suspended weightless I overcome the unstoppable force by holding ground, offering no resistance as it rages around and past me, trying to capsize me or push me backwards. The way of the seas, the ultimate peacemaker.
The parallels to life do not need pointing out thus, especially to those who fight for justice, the Davids versus their Goliaths. History's great peacemakers have been here before, the art of war is in passive resistance, principled adherence coupled with civil disobedience, your silence is considered tacit acceptance, so be not silent but give unto Caesar that which is Caesars. The fight is an uphill playing field, you must play by their rules, or the game is over, but you can win by their rules if you know where they bend. So stand peacemakers, face rows of riot shields, plow fields as Te Whiti did, collect salt as Gandhi, be not silent, tip toe that fine line between real change and hard time, wherever you see injustice speak, and seek conciliation. Peace is not achieved when nations put down their guns, peace is achieved when people embrace their neighbors as their brothers and sisters. It is achieved when people no longer speak of peace with longing in the same breath as cursing the person that parked in their carpark. Be peace and you will see peace, wish not to see it in the world if you cannot be it in your world. Change yourself and the world changes with you. So can the unstoppable force overcome the immovable object? That much is up to you.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
I reference this not as the flower just of nature but in this case for the fact it is our anniversary this is an
Oleander of my heart yes the heart is a house all of my feelings and emotions are housed there the
Flower I choose to write about is my sister my wife’s sister Liz it’s kind of appropriate since she was the
Only one in our wedding party as we were married before a judge I guess she was a witness a witness to
The crime as it were to describe her I can use Roy Orbison’s song pretty woman a blonde cutie with
Southern roots in Tennessee now she is a near Chicago northerner take southern nights and northern
Bright lights infuse them with grace and charm you have begun to see the Oleander that lies beyond my
Door yard along my walk and borders the yard of my heart the glistening in the spring rain if you get real
Still you can hear tiny sounds of laughter among the joy filled faces the scented bloom fills my living
Room where ever I am eye catching satisfying delightful spring and summer what a wonder the spilling
Forth of fruitful life she matches the rose in pose an attitude of significance tinged with just enough
Brashness to hold your attention until you become beholden to the inner life that shows character
Wisdom authority a driven wind that lays down in the most beautiful fashion only to arise and make the
Trees sing the glass to shake in the most enjoyable way all in unison they dance the eye stormed by this
Profusion of elegance and color truly a best friend to the wayward wind carried near and far secrets rest
Within the heart that the Oleander knows and claims in darkness unflappable a sweet ghostliness an
Arbor found sweetly remembered but never forgotten unspoiled withstanding the day’s heat showing
Resilience a buoyancy of sprit uncommon the thrill that runs with deep rootedness when the sharp wind
Does blow she through power of will brings calm a flourish of maturity so lovely that is outstanding in all
these gifts she provides the greatest is she calls me friend thanks sis
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
unflappable shards
of broken glass
tinted red with blood
in your feet.
you pick and pick and
make it worse
it hurts to walk but you say
**** it
and pull on your socks,
tie on your shoes,
and go about your business.
eventually the pain starts to subside
as you forget about it.
how did it even happen?
you try to remember,
something about being drunk
and broken bottles.
whatever.
you get home, tired,
ready to go to sleep.
you're afraid to take your shoes off,
see what kind of a torn up mess your feet are
so you leave them on and hop into bed.
your sleep is light; you keep waking up.
these terrible nightmares about teeth falling out
and other ******** it's a real pain in the ***
but
you finally get to sleep an hour before you have to go in to work.
the alarm rings and groggily you start to stand up
but your legs give way and you fall.
you crawl over to the light switch and flip it
your bed is soaked with blood.
it's smeared all over your hands and legs and face
you cut the laces with a pair of scissors
and slowly pull them off, it hurts a lot.
your socks are black and crusty, holes cut through them,
you pull those off too.
...
your feet are fine. there's nothing wrong with them.
you look at your bed. the blood is gone.
did you imagine the whole thing?
you stand up and go to the kitchen. put some eggs on to boil.
you look at the clock. you were supposed to be at work
minutes ago.
you grab a beer, open it,
slowly eat the eggs.
its been another half hour. your boss is gonna be ******
you pick up the phone and dial that number
you've dial tons of times.
your boss answers.
hey, dale, (or whatever the **** his name is)
you say
what the hell! he says
you were supposed to be here an hour early! you said you were coming in but you're *******
you dont let him finish
hey, dale, (or whatever the **** his name is)
i quit. go **** your fat hedgehog of a wife you pimply son of a *****
and you slam the receiver down.
you drink the last bit of your beer and look around.
today's gonna be a good day.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
He’s not like the others,
he’s not even a wholly likable child.
I mean, he has the cute face
high squeaky voice
chipmunk cheeks.
It’s his personality,
his attitude,
it’s the fact that he’s only 7 years old
and already hates the majority of what he’s seen of this wide world.
It’s the fact that he manipulates everyone’s words
until he’s made the collage that meets his ideal visage.
He’s more than a handful.
He’s even more than a whole village’s armful.
And though I know a part of its’ the diagnosis
it’s hard to keep that in mind
all the time.
(It’s hard to forgive an unlikable child)
Even harder as he swings insults your way,
as you have to take off running after him for the nth time this week.
It’s hard keeping a straight face,
keeping the unflappable demeanor
through every offense.
It’s hard not to scream,
curse,
cry,
to remain the calm island in the face of the raging tempest.
But you have to.
(Even though he’s not the most likable child)
He is still a child.
And you’re loving compassion is stronger than his self destruction.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Lost on a sailboat going nowhere but towards a dream
I glide deeper in blue waters looking for the endless seam
night has fallen softly all around me, I can only gleam
here in my sailboat, standing spar to spar a pulpit realm
Finding only calm I mesh as one with the dolphins in the sea
the wind blows softly in my ear whistling past the bow now free
the calendar of time fades as dull as grandad's silver cutlery
I breathe deep, deeper then mermaids, there are three ***
Entering forbidden lands, my fantasy is real and real is not , I could
for I'm warrior of old navigating, counting knots on a piece of wood
ancient trees wave from a distance standing where they always stood
while my unflappable sails align to the sky, 15 knots no more all good
Finding solace in a cup of Joe sitting on a berth at the edge of night
the stars are pantomiming with the flicker of their equestrian light
she sits beside me reading my tea cup in her flimsy gown of white
the ghost of my Fedora, together we are lost it a nautical twilight.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
I wonder about this woman inside me, who gazes out,
Unimpressed.
I call myself a girl,
But there is no mistaking her for one.
Somewhere inside me, she is always quietly keeping tabs.
Watching, learning, predicting.
And see, she doesn't care.
Not at all.
While I am tossed to and fro in a maelstrom of tangled feelings,
She sits calm, blasé.
She has all the artful poise
Of an old time movie actress taking a drag on her cigarette in its holder
And letting her exquisite face remain aloof.
Every heartbreak that wrecks me
Barely merits a glance from her,
And I wonder what she is here for.
I really do.
See, love, I adore you
And many others I adore far more
But this woman, this cold eyed graceful woman
With slender wrists
And a penchant for raising only one eyebrow
In response to even the most shocking blow,
She couldn't care less about
Any of you.
I don't know why she is here, I truly don't.
But I do know this-
I rather crave, sometimes, the stillness in her heart.
There is a calm there that is
Unflappable
Unshakable
Unwavering.
Yes, I will lose you,
And so what?
Through her eyes people are only
Things to be lost.
Things that will fade out,
Wear out,
Get out
While they can,
And it matters not.
It is a delicate shrug
And nothing more.
The world is a yawn to her
Where it is a stab wound to me
And I admire her apathy
Almost as much as I fear it.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
His favorite protégée
Mentors her day by day
You are his curious delight
You're always affable
And so unflappable
Yes you're his favorite acolyte
Though your aura's sacred chic
Radiating cool mystique
Your life story does bespeak
Constant fight
His patronage for your art
Remains for you're his dear heart
Shine favorite protégée shine
Rejoice that your lives intertwine
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC
This wall is like bedlam to my senses
Constantly catching my minds attention
As I remember the struggle
When two hearts collide
One with a way of knowing
The other to hide
In this wall that is dented
Is a story to share
Beholding witness
To my lack of care
It is my demons that speak
Come to claim my soul
For hurting my loved one
Instead of letting go
This wall is living
Like the cracks in my heart
Forever forgetting
How to restart
Absent these emotions
My world is clear
I am now lost
Forgotten my dear
So like the wall
I am searching
For a path to repair
Unstoppable in my search
Unflappable to despair
For the future I love
Not the future that I hurt
These dreams that die
They go to the dirt
So like the wall that is broken
Its history complete
I crumble
Then I break
Always to repeat.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
I always struggled with
and did not understand
Those Buddhist Monks
insistent call to detachment.
I longed to attain
their serene, unflappable,
gently smiling
afability.
I might as well have attempted
Mt. Everest's Summit.
Until one day
It came around the corner
and swallowed all my thoughts
& grasping need,
And finally, now
I'm beginning to see.
It's not apathy
or disconnectedness
or a lack of care.
It is release
It is peace
It is a still
quiet
open
empty clear space
Where I can finally
Breathe.
The view from Mt. Everest's Peak
can't compare
to this expansive Vista
that is now unfurled
before
within
& throughout me.
I slowed enough
for it to over take
& empty me
And now I understand
Those Beautiful Monks look
of Serene Glee...
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
Unflappable
Triple-stripped heart
Waving, in the chill
Of a flame-brittle breeze:
France’s bleeding colours
An ache of vital keys:
Red to rinse out ruin
Of spilled tyranny;
Blue to blot the blare
Of wild ideology;
White to light
This flagging warmth
Of wounded
Humanity.
Richard G Berg
November 2015
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Everyday at 6 on the hour May Willows bathes in her flowers.
She gently smooths her lavender upon her gentle skin,
giving it such passion it entices as if a sin.
After which she reaches for her crimson towel and envelopes herself in it's subtle yet overwhelming power.
Yes, without this barrier walls would fall, hearts would sink, evil would rise.
Then her little peachy furs flutter to a wake.
IT is this time today when May Willows recalls the fateful event of her youth that has haunted her fresh adolescents and had given her such shivering adaptations.
She recalls the cold, unwelcoming shards skidding across her face. The speed of her skin against the granite causing her senses to numb in shock.
A party was being held but the ground did crash it. The home was wrecked and the valuables were shattered in the unkind intrusion.
But what was there to do? Nothing was to be done because there was no true damage. It burned only of envy and esteem by the suns next rise.
To say "at least" for what remains means "smile" would be simple. To say another state is ill-fed so you cannot ask for more would be belittling any reason, since every story reveals a different thinking that is living a different living, comparing unique to unique.
May Willows was brave.
But what was bravery when the day replays? And she does not scream since she stayed so brave. She screams inside looking unflappable. The terror is not found in her eyes or her soul, but within her mind. In such a life where only you know and only you feel the calamity, where is bravery? What is bravery? Comfort is difficult when the problem is a ghost. When the truth is microscopic in attempt to evade the naked eye? What is bravery when the scars reveal a story that the body cannot be true to? What then is this great bravery that one might wish to wear? What then is brave?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
Oh! You Goddess of unflappable grace and poise,
You got me high and now there's no reprieve,
Oh! You epitome of uber beauty and surreal gaze,
And how I wish this hosanna to go on and on in your praise.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
After Seeing Sharin's tears dried up and gone,
I laid back in my entitlement as two stooges,
With unblemished necks, I hadn't the strength to bite.
Delivered me and my carriage to Cornelius's logic.
Hopefully he'd be open to reason and able to appreciate true beauty.
Otherwise I'd use my ivy to convince him to see the light.
I don't like to reveal myself a monster it,
Is always a ****** affair and I,
Have no change of clothes.
He's a wise man with charisma to spare,
A mind accustomed to nocking quicker than most,
His age or freshly endowed,
His arrows strike hearts both mortal and devious.
Tacticians fear his unflappable leadership,
Politicians never question mobs of support,
Moving as one coordinated wave of outrage,
Voice cannot pierce a united cause,
Nor can gifts win the favor,
Of spoiled children,
Grown old and bitter,
Thirsty for change.
Toblin learned respect at the tip of a sword,
Fell short of defeating Cornelius by countless miles,
He'd forgotten the lessons he'd taught the man.
Came back offering old challenges to minds,
Bolstered through loss and sacrifice.
Crawling back still fat and worthless,
Toblin was fittingly rewarded.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC