"unimaginably" poems
Fish fingers and beans
will always mean to me
Dinner at my Nan's
when I was still a young lass
My mum would see us off
out the door
and over the road
to the place that was
my Nan's
She would take me back
to World War Two
telling me stories
of people she knew
some were really exciting
some were really quite scary
some were really unimaginably tragic
Some were hypnotizing
But
most of all she told me how
she met my Grandad
a handsome man
with sparkling eyes
who told stories of people
he knew
Fish fingers and beans
will always mean to me
Dinner at my Nan's.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
What if aliens existed?
what if Ufo’s flew so fast that if we blinked we’d miss it?
what if we do not know of their presence
because we was
excuse me we were
not looking in the right place
what if you as well as I were an alien life?
together we would travel the galaxies
like pieties
striving for peace
with no reprieve
but what if aliens did not exist?
(maybe the better question)
The notion that we are alone on this abyss
that it’s 7 billion strong against
unimaginably long miles of what we know as just space
where human thoughts such as distance and time hold no place
but why think a thought so daunting
and instead ask
What if aliens existed?
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
A feeling of acceptance.
Within these four white walls.
Within this house.
Within this open air prison.
Rebellious.
Bound by night and day.
A slave of time.
Destined to follow the rules of nature.
Following the rules of space.
Rules that you can't break.
I abide against my will.
Rebellious.
Within the parameters of this atmosphere.
Within this solar system.
Within space and the infinite possibilities of what lies beyond.
Within infinity itself.
Am I, unimaginably small and
insignificant on a cosmic scale.
Yet within these white walls
I am rebellious.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Whats this world coming to
Paranoia all around
Creeping up but slipping down
The melodrama hurts me
Is this the way it should be
I question our existence
Illusory immaterial junk
Inching through the samsara
Satori says I'm not really here
Senseless matter sitting idly
In a tiny corner of dharma
Overwhelmed unimaginably by
It all.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 8:24 AM UTC
Hi! I’m a hamster on a Wheel!
Gamely running on my bony little legs
[I’m getting somewhere! I’m getting somewhere!]
Every once in a while, I look left or right
See my **** and my compressed pellet food sitting in the same positions
as an hour, a day, weeks ago – and I realize:
IT APPEARS THAT I’M ACTUALLY GOING NOWHERE!!!!!!!
Which surprises me each time it crosses my little hamster brain, until I’m distracted
By my pellet food, the call of the Wheel, and other sundry carnal desires
Roiling superficially in my hamster-angst
While working the Wheel, surrounded by the detritus of my saccharine prefabricated life
I fail to notice
Outside my cage
Hands, lifting, carrying
Thousands of miles traversed
Steaming deserts
Steaming jungles
Steaming cities
Brutality, kindness, sensuality, love, hatred, atrocities, age, youth, heat and cold
All flashing by my glass shell as hands carry me towards a final resting place
Until
A jarring, toppling blast shakes my world
Tearing me from my Important Work on the Wheel
I look up, pellet crumbs falling from my mouth
Just in time to see my cage tumble from hands
Over a rail
Down
Down
Flash of blue
Flash of brilliant light
Flash of blue
Down
Smacking into a vast expanse of water
Unimaginably immense
Outside of my realm of comprehension – I mean, I’d never seen it in my hamster cage before, so why should I even expect it to exist?
What is it’s purpose?
It makes no sense!
It has no place in the world!
And as I slowly drown in the secret withheld from every hamster since the beginning of time
I take one last longing look at the Wheel, the cage, the pellets
And curse them
Curse the Deception that told me they were all that mattered
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
I
Icy fingers wrap around
my legs and arms. They
sink their daggerlike nails
into my skin, and force
me to go to places
that I shouldn't be
Thick polluted smoke
enters my lungs, and
fills them with the
darkest tar. I cough
and spew out words
that I shouldn't say
Slimy tendrils slither
into my ears and wrap
around my brain. They
snake into the crevices
of the gray matter, and
force disturbing thoughts
to the surface of my mind
It's the Devil, my dear
who spits out poisonous
barbs that make you cry,
Not me.
It's the Devil, my love
who stares at you with
those cold red eyes,
Not me.
It's the Devil, mon cherie
who whispers sweet nothings
that always turn to cold lies,
Not me.
Don't you know I love you, babe?
II
Please forgive my insincerities
It's not me at all, you see
There's a devil controlling the things that I do
and wouldn't you know it, he's not fond of you
He made me take a gander of the lass with the cans
It was all him when I forgot our dinner plans
Don't blame me when I stumbled in drunk
He likes tequila, who would've thunk?
When our ********** session was somewhat abrupt?
He was the reason I was forced to erupt
When foreplay became no play, who else can I blame?
He's bad at back rubs, and we'll toss just the same
He's crass and uncaring and remarkably rude
He's insensitive, boorish and unimaginably lewd
He's not me, my dear, of that much I'm sure
I'm wonderful, loving, tactful, and pure
So the next time you're thinking of starting a row
for something I've done, or something I've blown
Take a deep breath and look into my eyes
and maybe catch a glimpse of the devil inside
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
She should be sexier than my dreams,
Even more so should she be supportive,
Not selfish at all she should ideally be.
She should be kinder than even me,
Even more so should she be cooperative,
Unimaginably beautiful she would be.
She better be the inspiration I need,
Even for my poetry apart from my life,
Converting my blues to brighter hues.
She should have in beautiful pairs,
Even both of her eyes along with hands,
Untamable be her spirit in the night.
She should have her arms slender,
Even her waist should be such a ******
Above or under it will never matter.
She should learn awesome cooking,
Even singing will my mother be teaching,
Only that she has to be willing to learn.
She will have my company all the time,
Even dessert will be present in the bedroom,
Only I will love the two of her softies,
And she can grab my golf *****
As my pole goes in and out of her hole.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
you told me it was over
i hear it loud and clear
but deleting our messages
broke my heart
taking down our pictures on my wall
hurt like hell
and giving back your stuff
was unimaginably painful
until i had no trace left of you but the memories
then i knew, it was over
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 8:52 PM UTC
imagine all the cells that form to
join in your sensation
all the stars that blew your bits together
for proper procreation
being born with every breath and
reaching death through exhalation--
i simply can't exist without you
nor you without i,
and of this we can be sure that
(though the sureness of my i
obscures the many in us all[
mere words to ***** for thoughts we cope with]
)it will rumble beneath
and explode at the surface
to delayed surprise of just reprise
(mistaking inflation as progress)
that libations of dogmas won't change a thing:
when you look at the fibers in the fabric of being
(spun finely by spiders invisibly swift)
and if our knowledge were but a fly
we'd see ourselves trapped by its infinite web,
both victim to its trap and servant to its host
(though this is the nature of matters sticking close[
especially light years away])
just as the lattice of language roots deep
inside double-helix libraries unimaginably tall
filled with books authored by curious protons,
excited electrons and fleeting photons,
composed of sentences by snarky quarks and gluons
lying in -eate groups with unseen companions
(read between the lines) working in union
to fashion a sum greater than summation could do--
an alchemical-calculus of fractal fluidity,
finding contexts for novelty to sing songs
like Earth (though just a planet in other eyes)
to give conscious rise within the cosmic playground
embodied by us, but not encompassed by us;
rather extended through us
as curiosity mirrored.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
Let's go ride a carpet
Over castles unimaginably vast
And maybe we'll stop on a planet
Racing through the stars so fast
Let's run through meadows of flowers
***** feet & daisies in my hair
Lay down together in the spring showers
Happy that life finally seems fair
Let's go to the ocean blue
Jumping in the waves with no regret
Swim with the mermaids, one for me and you
Telling secrets we'll never forget
Let's go on an adventure
Tell me something to think through
I honestly don't mind whatever we do
As long as I spend my days with you
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
In a street swamped by
An abundant sea of darkness
Illuminated by nothing but
The concrete glow of the moon
The shadow of an amorously dangerous man
Came into existence
His ****** aroma heavily polluted the air
With opulent seduction
Making helpless slaves of
All the women in the valley
As well as heightening
Their remaining four senses
He prances around in his
Fancy, black leather jacket
With a pocket chain
Dangling from his waist side
Jet black shades occupying
The masterpiece that is his face
He blows a royal kiss of glitter
Trailing after the runaways
A swift touch to one's forehead
And in seconds she'll be on her knees
Begging and pleading for more
Simply because she can't get enough
It's as if his body was a delectable tower
Of chocolate covered strawberries
Dipped in an ocean of the most
Exquisite tasting honey known to man
Each woman who had been cast
Under his precious spell
Was now imprisoned within
A mind controlling coma
They couldn't seem to lift their inquiring eyes
From the creamy complexion of his skin
Severe urges to kiss and **** his flesh
Possessed their bodies with great power
He lives the life that most men would **** for
With thousands of women wrapped around his finger
Fulfilling his every single wish and command
Tackling him with avalanches of never ending pleasures
In the eyes of these women
He was an icon of majestic worship
They bow down before him
Massaging his toes with kisses
Leaving trails of roses to rest at his feet
And to think this persona was conceived
From his supernaturally seductive abilities
The strangest thing about this man
Was that nobody knew of his name
Nor where his audacious soul
Had so suddenly escaped from
Only that he was unimaginably handsome
His charming hex of temptation
And superior intellect alone
Had transformed stainless virgins
Into despicable nymphomaniacs
Jeopardizing the entire female gender
With his smooth talking scandals
A luxurious craft of extravagant gold
A tragic truth yet to be told
This man was known as
The Poet *** God
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 Glenn McCrary
(All rights reserved)
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 1:40 AM UTC
a large room,
no, a really,
unimaginably
large room,
with a typewriter
in the center
-
the words
“free yourself”
are already spoken,
and underlined,
in the center
of the page
-
there is no blinking cursor,
no glowing white field
-
an iron sight
holds the paper down
so you can
torture or nurture
or shun or ****** it
with both
precision and accuracy
-
careful though,
you can drift
beyond the walls of your
supposedly
big room
in the length of a page
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
My mind full of hope and eagerness to travel far and beyond further than the eyes can see.
My body aches for those places I have yet to travel to.
My eyes seek those places unimaginably visited.
My soul searches for another like me.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
this game of to and fro
ebb and flow
come and go
yes and no
its driving me to the depths of a sea of confusion
where i drown myself in doubt
blacking out and going towards a light
that appears to be unimaginably beautiful
so much so that i can't even recall it
a reality draped in a shroud of my own creation
a potential happiness that has been empowered
before it has even taken its true form
the empowerment of a blind emotion
much like russian roulette but with a dart in the chamber
which has either come straight from cupid's bow
or its dipped with poison of a familiar cardiotoxicity
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
you'd sacrifice even your happiness
for that someone to feel blissfulness.
you'd endure all the unfair,
just for the person not to be in despair.
you are willing to conquer the world,
and you will be unimaginably bold.
you wouldn't know that you, girl,
could actually be dauntless in a whirl.
when you love someone,
you'd choose the person over anyone;
everything they do is just fulfilling,
and their mere existence would be gratifying.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC
The ocean caught fire the first time I laid eyes on you,
the world was perfect & wars didn't exist for that split second,
also people weren't superficial but instead loving & appreciative for what had been right in front of their eyes for so long.
I'm sorry it took me so long to notice you before,
I had been so caught up in my own little chaotic world that I had never before noticed that the ocean had caught fire long before I was ever born, long before I knew how repulsive the taste of saltwater in my mouth was, long before the curtains could draw themselves,
& even before songs used to be written because of pure joy & not the idealistic lifestyle of endless fame & mountains of money.
I'm only 18 years old but I swear to you my dear, i've loved you for centuries.
Ever since the big bang theory, the universe has known what pure love has looked like because you have always existed,
in the dark matter,
in the dying stars,
in the evolving cities inside the galaxies that won't even exist for another 10 billion years,
you were always there, being loved; unconditionally, unimaginably, substantially, overconfidently, loved.
& whether I fade off into a heaven-like nirvana, or reincarnate into all of the tears running down your face, or just rot in the ground for all of eternity;
always know that every star in the galaxy will always love you if I can't, & the sun will burn out to the thought of you, & every burden that I ever put on your shoulders (including myself) will always remember (& appreciate) you for breathing all the air inside of a gasp-less room & will always love you for that;
even in 10 billion years after the earth is dried out & the sun is on its death bed, the universe will still love you,
for everything,
every kiss you gave me,
every time you let me lay in your arms even though you hated me at the moment;
every "cheer up champ, you'll get over me sooner or later" line you said to me,
every single piece of advice you had given me for ways to love you better, ways to love you harder, ways to give myself to you without seeming vulnerable, & ways to kiss you without actually being in the same room as you.
The universe will always love you, & the same goes for me, I will always love you as well, even when a meteor destroys the tree house that we built together, or a heat wave so powerful wipes out the human species, or you decide one day that the way I look at you in the shower isn't as meaningful as it was 6 months ago; no matter the catasrophe, this aquarius constellation will always remember how happy you made it, & will always love you for that.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
A day may come when the lord has had enough. He will simply for a moment step away. When we have all but rejected him, perhaps he will take a personal day. God could go for a walk on the edge of the universe or create another world. Perhaps he will stop by a coffee shop and order something to helping him through his day. He might just sleep in and hit reset on his eternal clock. If we keep ignoring him, then perhaps he will finally just say I need a day off. What a long and unimaginably bad day that would be.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
I daydream of dreaming
a dream:
comfortable and surreal.
In it, an antique shop full of character
and the scent of mothballs and dust.
A haphazard maze of dark lit corners
pulls me to its depths,
where nestled in the back,
is a perfectly imperfect piano.
Ironic how the blatantly splintered key
is the most out of tune, no?
In this dream within a daydream,
I sit on a squeaking stool,
foot on a loose damper,
and play all that I know.
In this dream to be,
I know not,
or recognize what I play,
but know it's home
and find peace in knowing.
The name Chopin
would be the faintest
of underlying memories,
but the first upon waking.
All we are is what we are not,
and were I dreaming this dream,
that notion would live in my being;
in the pockets of my marrow
and in the pit of my throat.
No Steinway could produce
such a twang so unimaginably beautiful.
Only the physically appealing use the word ugly,
and only the true understand the word beauty.
In my dream to be,
I watch myself,
but feel the keys
as they disintegrate
after violently being yanked from slumber.
Would I dream,
I would gasp and reach in wake,
grasping nothing,
and yearn again
to live without
vivid self awareness.
Yet when conscious,
I seek lucidity,
despite the comfort
found in effortlessness.
So snap me out of it.
Slap the porcelain saucer
that is my cheek,
for I am no Poe,
and this no "dream within a dream"
but a waltz
with the idea of serendipity.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
the tinted weakness of late day. the sound of a mother being driven into the child by its legal father. biology as paperweight. as bird hopping on earth. god as the oh well limbo in limbo. are the many heavens of discarded appliances equaled in number by dolphins unimaginably safe? does the thought, to be darkened, arrive?
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
You continue to exemplify everything beautiful in this world
The heavens above exalting a thousand trumpets
Symphonies hailing from the mountains,
Her intoxicating smile glistening, biting my lip in allusion.
Your eyes unimaginably delicate,
Thinking of you, a piano chorus dwindling on repeat.
Your bashful beauty,
Alway makes rainy days come to a hault.
So much wrong in this world,
Pressure, decisions and guilt,
And I am just here admiring you.
Everytime I look at you,
My lump heart skips a beat.
Clenching my sweaty hands,
I have seen you a million times before
But you mesmerize my love struck mind.
Every inch of you, impeccable and unchangeable.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
What if lovers said
"sweet worm", "soil of my heart"
Imagine facing down in ecstasy to pray
not because we don't dare to look towards the bearded guy in the sky but because it's understood that those feet, that soil, this prayer
are all sacred
Why are the un-lovely things named soiled?
why look at the ground and call it dirt?
Such a thin loveless word for the home
of everything springing up from this earth
Why entomb our clever feet in strange substance
*you tiny creatures swimming eons ago
coming to rest in rock, heated and pressed
unimaginably long, and all of a sudden
Struck ("black gold!")
pumped up, surfacing again in a confusion
of movement and dazzling light after so long*
Now become soles for shoes.
As you walk your soles are the earth disguised
kissing itself at every step
<3
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
Where your eyes view comfort, my eyes shy away in fear. Those fingertips you wish to lace with yours, as you lay dreaming on your aged duvet, are the embodiment of an age-old prison. Those fingers lacing mine like thick nylon rope laced through fingertips and wrists. Soft voice infused with poison constricting my body with the force of two angered hands closing around my neck. Harsh lips like fists against malleable skin, leaving ***** stains and marks of possession on a once-white canvas that has marred itself beyond recognition. Insincere words spilling from vacant hearts, swearing of a beauty neither can see, yet you consume the words like a holy salvation. What little comfort lies in a body created for the very intention of torture.
Come with me and seek comfort and love from the fabric from which we were created. The comfort of a universe that lies on your very fingertips. The particles in the center of my right thumb created in a deceased star whose light is just now visible to my eager eye, the atoms vibrating on my stark white scalp arriving on my body after travelling farther in the universe than any human eye has witnessed, the pounding molecules rushing through every inch of my body as a thick red liquid originating in the center of the universe (an unimaginably breath-taking home). These particles have touched surfaces the human mind has yet to dream of touching, yet they have chosen this surface- your body- to faithfully support before resuming their flurry of activity. A deeper love than that that can be provided by an insufficient human body.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
We sit in silence.
Blue and gray shadows dance upon our walls.
********* TV.
We sit with our feet touching.
But we are miles apart.
How did we get here?
I always ask the same question.
How did we ******* get here?
We have had love.
We have had such good times.
Unimaginably good times.
Waves of laughter.
Kisses with no end.
Holding hands in parking lots.
Now I feel that you don't even want to touch me.
I feel that you have no reason to love me.
I don't understand.
I want your love.
I want your touch.
I want your skin upon mine.
I want to make up.
I want to make love.
These things, I fear, will never happen.
We fight.
We ****
How much longer can one heart sustain this?
How much desolation can ones bones bear?
I hear the rain upon the rooftop.
I hear the trees cracking outside.
I hear my insanity screaming inside my head.
It's a deafening silence.
My skin is on fire.
Too tight.
My blood is hot and thick inside my veins.
It needs escape.
I need to see red.
I need a razor.
I'm drowning in a sea of my own blood.
Choking on my teeth.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
The forest quite and peaceful,
Swarming with life,
The trees are alive,
The animals are alive,
I finally feel alive,
The sun breaking through the tops of the tallest trees,
Bouncing of the fresh dew,
Moss thick covered trees,
Wet sodden forest floor leaves,
Natures song ringing in my ears,
The crickets soft chirping chours,
I am at home here,
Tentative creatures poke there head out to observe,
I coo to them, telling them it alright,
And a small shivering pond,
Beauty and all,
Reflects the forest,
And the tress unimaginably tall,
I look peacefully at my reflection,
My eyes glowing green,
And no hint of my earlier distress,
But a new happy sheen
Slowly the forest animals come out of hiding,
And I am again at home
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC