"ungiven" poems
The rhyme of the poet
Modulates the king's affairs,
Balance-loving nature
Made all things in pairs.
To every foot its antipode,
Each color with its counter glowed,
To every tone beat answering tones,
Higher or graver;
Flavor gladly blends with flavor;
Leaf answers leaf upon the bough,
And match the paired cotyledons.
Hands to hands, and feet to feet,
In one body grooms and brides;
Eldest rite, two married sides
In every mortal meet.
Light's far furnace shines,
Smelting ***** and bars,
Forging double stars,
Glittering twins and trines.
The animals are sick with love,
Lovesick with rhyme;
Each with all propitious Time
Into chorus wove.
Like the dancers' ordered band,
Thoughts come also hand in hand,
In equal couples mated,
Or else alternated,
Adding by their mutual gage
One to other health and age.
Solitary fancies go
Short-lived wandering to and fro,
Most like to bachelors,
Or an ungiven maid,
Not ancestors,
With no posterity to make the lie afraid,
Or keep truth undecayed.
Perfect paired as eagle's wings,
Justice is the rhyme of things;
Trade and counting use
The serf-same tuneful muse;
And Nemesis,
Who with even matches odd,
Who athwart space redresses
The partial wrong,
Fills the just period,
And finishes the song.
Subtle rhymes with ruin rife
Murmur in the house of life,
Sung by the Sisters as they spin;
In perfect time and measure, they
Build and unbuild our echoing clay,
As the two twilights of the day
Fold us music-drunken in.
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Streets lined with confetti
Cheering crowds waving flags
Delighted squeals of the young child
Even destitutes on holiday
And the sun burning its merry way on the sidewalks
Ascent of the podium
Big bow to everybody
More cheers
Slogans read: long live the hero
Happy days to come
and, no one shall stand in our way
The people hush
they quiet as the microphone moves closer
a smile:
I am no hero
––a pause––a cheer––
I am no hero
––another pause––no cheers––
There is no glory in killing
no honour in ending a life
that could have gone on to be so much more
a person who
had their own hopes
dreams––––––––––
––all is quiet over the square
and the sun continues to shine––
––––and people who loved them
There is no joy
in dealing pain
––and pain that never heals
––––silence––––
––a child cries––
a pain that is my pain
a pain that never goes away
a pain of hearing the last words of someone
who could have easily been your friend
your neighbour
your teammate
your best man
your brother––––
They always say: tell them... I love them
and who shall carry out this task?
the one who slew them?
––––––––––––––––––––
so I keep it with me
forever, and perhaps in time
someone will pass it on
––––mostly they stay ungiven
until this generation passes
and that unhealing pain follows us away
and then we go on over and over again
So I don't think that we should say
that we are heroes today
we are no heroes
we are only survivors
victims of a dying breed
and ebbing slowly.
––––a silence––––
The sun continues to shine.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 12:09 PM UTC
Go away
I'm chemically unstable
There's no way
Now that we ever will be able
To be considered me
Truely alright, fine, good, normal
Medicine ungiven
Diagnosis wishing
Why others wouldn't listen?
Because they're talking flesh
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
Places I love come back to me like music,
Hush me and heal me when I am very tired;
I see the oak woods at Saxton’s flaming
In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired;
And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley
As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.
I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton,
A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees,
The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle
Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze,
And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust
With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.
Violet now, in veil on veil of evening
The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far;
A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol
In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are;
The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers
And heaven is lighting star after star.
Places I love come back to me like music —
Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily;
In the ship’s deep churning the eerie phosphorescence
Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea,
And I can hear a man’s voice, speaking, hushed, insistent,
At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.
1.3k
The sun's setting,
though it may leave you darkening,
is the start of the burning
far under your soles.
The browning now crinkling of
Summer's endlesseeming greening
is but the start of Springtime's
asylum in Xylem.
Phloem's sweet ware will
flow in 'em somewhere
down the line.
It’s pithy, I know
but life is born in death.
And though, come Fall,
trees seem seemingly sapped,
there's an inspiration transpiring.
The firepit's cooling
it's embers cast only shadows
and shades of memories of warmth
and story
and light...
None gather round, the gloomy.
The dormant circle
an ashen reduction
of oak and of fir
but its blackdust when wetted
(yes, ink!)
and dipped in by brush
will one day,
with luck,
be the source of a poet's
enlightening words.
The monarchs have gone -
a silent orange rustle
and, all at once,
the milkweeds go dry;
the once-green
stalks stand stock still,
Rods of Asclepias whose
seedlings are ever
the earliest snows.
Leaving home:
wherever the Earthbreaths may
take them -
bleak, brokenhearted,
hope in a coma...
How unlike the joy of the
flutterbys whose time now
has fluttered by, a chorus
as uttered by
the ungiven hope
who, though unasked,
has wandered the winds
to bring its daughters
(each healing, each hopeful)
a deathgiven panacea
to lands now in their
own limited unlimited Spring.
And you! I know
your (sic) fiercely pretending
not to be crying.
Hell, to never've cried.
I know your lifework is
'manly' (your words) or
some other idiocy (my words)
and unbroken. Hell, unbent.
But think on this:
if she's gone far enough,
far enough along,
far enough away;
enough time gone by
since you broke into One
('broke in two' is NOT how it feels),
if enough not enough Her
has passed,
then she's also
more than halfway back
to you,
to Whole.
Nothing can go,
nothing is lost
for there is no
'away' within this Here.
No one now, either
at a loss -
for the knowing
is nigh.
Even the knowing
cannot be going
for long 'fore returning;
the yearning is turning
from far-off to nearby.
The Sky lives as well
in every dark puddle.
Its blues, now on Earth
where all even All is at Home.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Screaming ***** & Volumes of joys ungiven
An uneasy joint & The Waste made to happen
For lost Hedon & pleasures untaken.
...
So,
You, are a high one free of those burdens
A woman of the real and true garden of Eden.
Call me then, and if in Eros you're a brethren,
I'll find a quick way out of the shackles of this den.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 4:45 AM UTC
these words lie
heaviest on my
tongue, they weigh
every other word down, color
everything I say to
you, threaten to leap
off, inserting themselves where
unwanted, unbidden, unasked and
ungiven, and I won't
free them because
I
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Can you love someone too much,
Longing for a tender touch?
Can you hear a whisper from your heart,
Telling you we'll never be apart?
Can you be longing for an ungiven kiss,
Knowing it's so hard to miss?
Can you know where we two belong,
Listening endlessly to our favourite song?
Can you love someone enough to let go,
Letting love for someone else grow?
Can you say an honest goodbye,
To a love that will never die?
Yes, you can do all this,
If Love caught you with its bliss!
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 12:40 AM UTC
*I know not how many moments we left unlived,
holding in the lining of a kiss ungiven
or left to wander the streets uncertain,
forever weak at the knees.
I am, but a word
buried in the spirit of intention, lost in the tic-toc of time
yet a phrase that grows free
from truth so blindingly sweet
it can only fall from your lips.
One that wants and breaks
at the top of the lungs
when yearn uncontained folds me in your touch
forms me in your arms
-clay within your hands.
I am the space between dreams
that wilted in the tired hour,
carry without strength in the wind
yet for a moment, a brief moment
I still stray in the scent
of your skin.*
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
I asked her to blow the dust of my bean bags,
she looked at me like I was asking of something ungiven.
But she cleansed them within a volume of gargled verse,
vacuuming the soiled reminisce of who's last tongue
had woven there words of lust upon them.
"You dumped me, we were on a break,
But teeth are sharper than a particular female anatomy.
Saying a few syllables in gargled verse,
*"This is my **** gun, "And your fired,*
"We were on a BREAK,
I had so many stitches that my ***** looked Frankenstein's
face, never **** off a woman when she has your bean bags
in her mouth, tears of crimson fell as I fainted.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
Made of dark African wood
The shell is a lid to a shallow
Box.
The turtle
Has a painted shell
Dots of red and yellow
Bought years ago when just a teen
No doubt an ungiven gift
Now a
Memento.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
~for Steve and Marshall~
“*And the drowsy old world’s growing gloomy and gray,
While the joys that are sweetest are passing away;
And the charms that inspire like the picture of dawn
Are but playthings of Time—they gleam and are gone,
While the drowsy world dreams on.*”
"The Drowsy World Dreams On" by Walter Everette Hawkins
<|>
my personal time ladder, nearer to the top step,
hungrily devour the photographs of time’s daily sweets,
every natural picture evokes gasping, wonderful wonder,
acutely aware and wary that this confirms my duality,
rejecting and welcoming the nearer end of my personal poem
the poems of many-a-day stored securely in the ever expanding
internet, for memory is the most untrustworthy partner, and who? will retrieve, reinspect them, clapping to their bright shining, who in teary wake, be commanded by my no more heart beat-throbbing, an irony unflattering, as my disposition ranking first among the
forever stillest
some few gleam and gone; in the wee hours, when I enter
the confessional, both priest and penitent, my sins gleam
for but a moment and the priest sadly informs, there is no prayer or poem that will forgive your multitude of poor paths taken, of love ungiven, craven cowardice of safety’s paths taken when choice was offered
these poems are merely
the residue of a life poorly lived,
poorly given, seeking no mercy,
for if I cannot forgive myself,
why should you?
10-18-21
11:39AM
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 11:29 PM UTC
I opened this page to write something worth the stage.
I've forgotten the punch line like a well said joke.
I've so much within. Too much to begin.
It all slips from me with guile.
Loose lipped and defiled.
Circled like a ****** cerebral.
It started out good but I'm sure it was terri-bal.
Loops and loops I've felt this before.
A point not pushed, an answer ungiven.
Take me back. All is forgiven.
****
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
The little lights
They effervesce
Caught up in the breath of you
Crisp pinafore dress
And fireflies
I am with you child
At the edge of the world
Where sullen skies ebb
And bare trees
Poise for the blooming spring
Daughter
I long to put my arms around you
Barefoot and tousled
You carry my broken soul
Flickering
If only
I ever
The ash from bonfires
Winks out in sand
Summer evenings
Capricious I danced
Let the waves take me
Ephemeral pleasure
A skipped moment
Gray in the daylight
Shake the shamed from tattered blankets
And sneak back home
I will never cradle
Your tiny frame
Feel the thrum of your heart
Like moths against a window
The echo of a breath
I love you, mommy
Sad mantras now
This consequence
Surrender to the silence
Of life ungiven
Daughter
Resurrected only
As a fatal wish
Moments when I see you
Do you wait for me, still?
TL Boehm...03/21/13
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
In well wishes 'nd afters,
As if rested: souls asunder,
A heartful of me spares;
a few lips of vexing pecks.
A token to call me by,
A reminder to return to:
"It's a sign of love."
Over days and years,
in this corner of mine;
left for after are kisses:
A plighted; every three.
A token to call me by,
A reminder to return to:
**"And I hint selfishness;
It is my sign of love."**
And for yours I await.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
In the views of hindsight
Suffering extends
Should have just let it go
The victim within
Love and wonder
Beyond hope
You gave your all
It’s how we cope
They wither on
And leave you
The ones that once
Held you tight
You are but
The black sheep
In a hierarchical
Flight!
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 12:34 PM UTC
Teasers, itches wishin' scratches,
gentle dharma level reasons to be
attended to
now,
lest we forget
unget
ungiven sigils signifyin'finite
insignif-ican't sirs, if I can
sort the signal from the noise
-- pause, remember
watch something on the idiot box, oh yeah,
that reminds me,
here's the itch, that fully funcyanin' lie,
yellow and black warning with
magenta scars burn printed
RK Nexivm cult branded
pain proven acceptable
true children of pride,
humbling themselves,
to be the knowers
of the secret
meaning
brand name, rampaging stallion
roger out .-. -.- the code is RK okeh.
K being gone black, fade to black snappy,
tic click 256 shades from white to K
saturated all light absorbed,
out, black, night ink
itching to link
one thought to another,
peace of mind, itchless wonder
being the aim of artists intuition
given poetic licentiousness's final amen.
... now, I lay me down to sleep.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 6:00 AM UTC
This toll of life? Tis not of years
And youthful cloth outgrown,
Nor failing eyes dulled in arrears
For sleep they might have known —
Tis in the heart the toll is paid
With weight of love ungiven,
And foolish is the heart afraid
To seek on Earth for Heaven.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
message send failure
an accidental mullet
a bird on the wire
broken bones
faulty valves
ungiven gifts
welling eyes
icy pavement
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 8:08 PM UTC
Looking at unborn nation,
I'm staring at other women's bellies,
you were in mine
you were breathing for me...
I'm crying for you, can you hear?
I'm calling your ungiven name,
holding empty air,
just come back, breathe for me...
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
still waters rage cold
ice bears no malice this night
fire warms tired hearts
stars wheel across night
moon glows brightly to reveal
waves crash silver dark
worn hands outstretched
waiting for gifts ungiven
quiet desperation
warm rain falls swiftly
the approaching torrent comes
washing away fear
leaves fall orange red
trees barren whistle in wind
grey skies lingering
If the crows shall feast
I won't be alone, two corpses
Will be in grave need
Raised by poets
Through the long summer
To wreak havoc now
Perish the thought
Of my demise, dream on
I will one day rise
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
And I wrote the Heavens,
And wrote havens for the Heavenly
Til all the bright buds wilted,
Milk no longer flowed,
And now my muse left me for
Some dude in Canada.
Oh siren mourning over the mist,
That I was a bird of prey
And was taken by your claw!
How silly of me to sing the Nightingale's
Transformation in the verses
I lost myself to you,
And in comes a chance of change
You roll over to the next guy
With a Daily!
Oh Muse,
The masterful strokes gone,
This arrogant upstart would write
You the last sonnet of air
That you might breathe your echoes
Upon my words,
Bequeath me the inspired harmonic
Yielding the poetical mastery to my paper!
Oh muse,
You old hag!
I'm left with crooning
Your ungiven name!
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
He's going to try
He's gone without
For a year now
There is no die
There is no doubt
It's hard not to see how,
He won't succeed
His confidence agreed
So he wants to ask
Her hand in love
A safety pin hangs
In his closet
An ungiven gift
Waiting for the night
That lovely night
When he knows
That he'll love again.
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 7:49 PM UTC
bound, dark birds cannot speak
or move, but are mated together,
wounded, yet glowing still within;
memory finds forgiveness, child,
in each cherished haven lost
only the blessed have been lovers;
without someone to listen, unheard,
real shelter and warmth, yet ungiven;
relentless endings and losses beget
new voices rich in mourning
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC