"unmanned" poems
Deep down in the inhospitable gloom
Monterey Canyon welcomes an expectant mother
Unnoticed in the distance a whirring sound
and two parallel laser beams
Miss Cellania finds a nook
That instinct suggests is right
A place to nest and brood
A place to guard and wait
1.4 kilometers up a research institute
Guided the unmanned submarine
Correlated masses of data
Stared at live video feed
A unique event unfolded
Capturing such a moment
in this dark abyss
Clinging to a vertical rock
Her precious babies waiting to hatch
Her final duty to
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Protect from predators and the icy cold
And so she began the
Inky black wait
Detached
Alone
The research crew returned later that year
Miss Cellania dutifully kept her vigil
They returned again month after month
Still she stubbornly stuck to the task in hand
The months turned to years
And still she protected her unhatched young
Clung to the same vertical spot
With nothing to eat
Alert, defensive
Motherly
Patiently waiting
Wasting away
Waiting
Waiting
Untill
F i f t y t h r e e m o n t h s l a t e r
Four and a half years
Finally her wait ended
With a flurry of independent life
Then death.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
i go through this daily plot
waking, working, trudging
first world ease, office walls
wheeled chairs
afternoon run
tupperware lunch
dinner the night before
home again, dinner
dishes again,
play again,
daughter picks up
new phrases, new looks
vegetable strainer toy
"umbrella," she says
i see those eyes, my wife's
and i wonder
what is this place?
these walls, these roads,
those sitka pines and shrinking
glaciers?
how 'm i supposed to be a father
with all these things stretching out
vaster than reason, than comprehension
those talking heads, ranting this or that
liberty's ***** freedom's snatched,
the world warms, the world cools
Filipinos scream in the face of angry
winds, the prim cut weatherman wildly
gestures at a colorful map, powerful
he says, historic
he says
more dripping mouthes,
government want guns now,
more money to ****** our phones
to send unmanned drones
our president's muhammad,
or jesus, or kenyan, or raciest
a genius or incompetent
everyone knows
just back home
a tiny algae grows and foams
thrashing in the autumn water
brown oxygen choking life
never found on our shores before
kills fish,
i imagine so much more
i hold my daughter in my lap
reading mother goose,
run my hand through her
thin smooth hair,
sometimes afraid
of what she'll see and hear
with her mother's eyes
and her father's ears
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
What is a loser?
Someone spiraling within a microcosm of unfortunate events?
Or forgetting to update one’s facebook status in the macrocosm of tiresome vents?
People nowadays throw around insults as smiles and cheek,
Loser is a mere phrase between impudence and courageousness, sheik.
Many forget the power in which words command,
“Sticks and stones may break my bones”, but words unmanned..
Rip the heart and soul and cannot withstand,
The ebbing soreness of our confused migraine.
Perhaps I misunderstand.
Twenty-first century loser on the other hand,
Means you've made it into the ‘in-crowd’,
Enshroud,
Rain twinkling like stars,
Bicycles feeling like cars.
Yet heed this warning with everlasting effect,
Your words are yours to not neglect,
Take pride in your intellect!
Those hearts you may sway,
With words of colour and not grey,
As sweet as if valentine’s day.
May encroach your direction through doors unknown,
Before hinged like an Antarctic zone,
Forget “loser”, create your throne.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
you began a man in your uniform
uniformly lined in manhood
but unmanned in your last line of defense
the soldier, bleeding in his solidarity.
his head held down by the weight of his thoughts
and his heart held high by his idealism
in this century, he bleeds for your sins
and you, bleeding for the sinners.
bleeding for the sinners.
bleeding from the cinders; burning holes in your flesh from the fire you'd put out in a last-ditch effort to save the "smokey the bear" imagery from your childhood.
didn't you know it'd burn down too
as you dreamt of being an adult
in this distant, futuristic adulthood
where you'd be bleeding out again.
not forming in singular lines
not forming anything but time
in the singular exsanguination of a generation;
they're bleeding for your singing.
bled out and torn about, they die.
dreaded and thrown about in the last ditch efforts of life, they cry out again to the demi-gods and goddesses they believed in for your sins.
they bleed.
Purely.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
When I'm with friends
I am supposed to be happy
I am supposed to laugh at their jokes
I am supposed to have intellectual discussion
I am supposed to talk about love, lust and life
I do these things but I don't feel them like I should
Warm and fuzzy feelings
A sense of accomplishment for the things I do
All of which is not there
Instead replaced with a sense of numbness
A numbness that spreads from the tips of my toes to my watery eyes
All of which is directed by my unmanned control panel
Sure there are some days that I want to cry
But I'm not sad because of anything
I'm sad because of indifference
Indifference to the pleasure and pain in my life
Indifference toward whether or not the people around me love me
It seems that the only indifference I don't have is indifference to myself
I hate myself for being this way
Looking into the past like a pool of water
Convinced that I can even do anything besides splash it
And when I turn around to look to the future
Finding that I am surrounded by a jail cell with bars and no keys
Trapped forever in a state of perpetual limbo of pathetic self-pity
I find it hard to express myself because when I do
I am told repeatedly that I need to put it aside
Like it's okay that I am feeling it alone
Like it's okay that I feel there are only ever two types of days
Bad days or worse days
Like it's okay that I pray every day that today won't be a worse day
Maybe if I had control it would be okay
Maybe if I treated my failures like no big deal it would be okay
Maybe if I had a motivation or a sense of purpose it would be okay
But I have none of those things
So it's not okay
Nothing is okay and I will never be okay
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC
birches and tastsy jerky wood. resin in the immediate shubbary.... and dust and cobwwebs growing adjacent to the jerky wood. Myraid of birds, ranging from small birch-types to crows. A lingering dominant hawk. A giant possum crossing between borders carrying unborn infants. Dusty walls with abandonded spiderwebs- insect carcassases dangling, still. Pool motors revving in every direction lets of a subtle hum that compliments the planes descending and ascending oer-head
the water is grainy yet cool and healing. the sprinklers function at midnight and sometimes on the weekend. Maintinance trucks, expensive commuter vehicals, modest vehicls, unmanned vehicles, arrowhead trucks, macdonalds trucks, safeway trucks....
the earth is still wheaty and chalky adjacent the jerky trees, the jerky trees have little hairs and appetizing off red color, the bark saddles off with grace and with a satisfying tare.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
is it love
or the parasite ?
my pilot bulk
aims for relief
it pursues this via
your romantic correction
in public arena
a library stair
(i never prior encountered you)
one step as foreigner
the approach
and upon a swift internal pendulum
i make witless incisions
hurried mended sentences
directed stuns
invasive
i demand the compromise
of your company
hastily push at boundaries and
you're not so accommodating
but
on a further occasion
same building
we exchange a battering of conversation
that
then
matures
into barter-like use of language
despite my harassments
a civil cultivation is unearthed
tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen
loosen my demanding appearance
disregard my dignity
a skin suit about the ankles
you're open in a vein of similarity
you flesh out your own controls
we've progressed quickly
there's an aped conduct
and flashing attitudes
this time we share table space
a nearby café
we have become quite unmanned
repeated meet ups
upon humours we adjust small habits
and shake on perceptions where we overlap
it becomes
more an overlay of rationalities
than resented promises
fast time passes and
i move into your living space
i pick a wildflower
and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table
we agree on its colour
we agree on a book to make our bible material
we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share
the clothes i am to wear
i switch to your diet
and you cease taking medications
we sleep on your lawn like children
and bring down the night sky for comfort
during the day we wear our sleep
like a lubrication for our chores
and go about our productivity
in genuine partnership
yet
i feel we're just out of reach
of some dark harm
we are an excellent sample pair
it is all vital
we grow stronger the more we quiz it
recycling our **********
refine our agreements
await further impulses
and come closer to plug
so..
do we please love
or simply indulge a parasite ?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
We grow not by the ticking hand,
But by the weight of hearts unmanned.
Each loss, a root beneath our feet,
Each storm, the shaping of our heat.
Maturity bears no time-bound chain,
But sprouts through joy and tempered pain.
A silent bloom where trials ignite,
The soul grows wiser in their light.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 12:31 AM UTC
There is more free space than matter
My zenith is far from touching land
A wing tipped by the ring of Saturn
The orb that many thought unmanned
My zenith is far from touching land
With a silken era of neon speed
The orb that many thought unmanned
The Guardians acknowledged their time of need
With a silken era of neon speed
A gaseous clash of friend and foe
The Guardians acknowledged their time of need
And songs of victory may never know
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
Wailing walls, howling fences
Encaged and blocked by barriers
All smashed, sorted in security fence
Miles of humanity and flesh torn apart
Why is it that we can’t live together?
We bleed the same coagulating blood
Lined up and humiliated in alleyways
Paths of iron bars and imprisonment
My veins wringed, intensive torment
Mentally distracted, strained by grief
Settlement, conflicts and border struggles
Governance, religious trickles of disunion
The biblical birthright verses human rights
The unsighted straining peace settlement
Shadows of the peace blueprint screams
Ongoing reconciliation, milked in small doses
Whose home is whose? Subdivided in areas
Controls of disillusionment undisclosed
Unmanned checkpoints evokes fears
Revolving cameras tossed and turned
Bansky slogan “make hummus not war”
Smashes freedom to uproot and merge
Constitute and construct peaceful resorts
All horns blowing to collapse duality
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
No tribal scarring marks your face
no cinder walk or thorn-pierced tongue
to prove you are no longer young
but fit to take your rightful place
Your generation never fought
And you have wished that you could see
the selfless, brave camaraderie
of which you were so often taught
Alas for you to fetch ashore
when we had lost our appetite
for making children go and fight
and briefly grieved, and said "No more!"
Condemning you, unreconciled,
to shed no blood, as real men should;
to feel that life is mostly good
Oh foolish knave! Oh hopeless child!
And saddled with this gross mistake
your quiet kindness gently spread
and harmless fascinations fed
and left no corpses in their wake
To think we looked to one unmanned
as children, hungry for a clue
of what it's right for men to do,
led, blind, by your unbloodied hand
Sought thoughts from one who could not brag
of marching forth to suicide
for waxed moustaches' sense of pride
Nor bleeding dry beneath a flag
But you had naught to tell us, save
that life is hopeful and sublime
and we should use this precious time
And I'll be grateful to the grave.
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
you will forget
the colour of my eyes
and the way i turn to the back door
instinctively, when i hear the click
and how, unlike you all, i do not yell across the cubicles
the way i crushed boxes for two hours, then
and how i cry, too easily
the six pack of strawberry milk (fresh from the fridge) that only i drank
the smell of fish and chips that wafted through the office and-
-you will forget my love,
my loyalty,
and soon enough,
you will forget me.
i don't want to forget.
"don't want to?"
no. i can't.
i cannot forget the christmas decorations that must be down by now
or the perpetually-unmanned front
or stale, recycled, air-conditioned oxygen that tasted like bliss
and lemon stained fish and chips, and salad that came out of a tub,
and scalding heat against my palm
and tears.
i cannot forget the way she laughs
like an orchestra of the wind beneath the branches
or the way you shook my hand
and made me feel like i belonged and
how you, you, my love, you are bothering to go to the trouble of sending me registered mail
so it doesn't get lost
the way i do, in her eyes
i cannot forget how you are different. special
and how you refuse to take selfies that are glamorous
because you have a sense of fun and
the first time you ever saw me, drenched
dedicated, yearning, and already in irrevocable love.
i cannot forget the strike i scored
with my eyes on a screen instead of a lane and
the cookies, the vouchers, the games
the screwdrivers, shoes, and sushi
i cannot forget the goodbyes i never said
in case i never say them, the next time i can
that once upon a time-
i belonged.
i cannot forget beauty and goodness and strength and
laughter and belonging and teasing and acceptance and
loyalty and experience and diversity and determination and
passion and teamwork and friendship and family and
love.
i cannot forget.
because you will.
you know what they say
if nobody remembers something any longer
did it really exist?
when i was young and foolish i thought that was so ridiculous
because it's happened- so it must exist
mustn't it?
and now i see why
the philosophers say what they do
and why people doubt.
i am so afraid to forget
because if i can,
then others can (and will), as well.
but as long as i remember (even if it fades from the collective remembrance)
then it will always exist
even if only
in the land of memories
and dreams upon our dreams
where we can never set foot upon again.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
I'm told a man from Nazareth
a carpenter, had planned His death
from somewhere way before the birth of time
would be a thing worth finishing
for none could wear His wedding ring
until the final pardon for their crime.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
And taken from the midst of sin
an undeserving place I'm in
beneath the cross, I stare up at The One
whose blood poured down that gruesome day
in pain the man was heard to say
with his last breath, "That's it, My Work is Done." *
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
They took his body torn and dead
removed the thorns which pierced his head
and crying for this Man they'd come to love
wrapped him gently in the way
as was the custom of the day
without a doubt, they questioned God above.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
Now placed inside a darkened tomb
and sealed in stone by soldiers whom
could not be caught asleep lest they would pay
but something happened as He planned
His tomb was somehow left unmanned
as angels rolled the stone aside that day.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
So WHO IS THIS who claims to save
in three days risen from the grave
who paid a debt which we could n'er afford~
now written into history
He wrote the world a mystery
and solved it one day, cause that's my Lord.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
Fulfilling every prophecy
the Only One my heart can see
is Jesus Christ, be sure you cannot hide
you'll face Him on your dying day
my One True Love who's made a way
to cover and protect his precious bride!
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
I cast my line and reel in my bait
I cast my line and it's a snake
I cast my line, a reprobate
How much longer till I break
Patience is not a lesson I care for
I like waiting even less
I say, "that's enough", You say, "there is more"
- I'm breaking, I must confess
Vice on my heart, squeezing out tears
Thoughts are swirling all of my fears
Ripples in the pond spread out from my float
All goes still, there is a lump in my throat
Chin in my hand
Slumped and alone
My pole, unmanned
Heart's monotoned
I have cast in shallow waters
And reeled in dregs
Wandered forbidden corridors
And near lost legs
How much longer must I wander?
I trust You not to tip my boat
Believe You've brought me where I float
You've kept my rod from breaking
But not my hands from aching
It's the catch that I doubt
It's all one endless bout
I'm trying to practice trust
Though my heart's dusted with crust
Fishing, endless fishin'
Waiting on fruition
Fishing, oh, endless fishin'
Perhaps I'll reposition
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 9:53 PM UTC
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.
He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up offhand
While Robin Hood and Brother Hood are buried in the sand.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
My hair is a mess of antennae-
Each piece picks up static of days
dead and gone.
I run through the noise with unmanned hands- feeling the weight of each lock.
Where’s the golden child?
The girl with a head full of health?
Of ringlets
yet to be devoured by time, sweat and dissonance.
As I drift I hear the voice of my mother fading- her chord was cut and motioned off-air in the wake of new administration.
Memories trapped in the roots of straightened strands. Her signal comes through as a muffled cry:
“These ends may be swept away,
but my music will still play
through your stereo.”
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
(AP) Chicago vicinity hit hard yesterday by fierce bracing winds approximating unmanned chainsaws violently cutting across streets sidewalks heavy lakefront blizzard icy snow resembling slivers of broken glass slashing stinging skin news alert of return of dreaded snow worms attacking women and children technically known as Kinorhynchan Oligochaetes Nemertines these deadly transparent parasitic creatures slither slightly ticklish creep inside boots preferring hairless legs of children slimy vipers dig between toes devouring traces of toe jam then gnawing toenails until they reach foot bed where they fester in bitter dark brown green milky juices crippling little boys and girls in shaven women the elongated legless carnivorous ice worms disguised as mere icicle drippings climb up calf knee thigh ****** ****** ovaries feasting on female eggs their favorite food many northern women choose not to shave during winter season so as not to fall victim to the snow worms
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 9:16 AM UTC
People Pass
(A poem inspired by The Scream by Edvard Munch)
People pass
They don’t see the pain I’m in
A guy in the street just like them with problems no bigger than theirs
My internal struggle is waiting to burst but nobody cares
The bridge I’m on acts as a platform for my escape
A jumping off point into the watery landscape
No problems at the bottom of the river
Freedom so close I almost shiver
Even one smile may change the tide
But people are busy
I cry for help with my mouth open wide
But they continue their stride as if to push me aside so I’ll fall over
Into my aquatic enclosure
My hands are glued to my face as if to hold my untamed mind in place
Can’t pull them apart
If only I could restart
My knees bend without my command
My body flies through the air like a plane unmanned
Within a second I feel the cold start at me feet
I fall further until my descent is complete
Looking up at a world turned to aquamarine
It’s finally quiet
This place is serine
The struggle stops
The last bubble to the surface pops
My vison fades
The nightmare of feeling, a forgotten haze
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 10:03 PM UTC
Unmanned, like a bull bereft of all;
a flaccid decoration without use;
at least if thee had what I have
thou could be a woman; ******
hiding your treasure for marriage
and hypocrisy. And leave me
with empty decoration; rings
without sense, dresses without purpose.
Go about your business thou say
I want nothing to do with thee now;
yet not a month ago it was all Peggy this,
Peggy that; such are the changes
of the seasons. I do not want to give birth
to an empty ache; wet nurse it; teach it
its father's worth; I cannot tell the ache
how we loved, how we met, how we joyed.
I cannot sit round this mughouse days
and months I must out into the world
roll in the smell of Man again
with a jug of ale in one hand
and earning a stony crust
from some wight with a jangling purse.
And forget the bull that was castrated.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.
He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.
"A Rebuttal" by Marshalg
So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help,
One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp!
Would spring ***** to help deflect contusions which occurred
When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred.
Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs
And brother Frog with shaggy dog said **** and drank the dregs.
It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue,
So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew!
Phew...that was FUN & hard work!
M.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
One by one they go
I watched them as they went
By my hand the damage done
But yet unmanned by me.
So finally, I looked (as one should never do)
The spaces that had grown for months
Were worse than I had feared
But no one says a word
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
Wayward man, opposite clouds,
There and back again, far from crowds,
Disarray, astray through grey- where he shrouds.
Vague, vigilant, vastly enigmatic,
To see from such a point of view is idiosyncratic,
Astral miles, took off from land,
Charting depths of the unmanned,
Once on shore-- 'what's beyond the sand?'
Others lost wills to explore, a journey unbland;
Demand to expand, for space is your command.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 12:08 AM UTC
Once upon a strange sunrise
I got lost and time died before my eyes
I feel like i'm too far from my home
My body now races and my mind roams
I can see my feelings
I can feel my thoughts
Caved into weird dealings
My perspective tied in a knot
Hard to gain control
of which I don't understand
Seemingly an eternity,
only a tick of the minute hand
Unsure if I can withstand the heat
My soul is a bright star, but unmanned
casting a radiance like a helping hand
An uncanny force attracts my waves
into a cave slaved to the dark abyss
I'm moving closer to the grave concave
a hiss of fear followed by a shivering kiss
As I enter, I see my troubles carved in the wall
Regrets, fears, sorrows that I've yet to overcome
I'm appalled by the amount, too many to count,
my overwhelming hate frees my mind from the drought.
And in just the blink of a smile,
I'm lavishly released from my personal dooms
Eager to set foot in the aisle of a new lifestyle
and I sit up never happier to be in my own room.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Once I hoped to write like Ginsberg –
but Allen Ginsberg went to hell.
His bolder Buddhist poetry glitters,
then opens like an empty shell.
In vain one searches for the pearl
within the lyric art he showed us.
Open wide his rotten oyster –
seek the center of the lotus.
Perverted lost Semitic soul –
lyrical ranter, mind unhinged…
He celebrated sin and shame
while crew-cut culture cringed.
His beatnik aircraft took off fast,
flew into bardos of the ******
promising enlightenment –
but the cockpit was unmanned.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
I wondered for the first time today
about the man that will capture your heart,
like I never could.
You'll meet him at some Friday night party
in a dim living room among wafts of pale gray smoke
and stale vapors from a shared hookah.
Some morning later, when lights stab your eyes,
and every sound tosses your stomach, you'll scramble
for scattered clothes, twisted and turned,
inside-out: your heart, confused and excited.
You'll say it was all unexpected, unplanned—a flight unmanned.
I'll hug you like a friend, and I'll mean it when I say
something vague about being happy for you.
At some white-clothed table, sheltered away
from twisting hips and unkempt ties,
I'll slide my fingers down condensation
of an abandoned, unfinished drink.
I'll look at you, and we'll recount the nights,
circa summer 2008, on my bedroom floor
and hanging from monkey bars,
dreaming of cool ocean nights and Hollywood lights.
And I'll pray he will love you like that.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC