"unkindness" poems
An unkind calmness that took away the solicitude
An unkind calmness that made everything a roun
An unkind calmness that mixed the altruistic with egoistic
An unkind calmness that took an evil tack
An unkind calmness that made solitude more ween
An unkind calmness that made white a black
An unkind calmness that after a fruitful bliss became a dark pandora
An unkind calmness that became worthy of unkindness !!
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
A handy Mole who plied no shovel
To excavate his vaulted hovel,
While hard at work met in mid-furrow
An Earthworm boring out his burrow.
Our Mole had dined and must grow thinner
Before he gulped a second dinner,
And on no other terms cared he
To meet a worm of low degree.
The Mole turned on his blindest eye
Passing that base mechanic by;
The Worm entrenched in actual blindness
Ignored or kindness or unkindness;
Each wrought his own exclusive tunnel
To reach his own exclusive funnel.
A plough its flawless track pursuing
Involved them in one common ruin.
Where now the mine and countermine,
The dined-on and the one to dine?
The impartial ploughshare of extinction
Annulled them all without distinction.
5k
Go, Soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity
And virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can ****
3.5k
Confusion
Deception
Life's possessions
Breathing
Conceiving
Life's bleeding
Mindless
Spineless
Life's unkindness
Careful
Tearful
Life's doubtful
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
The Raven flies,
But just to die,
For the children that it bears,
Bit of the hand that fed them
In a land bereft claimed fair.
A world where god bids all to live
When they say “If we dare”.
A place where all that was is not,
Yet The Raven does not care.
The Raven, dead,
Its children fed,
Its life, long forgotten.
Covered in red,
They laid their heads,
Leftovers, ever rotten.
With its soul fled,
The life it lead,
Its memory now shotten,
The land it left ignored its death,
And upon it grew soft cotton.
Sep 27, 2024
Sep 27, 2024 at 9:34 AM UTC
He loves
her hair
finger tips
summer dips
fall skips
missed periods
no love
for that
no love
for unwanted children
parasiting in a belly
unfit for a home
so scared
they were
to tell parents
who would know what they'd say
would they be grounded?
They didn't think
about the child
were selfish
to not tell
were selfish
to keep it
secret
brought it into the world
birthed with silent screams
left for life
maybe
on a door step
no tears
just remorse
and relief
and who could blame
such people
for not wanting
to be responsible?
Not us
for we only want fun
I know I do
want to feel good
to be loved
even if it means
acts of unkindness:
outcomes that mimick
newborn mistakes,
our results are crying infants of moments of selfish pleasure
come to life
only later, the aftermath of a long-since let go desire.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
The unkindness was done to us, but now we are the unkindness.
We are people turned victim turned survivor turned raven,
Grouped together to fight the evil we were violated with.
We are creatures of pain, and we are creatures of protection.
We are creatures of mourning, and we are creatures of empathy.
We are creatures of misery, and we are creatures of wisdom.
And we will croak, caw, warble, and scream
Just so we know we are not alone.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, y’have passed a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me then, tendered
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
1.7k
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,-- call to thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.
Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born.
Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation--
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?
1.6k
There's one day in a month
When the sky is very dark
And with it comes the shadows of humanity
But we'd be lucky to have wars last only one night
Shrouded in blackness, we are the horrors that cause nightmares
The crescent, with its sliver of paleness
It is the overpowering hand of discrimination
Destruction comes in many different forms
Curved like a scythe and sharp at the tips
Oddly shaped, we are those who judge so wrongly
The moon in its first quarter shows more than good and evil
It houses purity and serenity in white
But the other half is black with invinsibilty and unkindness
It is split in half like a heart torn between two decisions
Opposite colors, we are the creators of love and hate
Brighter and bigger the gibbous moon is ignorance
The incomplete light is a lack of awareness to global conflicts
Poverty is ignored and wars happen "some place else"
Drugs and abuse are only scenes from dramatic movies
Partially dark, we are those who don't live for the benefit of others
But when the moon is at its fullest, its brightest
We can see our world completely out of the darkness
With no black to shield our eyes we see the truth
Reality hits our senses and we long for forgiveness
Illumination, we are those who regret our mistakes
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Don't touch me
You don't love me
Put your calloused hand over my heart
Does it beat for you?
You can't even
put those three puny words past your lips
Yet when I hear ticking handles they're at twelve
Is that a sunset or sunrise?
We're walking the ledge
but your failing heart can't take another ledger
All the love I've deposited
The sharp breaths your claws caused
An unkindness flutters by
obscuring the orange view
Tell me, do you want to fly?
Away to there?
Away in here?
It beats for you
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 3:30 PM UTC
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,--call to thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.
Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born.
Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation--
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?
1.5k
O, call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lov’st elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside;
What need’st thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than my o’erpressed defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: “Ah, my love well knows,
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries.”
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
1.3k
As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.
I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.
Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.
I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.
At least that is what it feels like...right now.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
While contemplating natures of the moor.
So very full of life, and also death.
Briefly glancing round, the bog seems lifeless,
To walk so alert, danger life obscures
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
But after observation, I confess
Quite lively lies our grand mud-soaked detour.
So very full of life, and also death.
Every creature here exudes unkindness,
And any of them might our death ensure.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
Yet still, I find their number in excess
Than places having more growth, and verdure.
So very full of life, and also death.
So now my new perspective does egress
Much different than it ever did before.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
So very full of life, and also death.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 1:33 AM UTC
Entangled entwined in a war of unkindness, where both sides are blinded by rage and by madness, were love once danced and emotions engulfed them, as she said she loved him and he said it back, as their lips locked forever to never come back, while fingers wrapped them in a moment of madness, now it's all gone and all that's left sadness, as they stare at the papers faceless solicitors wrote, of the times that they once had before all they did argued, and all that was said as they drifted apart and hated instead.
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
twofist head muscle: kineval.
but really iz jus 2:15
shoelacegazing in a prefab park gazebo.
texty fingertip slinger.
chase that dragon.
kickin fake jordans
in a tomb called Khufu
diffuse serial NOONSDAY scenario:
always
cut
the
pixelated
rainbow
wire.
yuh know, that
jejune
box
hero:
from alphabet soup news to
netfizzle huludoodoo,
twiddling its Neros.
V iz for silent
in the actual voodoo
that’s been silenced
with dogooder silencer.
blap.
blargh.
this is all so
hashtagical.
prolly. so
follow me.
anyway resistance is feudal, ‘cause
evil doth hearts a good fight.
“evolve?! nevar!”
quoth the flat noted, dorsal
Dept. of Unkindness
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
the limits of language futility of language languagelessness of language how to speak write express within the confines of language inadequacies of language how to describe thoughts feelings ideas with 26 letters however many words to conform to standards of language imprisoned by rules of grammar punctuation how to reveal what happens inside your stomach psyche breath bones blood muscles nerves glands equilibrium first time you feel totally free dance joyfully yell first time you feel in love sprout hopes imagine winter spring dreams first time you learn betrayal the selfish isolation in everyone first time you realize the corruption unkindness cold-blooded wickedness of people the pain suffering within us all what anguished syllables utterances can describe the sadness hurt frustration deep inside language how do you convey crippling emptiness of loss the challenge of language to create more profound articulation vocabulary undamaged by media untainted by commercialism to communicate without derivative talk simple sounds maybe be understood appreciated my long journey so shell-shocked i can't process a million diamonds languagelessness of language way back to you
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
How disconcerting…
Brace for a fight
Lace up the gloves
Vaseline the soft spots
Turn corners on two wheels
Arrive and
Kick in the doors
To find that
The Enemy
Is no longer in existence
Already vanquished
By an even greater enemy
Leaving in its wake
A pitiable thing
Arousing in a decent soul
Compassion…and
Prayers...
For one’s self--
Strength
And for the other--
Mercy…
Nothing honorably left to do
BUT pray
For one ’s self---
Only that God notices
This quiet sacrifice
Cuz there will be no
Forgive-me’s… or
Thank-you’s…or
I-love-you’s… or even
Closure
When one unlaces the gloves
Washes the face
Rolls up the sleeves
And returns
For cruelty
Compassion
For ill will
Tenderness
For Indifference
Clemency
And for Unkindness
Humanity…
And pray
For the other---
Only
Mercy…
Have Mercy…
Have Mercy Lord…
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
If you asked me to tell
where the ceiling ends and
the walls begin,
I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
When I think about you
everything blurs into black
like an unkindness of ravens.
And I—
You are
the only thing that ever
crosses my mind as soon as
dusk turns into night,
and I could never tell you why.
I like to think that
just as birds know when to fly
and time knows when to die,
I was meant to love you.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
We are born
blank slates.
We know nothing of this
hate filled world
this love filled world
this world itself
is mystery.
I see my niece
she is not two months
but I fear for what she will
soon experience.
I want to build
a better world.
to keep her safe
to keep her 8
almost 9! year old sister
safe.
But I fear the fight
is just too great.
To go against
all the world has thrown.
To go against
all that I must take.
I can't fight
this battle alone.
I **** it with kindness.
Kindness to strangers
hoping that they will
do the very same.
hoping they will
take up the reigns
fight this battle
with me
today.
Because a better tomorrow
is all I ask.
A better tomorrow
for the children.
It's too late
for my generation.
We know the fear
of terrorists.
of the economy.
of each other.
of drugs.
of guns.
of people who are
"different".
And so on...
But I wish that we
as a whole
as a generation
as a people
as a global community
can look past what we had
can look past what we want
to be kind to one another
to be kind for the future.
Because that's all I ask
do something kind
be someone kind
do kind works.
I know that it goes
against some people's
very nature.
to be kind
to do kindness.
but that is part of the battle.
that is part of our fight.
fight ourselves
internally
no each other
to do kindness
to help the world.
This may seem
just another preachy
overly optimistic poem.
But I have known abuse
unkindness, terror
pain and heartbreak.
If I can work past it,
I believe you can too.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Can you feel it?
Can you feel the heat?
Can you feel the pressure in the atmosphere?
Or is that just me?
When did the calm disappear and my palms get sweaty?
**** I'm unsteady on my feet.
I've been flipped like a light switch.
Cool and collected I am no more.
The words I pitch to you are already formed without thought and will hit you full force.
Maybe I could've waited?
But anger's never procrastinated.
It's instant and ferocious.
I know this, you know this, we all know this.
But it doesn't help knowing in these briefest of moments.
A flash and its done, nobodys won.
Just two broken people with regrets of whats happened with a loved one.
What a shameful and painful time to be alive.
It almost hardens the heart,
It takes its toll on the inside.
It's something we can't plan for
We can only realise after the fact and apologise.
Even if the wound is still sore.
I'm sorry.
In that moment my mind was blinded.
Can you forgive me for that moment of unkindness?
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 4:22 AM UTC
A cloud of deception lingers on
Blind devotion and simple mindedness
Attacking evil they become evil
Building weapons out of unkindness
Their compassion is but a whisper
Their hatred a shrill shrieking scream
That’s heard from every mountaintop
Every valley in between
This wisdom is built upon
Interpretations of ancient words
It’s all so contradictive
And dangerously absurd
It’s okay to hate evil
Yet evil is a product of hate
It’s all in the name of some loving god
Who lacks the ability to tolerate?
The only thing I know to be real
Is that the enemy is the hate that we all feel…
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
~
your apothecaried words,
your healing blended herbs,
soothe this wearied soul,
reduce the aging in these bones;
like streams of cooling water
flowing down from winter's snow,
light my path and show the way,
dispel the night, usher in the day;
these like soothing raindropped kiss
brings my thirsty soul some bliss;
to the corners chases bitterness,
and nudge aside its lonliness;
you lift the scales of fury's blindness,
furl the sails of life's unkindness;
tis the secret garden where i come,
where in comfort i am home;
free from harshness of sojourning,
thee my haggard soul afirming,
by your apothecaried words,
from this bruising world
my troubled soul is carried
my hearth and heart ignited
with your overflowing warming!
~
*post script.
these walls are my home,
sacred to a few of you,
making sacred paths
for me and thee,
a port of refuge
on life's tempestous days.
if e're i swerve from being comfort,
please...
send me messages to show my error,
for of my life and of my wit and writ,
i would not be one who seeks
to show his teeth or seek revenge
within these halls.
you and these shall ever be
sacred walls to me.
these and the words above
are inspired by Pamela Rae,
a gentle soul and
favorite herb blender here!
though there are many others too
who hold the line,
the very best here are
in my humble opinion
those who resist the urge and
refuse to participate
in wordy blood feuds,
or other forms of bringing
the harshness of life,
into these sacred halls.
these know the power
of their pen and
choose the better path,
wisely using their words
to bring healing, life, and light
and of course some
much needed laughter!
to each and all,
you who chose this path,
you i salute!
(: Steve*
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
I glimpse her, as wearily,
I tread upon the stair;
Brief flickering movement
Which really isn’t there.
She taunts, and teases,
Never showing her face,
Drifting along the landing,
With ballerina grace.
Quite often, whenever lonely,
Her sibilant voice calls;
A lingering shallow whisper,
Echoing softly from the walls.
She sounds, so haunting,
Like tinkling silver bells;
Ringing enticing incantations;
While casting ghostly spells.
Hairs bristle, on my neck;
Spine becoming trembling ice,
Freezing breath inside my throat:
Heart trapped within a vice.
We touch, I am afraid; but
My fear is that I’ll find,
This unearthly spectral visitor
Is an unkindness of my mind.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC