"ungraded" poems
When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lowest chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
‘Come out! Come out!’—
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,—
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether ’tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.
2k
Ungraded roads have many holes,
Gravel, and running ditches.
Before a rain, they seem more wide than narrow.
Long but terminal.
These roads I'm led to roam,
Not straight, but bending to travel.
Signs warn of deer or bumps,
With a bridge dead ahead.
Chances are, it's a single lane,
And timing dictates crossing.
My spinning wheels clear the ruts,
But soon they fill again,
As if I never passed.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
Enough
ungraded papers
to make
a coffee table.
Hello, Sunday!
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
*Lights Whirling,
Fate Twirling,
Space Swirling,
Hope Mirroring*
*Pain Belated,
Fears Sedated,
Failure Ungraded,
Courage Reigniting*
*Atoms Meeting,
Glitches Depleting,
I Am Breathing,
For The First Time In Life*
*Angels Singing,
Thoughts Flinging,
Wounds Stinging,
Only To Be Healed*
*To Find The Wonder,
In A Crash Of Thunder,
Go To The Stars*
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
Reading your words of hate I start to think
Was it me that pushed you to that virulent brink,
Contemning the world, or were you always that way?
I don't recollect or recall ever hearing you say
Satan gripped your throat, or that your angels cried
Tears of blood when you looked to their mournful eyes.
I confessed to biting the apple in their sympathetic trials,
But more lies still concoct in this alchemist's phials.
I found myself writing the way I used to long ago,
But God knows I don't feel the way I did.
I try to remember all I learnt in Eden's groves,
But I can't find the lessons in memories I hid.
You can hate me all you want, it changes nothing,
'Cause it's dead and gone and I find my new self coughing
And choking on the words that I have to whisper to them;
I am silently descending to a distant end.
I've painted all my sins onto these walls in my mind,
But someday I'll be leaving this all behind,
Taking nothing but the signatures and faded scars,
Leaving behind pieces of my blackened heart.
Have I found myself, or is the girl I am long gone?
I don't know the reflection in the pools of tears.
As I sit hear repeating words of other's songs,
I met their expectations by embodying their fears.
I failed and ruined every single thing that mattered
Lying in the shards of glass from mirrors I shattered.
They cut into my lungs and rattle in my hollow chest
As I lay here and force out these final breaths.
Your heart dances to read I'm close to the end,
Do you remember when we said we'd stay as friends?
I was wrong, it turns out I do despise you,
I can't forgive or forget the monster I see inside you.
I find myself look up and ask "Who are we now?"
And see nothing but bitter clouds blocking the sun,
A deadening silence cascades on all that surrounds,
I am lost, but this is something you haven't won.
(If life is just another ****** up examination
I'll die ungraded, degraded by this thoughtless nation.
If life is just another step towards a place in heaven
I will gladly walk to hell, 'cause I am filled with the seven.
And it is with no knowledge of on whom I can depend
I will sit here, won't pray,
Continue to pretend
I'm okay.)
May 24, 2011
May 24, 2011 at 12:40 PM UTC
She stirred the pasta with one hand,
red pen in the other,
marking fragments of thought while her own scattered across the stovetop.
The dog barked. The toddler cried.
She whispered encouragement to both.
Later, long past the hour of rest,
she sat beneath the glow of a weary lamp,
rewriting tomorrow’s plan to fit admin’s latest decree—
“must include,” they said,
as if hearts could be scheduled between bell rings and bathroom breaks.
She wakes before the sun,
coffee cooling beside a stack of ungraded dreams.
Her child’s fever still lingers in her thoughts,
but she buttons up her smile, packs extra patience in her bag,
and walks into the storm with open arms.
They don’t see the cracked windshield,
the sleepless night, the ache behind her eyes.
They see the warmth in her voice,
the way she remembers their names,
the way she believes in them even when she’s forgotten how to believe in herself.
She almost missed it—
a folded scrap slipped into her palm like a secret handshake from grace.
No fanfare, no eye contact,
just graphite scrawl on lined paper:
“I love you. You’re the best teacher ever.”
And just like that,
the exhaustion softened,
the doubts dissolved.
She breathed in the quiet truth: this is the work of angels—
and today, she remembered she is one.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 3:17 PM UTC
Dabbling in to faith
such a serious note,
Corrupt is on the throne
considered the God,
Blindfolded our eyes,
all the words mistranslated
and misconstrued,
I don't wish to speak about
this heavy subject.
It weighs heavily on my soul,
are they true or hollow?
should I listen, learn
to who do I follow?
Cannot trust my brother
in this century,
Then are those people
even holy, undue glory?
Sudden storm in my mind
pressure very unkind
People are on divide
Just blow on the horns
Whispers of taint
Rumour mills manufactured
urgency ungraded,
my faith repents
the spirit latent.
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 5:43 AM UTC