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"unimagined" poems
Somewhere Somehow I can’t identify when it changed. I saw things differently, my eyes no longer covered by an opaque way of thinking. Sunshine brightened this world with unimagined colors, butterflies broke free, songbirds warbled lovely tunes. Amidst emerging beauty words became every day’s lifeblood; I found my voice. All around me, there was change, yet everything remained the same. For it was me that changed. Reborn, rewired. My heart drummed a brand new beat. Driven by transformation, I wrote. I write. Adding a dash of color. Singing harmony to surrounding melodies. I am changing. I am writing. I am a poet.
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Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Changed and Changing
These streets are home to countless rodents emerging for a moment to feed or breed or just to breathe the sun One by one line up for the chance to make something out of nothing Who are they and where do they go while the city refuses to sleep ___ Doors to endless lands line the avenue each its own portal to the unimagined A family of four with the yapping mutt or a lonely cat lady whose entryway wreaks of ***** a drug dealer door slamming every hour on the hour or an empty snowbird's nest On the surface everyone pretends they don't have a hole to crawl back to or walls that know every night But below the sewer grate a world filled with the stench of what could have been a good day Many a barkeep can shed some life on these drunkards' rat king or at least a story of those who made it out Once or twice it'd be grand to see the bottom of a martini glass left with a sip or two instead of the casually tipped lipstick-clad cocktail, drained of doubt and despair until morning warms the frozen dreams of those retired to a paradise unknown
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Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
Rats
Mayans saw us Not beyond this point. We map our extended calendar with dreams expanding. ***Soaring beyond mind All that we are Changing here*** Creation until now Unimagined.
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Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC
Mayan Maya
There was once two, that cared about each other. They were happily together so long, it was unimagined that anything could go wrong. When he saw her, with her beautiful blond hair, that coiled around his fingers anytime he felt it. Her sweet chocolate eyes that stared and pierced through what pumped his blood to keep him there. Her sweet voice attracted him like a honey bee to a flower, soft, like the ocean waves. A sound you could fall asleep to, but wouldn't because you'd never get bored. The taste of her lips unique, He loved to kiss her cheek. When they hugged and he bowed his head over her shoulder, he felt his cheek pressed against her clavicle, wondering if she felt the discomfort of bone against bone. He could smell her perfume, especially on dates. But nothing could smell better to him than her natural scent; Freshly showered every morning, coffee on the table waiting, setting the expectation that today will be a great day. He leaves to work, believing when he returns she'd be there. At the same time, nothing makes him more sad, than knowing she is allowed to leave forever. yet, more beautiful than a dove in a cage, is the one that is always free.
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Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC
The Sense of Love
The eyeless labourer in the night, the selfless, shapeless seed I hold, builds for its resurrection day--- silent and swift and deep from sight foresees the unimagined light. This is no child with a child's face; this has no name to name it by; yet you and I have known it well. This is our hunter and our chase, the third who lay in our embrace. This is the strength that your arm knows, the arc of flesh that is my breast, the precise crystals of our eyes. This is the blood's wild tree that grows the intricate and folded rose. This is the maker and the made; this is the question and reply; the blind head butting at the dark, the blaze of light along the blade. Oh hold me, for I am afraid.
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4.1k
Woman To Man
and I can't just forget no more I can't run go get numb no more I cannot today fill a dead man's shoes with my own ghost the sorrow shows head to heel flows and grows lost ourselves a soul a kind so tough to find in the world you've left behind unimagined states tug and pull those of us with ties that bind blind leading the blind we'll walk forth ahead again where it shines
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Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
with my own ghost
I am a jigsaw puzzle… Packaged, broken down and oddly pieced. Vivid colors. A curious captivation. Although… with time they have faded…and creased. Handed down like an antique quilt. Fragile and warn, only portions of my picture complete. Left wondering if I will ever be seen as one. Admired as whole, even with corners somewhat oblique. So I set out on a journey: Re-genesis of the soul. Craving colors unimagined: An apocalypse of the world of dull. Along the way I caught a glimpse. I unearthed Utopia. A world lent only to dreams and fairytales. Yet I couldn’t seem to give in and face this phobia. I continued along my search. This time with a new groove in my step. Part of me wanted to turn back, But that could’ve meant loosing the little I had left. I felt something flowering within. I may have looked away, but that moment a seed was planted. Roots of strength embedding themselves into my soul, A new chance at life finally granted. Fresh oxygen to inhale, As this life grows inside of me. Battling with worry and yet no panic at all. Something so charming and enormous, the world deserves to see. Branches of love breaking through my surface, A bungee cord tugs, than allots some slack. Leaves of unwritten memories begin to evolve. This budding life needs nurture…I need to turn back. Before I can set foot to turn around… Utopia at my fingertips. Life, nurture…a wonderland unsought. And that is all before the meeting of our lips.
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Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
Jigsaw Puzzles Should Always Be Finished
Journeys rendered dateless, Unending, Wayward and extending out, Round the compass points -- Dizzying aspiration to cease this race, To slow my sprinting soul, This pace splintering, in exhaustion. Expiring breath of hope or of home Evaporated in a distance Vanishing and Disconnected. Drifting On trackless tides, across Labyrinthine depths, Within the vast heart Of the world I cannot run from. Yet, I moved to and between The center or its peripherals, in Singular or collectives, Seeking pattern and Drawing connectives –- Brushing by and Bustling among People Entranced In their own Objectives. I watched their movements And their exchanges, I heard their rituals and Invocations. In all these transitions, They have no inkling That their seemingly trite Lives merely manifest The epic motifs of the heavens! Our imaginations mirror The vitality of the gods! We are as immortal as they! Our simple, sensual stories Are also enduring legends Unfolding, As our pages turn, Our flags are unfurling! Just as our fellow Olympians of old Engaged in a marathon of Endeavor to heights Unimagined! From those mystic days Since Orpheus’ ardent lyre Sang notes Of Nature’s divinity, Her Eternal sweetness. We need only sense that It is in Nature’s essence We are sharing. With her, we are joined in An undying marriage, A unified pairing – Our human heritage, Our dignified bearing. We share in that song,   We share in that sweetness, We share in that race, We share in Her immanence. This journey is our own. It goes on, unending!
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Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
Distance Unending
Journeys rendered dateless, Unending, Wayward and extending out, Round the compass points -- Dizzying aspiration to cease this race, To slow my sprinting soul, This pace splintering, in exhaustion. Expiring breath of hope or of home Evaporated in a distance Vanishing and Disconnected. Drifting On trackless tides, across Labyrinthine depths, Within the vast heart Of the world I cannot run from. Yet, I moved to and between The center or its peripherals, in Singular or collectives, Seeking pattern and Drawing connectives –- Brushing by and Bustling among People Entranced In their own Objectives. I watched their movements And their exchanges, I heard their rituals and Invocations. In all these transitions, They have no inkling That their seemingly trite Lives merely manifest The epic motifs of the heavens! Our imaginations mirror The vitality of the gods! We are as immortal as they! Our simple, sensual stories Are also enduring legends Unfolding, As our pages turn, Our flags are unfurling! Just as our fellow Olympians of old Engaged in a marathon of Endeavor to heights Unimagined! From those mystic days Since Orpheus’ ardent lyre Sang notes Of Nature’s divinity, Her Eternal sweetness. We need only sense that It is in Nature’s essence We are sharing. With her, we are joined in An undying marriage, A unified pairing – Our human heritage, Our dignified bearing. We share in that song,   We share in that sweetness, We share in that race, We share in Her immanence. This journey is our own. It goes on, unending!
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iPad Love 4:49 AM, and by the light of the silvery moon and our iPad screens turned down low, we snuggle side by side, our fingers glide so softly upon each, each of our own devices, this technique, it could be an app, teaching how to caress a human being. No need to tell you in sound, out loud, how you turn my heart upside down, I'll just post a note of appreciation on Facebook, you will see it faster, and besides, you got your earphones on and could not hear my sweet nothings if I screamed them in high definition. The newspaper arrives on the electric "doorstep" - no longer will do we venture outside in pink bathrobes and curlers, or boxer shorts, a legal gesture of neighborly disdain. Americana, losing another icon, as well as insuring the unemployment of thousands of newspaper deliverers, boys and girls, on bicycles, their first job, now obsolescent. Your feet, so cozy and warm, touching mine, the sensation, lovely and fine, duly recorded in a poem that on my iPad I scribble, as my typos disappear, out of sight. your ear, I nibble, something you hate and I love, but electronically, it's done with no fuss or muss, and I don't even have to move! Sadly, I can find no app that will bring the warmth of a cup of coffee to my night table, and the gun metal casing of this invention is chilly, but still Steve, with almost God like vision, you brought us closer in ways prior unimagined. So baby, shut it down, turn me on, make me warm for real, glide your now practiced fingertips on my grizzled cheek, whisper a phony "ugh," cause I know, you will read this iPad love poem and cherish us for evermore. Nothing, something, even as thin as my iPad 2(!) will come between us and the holiness, the uniqueness of the human touch. 2011
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May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
iPad Love
iPad Love 4:49 AM, and by the light of the silvery moon and our iPad screens turned down low, we snuggle side by side, our fingers glide so softly upon each, each of our own devices, this technique, it could be an app, teaching how to caress a human being. No need to tell you in sound, out loud, how you turn my heart upside down, I'll just post a note of appreciation on Facebook, you will see it faster, and besides, you got your earphones on and could not hear my sweet nothings if I screamed them in high definition. The newspaper arrives on the electric "doorstep" - no longer will do we venture outside in pink bathrobes and curlers, or boxer shorts, a legal gesture of neighborly disdain. Americana, losing another icon, as well as insuring the unemployment of thousands of newspaper deliverers, boys and girls, on bicycles, their first job, now obsolescent. Your feet, so cozy and warm, touching mine, the sensation, lovely and fine, duly recorded in a poem that on my iPad I scribble, as my typos disappear, out of sight. your ear, I nibble, something you hate and I love, but electronically, it's done with no fuss or muss, and I don't even have to move! Sadly, I can find no app that will bring the warmth of a cup of coffee to my night table, and the gun metal casing of this invention is chilly, but still Steve, with almost God like vision, you brought us closer in ways prior unimagined. So baby, shut it down, turn me on, make me warm for real, glide your now practiced fingertips on my grizzled cheek, whisper a phony "ugh," cause I know, you will read this iPad love poem and cherish us for evermore. Nothing, something, even as thin as my iPad 2(!) will come between us and the holiness, the uniqueness of the human touch. 2011
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One can easily become disillusioned in a world senselessly Filled with confusion and upheaval – evil at every corner, and it appears as though good has become unsustainable Bleak as tomorrow’s tidings may, I stay on bended knees Looking upward with unanswered questions - let wisdom Rain down like libations, to quench thirst wrought off miles upon life’s rugged road, and before the end has come I want To have left behind a legacy of achievement, taking whatever Motivation I can get to buildup up conviction, until cynicism is converted into action - my spirit soaring like an eagle propels My ambition to loftier heights thought unimagined – so I wait Patiently for a windfall gain, made from choices to facilitate change For I’m indomitable, from a lineage of kings rising above the worlds condition, like a sprightly star among the constellations…
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Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
Victory
I sometimes feel that I am like a seedling Not fully formed to what I'm born to be Growing in the air beneath the heavens Just waiting for the day that I break free. I've felt the force of wind and stormy weather. I've felt at peace but not like I belong. For I believe that life beyond is better, Where after death my soul will carry on. And when I bloom and burst through heaven's boundary To take my place with those who bloomed before, Surrounded by an Eden unimagined I'll glorify the Lord forevermore. (c) 2013 by Jeff Leslie All rights reserved. Non-profit use permitted.
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Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
"THE SEEDLING"
Some ladies love the jewels in Love’s zone And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play In idle scornful hours he flings away; And some that listen to his lure’s soft tone Do love to deem the silver praise their own; Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday And thank his wings to-day that he is flown. My lady only loves the heart of Love: Therefore Love’s heart, my lady, hath for thee His bower of unimagined flower and tree: There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above, Seals with thy mouth his immortality.
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2.5k
Love’s Lovers
Dream in words and lines They marinate Black and white Colors unimagined or named The words awaken us and accomplish their feat Do we dream verses? Do they talk with us as if to say Write me down? Record me Take me to a higher level Your fault if you forget Sculpt me and find a fresh new way with me My forever friend Somehow you will accompany me now and forever more So it goes and continues Anatomy of a poem c@rainbowchaser2021
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Sep 21, 2021
Sep 21, 2021 at 9:24 AM UTC
Anatomy of a poem
[Dedicated to Raymond Radclyffe] I am that hawk of gold Proud in adamantine poise On the pillars of tourqoise, See,beyond the starry fold, Where a darkling orb is rolled. There, beneath a grove of yew, Plays a babe. Should I despise Such a foam of gold, and eyes Burning beryline, so blue That the sun seems peeping through? Did I swwop, were Heaven amazed? With my beak I strike but once; Out there leap a million suns. Through the universe that blazed Screams theit light, and death is dazed. In my womb the babe may leap; Seek him not within my eye! Nor demand thou of me why I should plunge from crystal steep Like a plummet to the deep! See yon solitary star! What a world of blackness wraps Round it! Unimagined gaps! Let it be! Content thy car With the voyage to things that are! Nor, an thou perchance behold How I plunge and batten on Earth's exentrate carrion, Deem torquoise match midden-mould Or deny the Hawk of Gold!
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2.2k
The Hawk and the Babe
That ghost of love past has come to me most unexpectedly, and I, who thought the world predictable, have found that I know less of future pleasures than past pains. So beautiful a ghost that fears have left my heart like demons from Pandora's crate. Demons, do not dare return to me for you will find no place in this now joyous soul. Demons, do not dare return, for beauty has now filled the unimagined spaces of my mind and drawn me blind.
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Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 5:52 PM UTC
Demons
With frenetic horns he gores     The limp woman Nipple-aired           Draped on his bulging forearms               Undoubtedly bronzed           By  Mediterranean suns                       Or paled          By subterranean shadows She is either praying or panting                      Fainting or fawning                            Framed               In an unimagined tense
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Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
Minotaur 36
What is hoped trickling between splintered crags of hard matter as between slabs of sliced I like water through the desert crust the beginning-end fusioned whole? it resplendent through the cracks? What might be enough for its time being might be the first loosening a knot’s dissolution beginning unwrapping light and breath deep underground after prying like suffocation the thing loose, never budged, still you yanked, pulled, screamed, spumed, more than frustration through your fingertips. For the brain, don’t be fooled, s’more the psychedelic fruit than just saying apple computer the pulpous embryo of imagination feeding what seed, sprouting tendrils, protracts without desire (but causing desire) ever outward, growing, clasping, (hinging on unhinging) meshing an electric net and collapsing a shock they say until the taste of its taste is so succulently pungent that after hours of dull mumbling its projection upon the mirrors it bursts in puffs of screams short tense contractions [image fizzing, over-heating]. Like a cracked computer reading an animal program: *Alpha Beast of the Ill-Illusioned*. Or: *Runt Wolf of Gaia, the Undarwinian Survivor*. Software ones and zeros digitizing the command: Must do the act cannot be done. Till it breaks. Unimagined.
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Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
Over-heating
How many million galaxies there are Who knows? and each has countless stars in it, And each rolls through eternities afar Beneath the threshold of the Infinite. How is it that will all that space to roam I should have found this mote that spins and leaps In what unutterable sunlight, foam Of what unfathomable starry deeps Who knows!? And how this thousand million souls And half a thousand million souls of earth That swarm, all bound for unimagined goals, All pioneers of death enrolled at birth, How were they swept away before my sight, That I might stand upon the single ***** Of infinite space and time as infinite, Who knows? Yet here I stand, climacteric, Having found you. Was it by fall of chance? Then what a stake against what odds I have won! Was it determined in God's ordinance? Then wondrous love and pity for His son! Or was it part of an eternal law? Then how ineffably beneficent! Each thought excites an ecstasy of awe, A rapture rending the mind's firmament. Infinity -yet you and I have met. Eternity -yet hand in hand we run. All odds that I should lose you or forget, But, soul and spirit and body, we are one. Is this the child of Chance, or Law, or Will? Is None or All or One to thank for this? It will not matter if thanksgiving fill The endless empyrean with a kiss.
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1.9k
Long Odds
A heavy cloud hangs over the sky in rumble tumble and I can bend the universe If I can get there first I'm a tautology guy so latrine cakes arrive one after the other in succession they may be a mystery to the ladies but they’re very familiar to gentlemen Here we go clockwise from the table and in one straight shot we go to places unwished for but barely unimagined places that cheat the polygraph places of stalled-out civil wars and infinite permutations places of frequent flush and analysis places that drain out of each one of us and right into the undone sea
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Jan 23, 2023
Jan 23, 2023 at 9:47 AM UTC
Trip to the Powder Room
New Year’s Celebration Among mad men in drowning corridors, built on rusty foundations, tethered to rotting, sugar-coated grins, and nestled in the trashcan of our neighbor’s backyard – a candle we cannot see burns out over the mountains, the ones draped in vacation photographs, the same set your kitten is named after, a geological setting, a historical lesson, a discipline of chances strewn into another’s handshake sweat left on the public bathroom door handle, a smudge of lipstick left on the countertop, next to powder – a scene unimagined for nonexistent detectives. In a drunken state, we decide to play Gunshots or Fireworks? And we laugh when we are wrong.
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
New Year’s Celebration
Our empty syncopation's are patiently ambushed By restless margins of undeclared territory; Shivering cymbals, entraining cloistered memories, A nimbus inclining toward unredeemable quarries: Refrains unimagined, of star-tipped dawns Upon certain days of ritual, unbelievably worn. Breathing dragons of fire-squandering meridians Pour round water upon semblance's drowned emotion; Cleave then to me, who cleaves to the last vestige Of rarefied air, breathed by bellows-smothered centuries When your foot trod the newly opened ****** earth, And your hand hinged loves diagonal, even unto death.
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Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 12:15 PM UTC
Love's Diagonal
Love is like a ****** - it hurts at first Like a shooting pain from a needle that ****** the skin in a middle of your arm Like a fire, floating through your veins as it Burns it's way to a middle of your heart Before it clouds your mind You feel your body float as Free as one will ever be Unknowingly your mind slows and races To unimagined peak of ecstasy.
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Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
Love is a Drug
an automatic response, an unimagined answer. is that really what I want? true love would be nice. someone to hold hands with, to share uncensored passion with. I didn’t answer that. the right job would suffice. a feeling of being needed, bankruptcy not needed. I didn’t answer that. I told her I wanted to get away from here.   She wanted to know where but I didn’t know, didn’t care.                       only far      far from home But more, to find a Place where i belong. the words flew from my mind, evading my brain, involving my mouth.
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Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
belong
i see a cloud full of sky, bending in the waters of a large large lake with crystal black shores a blue grass field all scattered with daisies that pull up the soil and lie dead on their sides a multicolored ceiling soaring overhead, yellow glass and pink glass and colors unimagined glass all filed into points and swaying overhead while below the water shows the blue blue sky i see a twisted strand of heartbeats strung out across the world as a million dead people dance across it still below them lies the glass and the daisies fall through air while crystal clear waters crumble rock into black sand and through and through this pounding is the blinking of an eye shutter fast and closing on the world of nightmare sky
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Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
nightmarish dreams of a whimsical sort
Trees and the menace of night; Then a long, lonely, leaden mere Backed by a desolate fell, As by a spectral battlement; and then, Low-brooding, interpenetrating all, A vast, gray, listless, inexpressive sky, So beggared, so incredibly bereft Of starlight and the song of racing worlds, It might have bellied down upon the Void Where as in terror Light was beginning to be. Hist! In the trees fulfilled of night (Night and the wretchedness of the sky) Is it the hurry of the rain? Or the noise of a drive of the Dead, Streaming before the irresistible Will Through the strange dusk of this, the Debateable Land Between their place and ours? Like the forgetfulness Of the work-a-day world made visible, A mist falls from the melancholy sky. A messenger from some lost and loving soul, Hopeless, far wandered, dazed Here in the provinces of life, A great white moth fades miserably past. Thro' the trees in the strange dead night, Under the vast dead sky, Forgetting and forgot, a drift of Dead Sets to the mystic mere, the phantom fell, And the unimagined vastitudes beyond.
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1.4k
Trees And The Menace Of Night