"unheeded" poems
gods and goddesses stilled mid-flight,
immortalized in a glory fast fading.
distilled sunlight filtering through, unheeded,
as a devastating dawn for redemption awakens.
_dust scattering over marble hands, forever supple,_
as angels fall from grace,
wings clipped and torn asunder.
the sigh of a thousand lost souls, searching;
the thunder of a thousand chariots, unbridled.
_a wing outstretched, a bow pulled taught;_
drawn, not fired.
frozen heroes lifting voices unheard;
_the calm before a storm, a fight unforeseen,_
silver linings beckoning victories
of heaven's epics left unsung.
look up into the clouds and you'll see a history unwritten,
for they speak to you in murals
of smeared colors and pure light.
but hush! sweet child,
off you drift into an insincere sleep,
until these stories buried beneath your lips,
singed, searing, burning away memories of the battles that
linger ,over your tongue ,
are no more than a shadow of a flame.
and as his lashes flutter closed over blue eyes
and his heavy golden curls fall on white sheets
she whispers,
_the renaissance was not painted for you._
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
Well great goodness, where on Earth do I start?
The Garden of Eden … or the bottom of my heart?
How can I make this as honest and heartfelt as I can?
How would I share with every woman in the world, the emotions of every man?
Yes, we hold them in. It's about pride. It's about standing tough.
But you'd really not have us any other way … you love to polish what's rough.
And we really love you, make no mistake, to you we are forever beholden.
We'll not forget those meals and those band aides and all those clothes gently folden.
You taught us to tie our shoes and look after our sisters and brothers.
And that unless we are standing for something correct, we must always be kind to others.
From you we learned that women are our partners, other halves and mothers-to-be.
Which leads my poem in another direction … as I continue my praises with glee.
Our wives took up where our mothers left off and carry our hearts in their hands.
They made us soup when sick, bore us amazing children and walked beside us in the sand.
They undressed us when drunk, both for fun and when it was needed.
And stood understanding when we failed miserably, as their warnings went blindly unheeded.
No matter our place in failure, glory or fame, they were always standing by our side.
No matter our outfit, five o'clock shadow, even our beer belly …
they always stand there with pride.
And in the brave new age, where we all live, they now do things so amazing.
They race cars, cure diseases, head up companies and set many trails a blazing!
What would we do without these women from our birth to our end of days?
How do we love them, now and forever?
You simply can't count the ways!
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 4:26 PM UTC
Happy Valentines Day
If Venus child
Come loves melody sing
I shall break the bow
And slash the string
If he dare to infect me
Trick my heart into desire
Seasoned on a spit he will be
Roasted in a blazing fire
Conniving
Whisper sweet nothings in my ear
Tear off his wings
Turn my eyes from his tears
Not by the all the gods decree
Will I commit my love to another
Binding his mischievous hands
Return him swiftly to his mother
My warnings are clear
Unheeded
Towards me he point the arrow
His last sweet breath
This cherub shall inhale
Never more see the morrow
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M. Darby
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
The lonely notes flowing, falling, leap from
The thin and flitting fingers of the pianist,
The cup of melancholy, drained to the
dregs, bittersweet in that the love of happiness
and joy is tempered now, from longing for the
delicate and pensive feel, that comes from dipping into
the small and lonely pool of melancholy. Grief, a distant
specter, hovering in the fringe of chance, is nearer now,
melancholy, the doorway, slides open on silent hinges,
and admits the crushing tide. High, high, and faster still,
the pianist falls, slowly down and up again, grief, the storm,
disrupts the flow of sound and silence, and incorporates itself
into the threading melody, and so erodes the shores of joy and laughter,
the violet waves of gentle melancholy, laced with the thinnest threads of
blackest grief, sighing on, erasing so, youth and joy and light and life.
The melody falters, stills. The pianist alone, playing for an empty quiet,
rises, pauses, his fingers brushing, the cold steel of empty death, smooth beneath his touch. He grasps it, lifts it to face him, hands steady, gaze unfaltering. The man is still, pianists fingers gripping that instrument of death, and time passes, unheeded, ignored. In a motion refined to elegance by the passage of time and repetition, the pianist places that cold instrument of steel and intent gently, down upon the polished black. He straitens, slowly, and settling his black overcoat close around him, he turns, walks quietly to a closed and silent door, lifts the latch, and into a swirling night of snow and light, walks out, and closes the door behind him with a soft and quiet click. And all is silent.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
My blood flows so dutifully
Sweat arrives on cue
Skin protects quite beautifully
Heart beats strong and true
Breath turns up when needed
It hasn't failed in years.
Muscles work unheeded
Faithful as eyes and ears
My body and I
We have so little in common
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
she asked for
a birthday calendar
simplistic in design
quite endearing
nonetheless
to collate
each and every
important date
mark them down
in her neatest
clearest handwriting
she thought that
if she hung it
in pride of place
on the wall
by the kitchen door
her eye would
be drawn to it
each time
she left the room
she would not
forget to send
the appropriate message
of congratulations
and many happy returns
when needed
or expected;
yet although
the calendar may
coincidentally
be showing
the correct month
it has remained
on that page
untouched
ignored or
unheeded
for the past
eleven months
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 10:02 AM UTC
A traveller am I on the roads of the world. In my wanderings
have I seen lands famed in story and shorn of all glory today.
I have seen the unheeded ruins of insolent might - its banner
of victory is gone with the wind, like boisterous laughter stilled
into silence by a sudden thunder-clap.
I have found stupendous pride humbled to the dust, dust
on which the beggar spreads his tattered rags, dust on which the
traveller leaves the print of weary steps to be effaced by the
ceaseless march of unnumbered feet.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
a malignant cancer spreads
in prime agricultural land
the Santos Company
gas wells ever expand
the waterways and aquifers
sullied with material not healthy
the corporate entity
aspiring to be more wealthy
campaigners outside fences
at drilling locations
wanting to stop the company's
sick infiltration
the fight to preserve the family farm
has been unheeded
company profitability
must be well seeded
a state government not listening
to scientist's info
seemingly it is more interested
in the gas field's revenue flow
as time goes by the waterways
and land will become sicker
all in the name of the Santos brands
noxious sticker
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
A tall, strong man
Voice harsh from unheeded, unheard, words
****** and bruised
Wounded by the clubs he himself handed out
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:44 AM UTC
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his ***** Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
2.9k
words drift away unfettered
from whence they came,
passing like undreamed clouds
– pragmatic eyes to the sky
in a searching stare –
unsought thoughts disappearing hence
a fog bow fading into sunlight
there are days when
it comes out in my silence
there are days when
it falls down in my tears:
muse – muted in poet's pause,
heart and soul whispers
laid bare unwritten
behind parsing eyes
disregarded words let loose,
ungarnered
the way low hanging fruit
falls benign — unharvested —
shortsighted insight
from a bird's eye view
silently fermenting traces
and unfiltered memories
come and go unheeded words,
discarded like the passing
time of our lives
at times it's ludicrous
to follow down
lingering footprints
left behind callous:
when the shoe won't fit;
slogging across eroding
time-worn stepping stones
scattered on this twisted line
these feet have been walking down,
trying to make a getaway
from myself
walking away from the memories
like so many indelible footprints to escape
– while dreaming stardust into stars
in nameless constellations –
reaching out from the inside,
site unseen,
trying to experience
the empirical shape
of stifling silence
in a theatre made by chance
distilling the gifts and burdens
of trying to live a worthy life
only I'll see...
harlon rivers ... September 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
I hoed and trenched and weeded,
And took the flowers to fair:
I brought them home unheeded;
The hue was not the wear.
So up and down I sow them
For lads like me to find,
When I shall lie below them,
A dead man out of mind.
Some seed the birds devour,
And some the season mars,
But here and there will flower,
The solitary stars,
And fields will yearly bear them
As light-leaved spring comes on,
And luckless lads will wear them
When I am dead and gone.
2.3k
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to show thee the estates and isles
Of the heavens
For
Thy name shall I crochets in their capitals
And let the
Unheeded and hidden secrets
Of each one of them in thy palms
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to buy thee the charms of castles
Lying cuddly on the cosmics
For
Thee shall be my god and thy servant shall I become
And perform all thy whims to the very last syllable
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to clad thy soul with garments of the rainbows
For
Thee shall gloss and *****
The sights of crafts
Running on golden asphalt
And make them collide with the pillars of the rays
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to get thee the finest jewelleries
That sparkle better than the figurine of the stars
And on thy finger
Shall I sit the most piety of all diamonds as my theme of love
And make the angels glower with chagrin
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to teach thee how I brew the storms and weathers
For
Your care shall I leave the whips
Of the recalcitrant thunders
And make thee assimilate them with thy counsel
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to lay thee on the hallowed beds I nursed
There
Shall I leak the ***** of my prowess
Into thine ears
And lick thy feet,showing thee the heavens
A Word For A Walk
To You Getrude
So much love❤
©Historian E.Lexano
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Gaia sighed. Not a sigh like lovers sigh looking deeply into each other's eyes. This was a sigh of resignation. In all her long life, there had never been a time she felt as unheeded as now.
Yes, there had been a time once, a time of oneness when all her multitudinous inhabitants had coexisted, when species knew their place in the chain of life and cycled through their existence, not always at peace but with respect for one another: the lion hunted the swift gazelle which in turn fed on the fruits of the trees, parasitic birds and insects grazed upon her and they in turn were the prey of others. ‘Yes,’ Gaia thought, ‘there was a time.’
She sighed again. She remembered when humans first came to prominence in the twilight of her existence. To them, she was the Great Mother, the Creator of life. Was it not she who bore all her inhabitants and was it not to her that they all returned to continue the cycle?
Gaia felt old now, old and forgotten. That respect, that devotion was all gone now. She felt the hurt as the careful balance she had sought to maintain was eroded, not by wind and elements, but by the ravages of humans.
‘They have overstepped their bounds,’ she mused. ‘They must be taught a lesson.’
She pondered on that thought for a moment and for a moment felt a surge of effervescent warmth flow through her form. But grim reality broke through her musings and she shuddered at the horror of the reality. Her memories were dim and misty now. She could remember her birth but only just. How she had taken form from the cosmic flotsam and jetsam all those countless aeons ago. She remembered the youthful exuberance she exhibited then and she smiled in embarrassed recollection. No life could have survived upon her surface then for she was wild and wilful, hot and inhospitable, prone to savage outpourings. But she grew, she gained the experience of time passing, and slowly, slowly, her voluble exterior became calm and gradually her form was blanketed in a kindly cloak of life-sustaining gases. The soup of her oceans spawned and multiplied a myriad of lives and forms and she thought of how many she had seen come and go.
The present again broke through her meditation of what has gone before. Now she was approaching the nighttime of her existence and, like the old elephant, one of her favourite inhabitants, she knew her time was near. She had tried so hard to adapt, to compromise but, like a cancer, the human scourge had spread beyond all control. Oh yes, there had been a few voices raised in concern and some, she knew, spoke with all the sincerity she knew the species was capable of. But, those voices went unheeded, listened to by a few but ignored by the many. Gaia was tired. She hurt. Sol bore down on her savagely, relentlessly and she felt her protective shroud growing weaker and weaker as every moment passed. It was now, the time had come...
© David Simons 2001 (revised 2016)
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
In love's dances, in love's dances
One retreats and one advances,
One grows warmer and one colder,
One more hesitant, one bolder.
One gives what the other needed
Once, or will need, now unheeded.
One is clenched, compact, ingrowing
While the other's melting, flowing.
One is smiling and concealing
While the other's asking kneeling.
One is arguing or sleeping
While the other's weeping, weeping.
And the question finds no answer
And the tune misleads the dancer
And the lost look finds no other
And the lost hand finds no brother
And the word is left unspoken
Till the theme and thread are broken.
When shall these divisions alter?
Echo's answer seems to falter:
'Oh the unperplexed, unvexed time
Next time...one day...one day...next time!'
2.1k
It’s the snarl inside me –
The vicious gnashing and clashing of
smashed teeth,
Of swollen tongue and bleeding gums.
It’s the bite-mark-shaped-heart –
The gnawed thighs and gouged and greedy eyes,
The crushed howls and unheeded cries of
my bullet-spotted, leopard-dotted lungs.
I’m a savage, splattered mess;
Dripping indecency from the heart of me,
Letting letters pore recklessly from
every sore and red-raw pore.
I’m the ravenous maw of madness;
Drooling long strings of sentences
that pool relentlessly
down the endless feed of the cyberverse,
Then disappear into obscurity
to be lost forevermore.
I’m the untamed beast
that’s been released
from the leash of other people’s shame –
Now I’ll feast upon my foolishness
‘Til I get caught again.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road; and spreading far and wide
Above the russet clods, the corn is seen
Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,
Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Opening their golden caskets to the sun,
The buttercups make schoolboys eager run,
To see who shall be first to pluck the prize—
Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies,
And o’er her half-formed nest, with happy wings
Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings,
Then hangs a dust-spot in the sunny skies,
And drops, and drops, till in her nest she lies,
Which they unheeded passed—not dreaming then
That birds which flew so high would drop agen
To nests upon the ground, which anything
May come at to destroy. Had they the wing
Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud,
And build on nothing but a passing cloud!
As free from danger as the heavens are free
From pain and toil, there would they build and be,
And sail about the world to scenes unheard
Of and unseen—Oh, were they but a bird!
So think they, while they listen to its song,
And smile and fancy and so pass along;
While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn,
Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn.
2k
The rimer quenches his unheeded fires,
The sound surceases and the sense expires.
Then the domestic dog, to east and west,
Expounds the passions burning in his breast.
The rising moon o'er that enchanted land
Pauses to hear and yearns to understand.
1.9k
And there it was-
I'll tell you all the truth you ask of me-
Let all of my hesitation- reservations- love-
Pass by unnoticed- unheeded- misheard-
Be it strange- or be it my aptitude towards the unholy,
Whether the soft touch of the willow-fed irises-
Or the half-life glare of nighthawks, posed aloof and aloft-
In full conscious awareness of their physicalities-
With willful composure- and heads turned just so.
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
Intimate adventures: purple sunset;
Sabrina Elliott at her canvas;
My brother boarding some Utah-bound jet;
Easton Connell reciting tender lyrics,
Caught in a mad faith’s unwitting net:
“Daylight licked me into shape”; then night fell;
The city struggling with unheeded debt;
Lieberman and Sathyadev dying young;
Their mothers, a heart-wrenched duet.
James Howard humming, his guitar unstrung,
Paganini in that delicate hand:
The failed romantics; a thing to be forgotten again.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
firetruck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city.
1.6k
I know this little puppy,
Or maybe he’s a guppy,
As he likes to take to water,
Like rav’nous rats a larder.
I am compelled to mention,
While he seems to seek attention,
Could not he be aware,
How his actions help him fair?
Does he bury furry friends,
So they don’t obstruct his end?
Is a pat on the head that needed?
Or is causality unheeded?
As this ******* of a fish and mutt,
Is capable of kindness but,
Only when it drowns those near,
Of shadowing his own career.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
It had been almost a week now, waiting
Patiently for the generosity
Of some stranger. A sign in front stating
Her case, gazed at with curiosity.
Desperation and hunger setting in,
Her eyes began to wander to store front
Windows across the street, girls not as thin.
Moral conundrums were now not as blunt.
It would be easy, to take a few things;
Nothing extra, only what is needed.
She’d pay it all back once she got her wings,
So she crossed the street, conscious unheeded.
“I have no choice, it’ll just be this once”
She told herself for the twentieth time.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
in my obliviousness
inadvertent and unintentional
some may say as usual
i disturbed a wasp nest
the heightened bombilation
an anger-pitched droning
unheard somehow
therefore unheeded
until that impolite *****
a warning sting
through t-shirt to torso
followed by a few more
in quick succession
set my legs moving
apologetically away
with hands raised
chastened and contrite
both in supplication
and in order to remove
the offending article
of clothing
the oversensitive wasp
having become trapped within
defensively stinging
as nature directs
to be honest
its overzealous instincts
began to feel
more like spite
than mere survival
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 11:52 AM UTC
Strawberry
blonde teen
Unexpected
staring touch
Passion -
eating us
Lust
always ruling
Words
frivolous, unheeded
Were
thrusting apart
Each desire
quenched
First hungry
youthful season
Longing
exhausted
Moving
separate
Suddenly
acquaintances
Years
in other arms
Meeting
in paddock
Smiles defeat
awkward seconds
Listening,
hearing
Third place,
revs screaming
Hit, hurtling
flying askew
Another
impact
Lifted away
torn
Crushed beauty
dead desire
*Our last words
lost us*
+
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 12:24 AM UTC