"unmissable" poems
Don’t read this if you’re squeamish,
Or if you’re eating food at the present,
Since some of the subjects discussed in this poem,
Are let’s just say rather unpleasant,
On the subject of donating organs,
Or the subject of organs at all,
It’s not unusual for my claims to leave,
Some subjects feeling pretty appalled,
Now I’d say that most people die,
In fact I’d vouch that it happens quite often,
But when my time comes, set has my sun,
I want all of me in that coffin,
Now I get it, I’d save lives if I donated,
And I don’t mean to sound like a **** (yes I do),
But the unmissable flaw, the foot in the door,
Is that not all of my parts seem to work,
My eyes are screwy, my heart’s far too cold,
The state of my lungs’ll make you shiver,
My kidneys too small, I'm not sure I have a pancreas,
And don’t get me started on my liver,
And let me tell you with a face like mine,
Not showcasing this beauty’s a sin,
But it’s awfully hard to have an open casket,
If I’m not sporting any of my skin
It’s selfish and weird I know that,
But my eyes are where my soul is exposed!
…Yeah actually my soul’s pretty tainted,
Can someone make sure that my eyes are closed?
I only want those I love to have a part of me,
So if I’m forced, if I’m forced, to partake,
-
-
-
They’ll be frying up my organs,
For refreshments at my wake.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
The arms, legs, heads
were covered in clay
but their bodies
hadn't decayed.
They were trapped
in ice, transparent,
clean. That is the role
of bodies. To be seen.
That is the role of
children. To sit
quietly counting
coins. To brush
the long blonde
hair of their
sister (mother.)
To not be heard.
The dead leaves
of trees are
too loud.
Crunching under-
foot. Who am I
to investigate?
To take samples
of hair and
skin. To match
DNA and finger-
prints. No, the
ice should not
melt. As it
struggles to
survive in the
sunlight. The bodies
thaw. Heart first.
And I am trapped.
plunging the
secrets of rope
around throat.
Of stab wounds
and bullet sites.
And the blood
is so cold. So
very cold and
unforgiving,
unmissable,
uncharted,
until my hands
slice,
sift,
silence.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
i.
without words,
boy, caught up in the dark,
brown-eyed boy,
as night drifts,
dark in her clouds.
ii.
a tumbling
star,
leaden feet
sink to earth,
drowning stream...
poured from a water jug
a dark, crackling sky.
iii.
night's thick opiates
glaze,
unmissable sky
sinks anchor-like.
iv.
slumber-heavy,
dreams carried to the stars,
lost time
stretching like a cat.
v.
boy, sleep sound tonight,
brown-eyed boy,
as night drifts
dark in her clouds.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC
Until today, I never understood heartache.
I never understood that thinking about you (how the thoughts come unbidden yet so welcome entrancing encompassing dizzying worrying wonderful) -
your name
your voice - strong and low, speaking softly, only for me
the thickness of your hair, the way it feels against my fingers when I hold your head in my hands
the way your skin tastes after a night of making love
the warmth of your hands and your mouth and your laugh
your scent, that somehow reminds me of both my childhood and times and places I have never known
the feeling of you inside me, molded close and perfect, and the way you toss your head and ***** up your eyes while we're at our peak, as if I were the one who was so unmissable
- could make my insides curl and twist so hard that I have to stop what I'm doing, set down my glass or pen, stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
I am drowning in you, taking in deep lungfuls of you, absorbing you into my bloodstream.
The sweetest little death I could ever imagine.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
I find your lips
so kissable.
And your kiss
unmissable.
Your fingertips
untouchable.
And your eyes
irresistible.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
and roused from the back of my mind was
a warm breath of childlike wonder, present
in the twinkling of my eyes
that he called "unmissable," like it was the reason he drew toward me
with a blade called fate to my neck
and promised me escape, finally, since nobody else would.
but he spoke in shimmering riddles, tongue dipped in a persuasive agent.
he did not miss his clarity. he did not miss much anymore.
by his hand, and with God as his witness, he would keep any of that nonsense
far from the equation. he would **** that which once made him feel alive.
walled away somewhere deep inside of him, behind visible ribs and invisible slate
i observed a faraway macabre, and it did not deter me, and it did not want to.
i took his hand, which was good, since mine still trembled.
i let him pull me into the same rank pit
he had occupied for some time now. drawn, quartered.
the skin around his eyes crusting, blackening, oculars submerged in pale.
through needles were salvation; he fully intended to alter pace
and allow himself, for once, something of his doing.
solace, if not brief solace, from wretchedness.
a scarce commodity.
nothing can shine down here.
and i'm surviving on what kills me.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 6:20 AM UTC
guilt tied itself
around my wrist
like a red balloon
don't tell me this
is the gist
it follows me around
north, east, south
and westbound
an unmissable reminder
of what i have done
see, it's all just a rerun
a **** show or a gag show
it's been so long since
i last saw a rainbow
a red balloon
friend, it's just air
but it's so heavy
and let me tell you
it has never been easy
so i guess maybe
the walls crack
because sometimes what
they hear
is just too much
to bear
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC
Heavy expectations, preparations galore,
To witness the night of glory and L'amore.
Moon was eager to rise and sun refuted to set,
That was the charisma of the night which the two souls beget.
Time was running and hearts started pounding,
To reach the destination and visualize the hearts rebounding.
An Italian rendezvous, at an Indian enigma of nizam,
In an exotic style of feast, they share a conversation of purism.
The joy within was inexplicable,
With the right aroma of love on table.
The rich culture of India's great glory,
With the classic mixture of king's short story.
The ****** an unmissable moment,
With the hand in hand the souls enjoy the love slogan.
Hearts were filled with joy,
And the angels bestowed their blessings and foy.
The night ended with heart full emotions,
Satisfied with magical love potion.
Reality made a dreadful turn,
Magical to ludicrous was that moment, spent with a deceitful spurn.
Falseness prevailed all over,
bringing down the purity to filthy left over.
Drenched in the sea of sorrow,
That night remained more like a knight mare, killing the beautiful tomorrow.
Certainly, that was the glory of the night
That it shall be remembered in the memories in sight.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
he loves her and she loves him
and it's a crash, a crack, an unmissable
climatic anticlimax
and there's all this emotion spilling like
god filling
up his canister with darkness and light
from a strange source
like a spring of ill feelings but an
oasis of happy
a clash of the mind and an inability
to express because
he loves her but doesn't love me
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
Make your way on over
don't need to bring nothin'
apart from your best clothes -
I'll work away your worries,
breathe away your woes.
It wasn't what I confessed,
god looks upon me
but I'm far from being blessed.
My heads in a spin,
fingers jiving and jigging
my mind focusing on your soft chin.
Blue eyed monster,
black hair chasing down your back
body to die for,
my heart beating
like a race-horse on a track.
You're chemical treasure
You're tainted but ****
I'm a Lykos for pleasure
show us your prize
and I'll show you mine.
Blood-red lips, sleek, unmissable
soft pale skin
so smooth, so kissable.
Make your way on over -
I'm a Lykos for pleasure,
a predator for treasure,
and a hungry wolf in full fledged measure.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
i can still remember the old days
in london, back
when newspapers were not friendly
in terms of allowing a reading
while commuting -
the giants of the days of lore -
now only the daily telegraph stands
firmly conservative (never mind
the content) - back when the guardian
(left-wing stance of politics) and
the times (middle ground swaying
either way) and the above mentioned
right-wing newspaper measured
a grand 23" by 29" in length -
you ended up reading the first page
and maybe snippets of all the other pages,
on a crowded tube train with maximum
capacity being reached
you couldn't exactly spread your wings
like an albatross - god the hell of it -
now only on sunday will the times
print like the old-guard, and it's a quiet
reminiscence of sorts:
so typical of the solitude, the solo way
of observing - furious that i couldn't
find the news review section, to be later
informed that they put it together
with the main news -
and really, there's nothing intelligent about
televised news, there's no selection,
no secondary editing process where you
can pick out what you want to be
informed about -
on the television the news ends with a cute
baby monkey, or some other uplifting tale
from the animal kingdom,
the pandora's box lid or some **** -
probably influenced by darwinism -
the twist in the tale is that, at least,
newspapers allow you to edit and not be
spoon-fed, and they don't end the print
with some lovable tale to hide all the
grey horror prior -
i.e. 'and on a lighter note'... no, none of that,
they end with an opinions' section,
and if you're lucky to be reading
the sunday times you'll have the only
journalism that matters, well at least to me,
the review - interesting stuff in there -
a daily build-up of nearly unmissable
encyclopaedic series on entries of the odd
little curiosities.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
The Passage of Time
Verse 1
To experience the seasons brought therein
To elaborate beyond where we begin
To gravitate through intricated ways
To thus behold the miracle of days
To belong, to be loved, to be more than enough
May souls align with blessings from above
Chorus
There’s no measure, I will treasure
All in my life, of which come to mind
With due reason, it is the season
For embracing the passage of time
The passage of time
Verse 2
So invaluable are moments from the heart
The yearning for, in times we spent apart
May we reconcile all undelivered peace
Let all creativity of soul release
To belong, to be loved, to be more than enough
May souls align with blessings from above
Chorus
Bridge
Times unmissable, undeniable
Let us capture the joy, it’s so plentiful
Change is pivotal, live empirical
Let’s savour this moment in time
Chorus
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 4:49 AM UTC
(it's unmissable)
what do you want
I am the master of my own fate
but deep down inside my self wants everything to fail
so i keep on rowing the boats and breathing while I sleep
to reach the destination everyone wants to get to but some wait longer
like me and patient as i am i can no longer survive so instead
i live and live on because I keep rolling on to get better
and better instead things keep dwindling down
until i reach the bottom and there I softly
hit the ground because They want me
to keep going and rolling on (to get
better and better) so I listen to all
of them like I have before and
the music cracks louder
and there's a pause
when you look
at me so I
smile
at the end I see the door
there is no heaven and there is no hell
they're just going to send me right back
to the ******* beginning again
(it's unmissable)
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Words have edges like knives,
Sharp.
The outcomes are unseen
to the human eyes
But
the bleeding of the heart is unmissable
if perceived with empathy.
• e.i •
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
Im not even sad,
Its just the thoughts get so bad.
I cant even cry,
But believe me I try.
Just to feel like the emotions get out,
But I have nothing to be sad about.
Just the thoughts in my head,
Restraining me from going to bed.
I think the thoughts are like a ferris wheel.
I know this shouldn’t even be how I really feel,
But I do.
And no its not because of you,
Its just all in my mind.
Because even though you’re so kind,
I cant help but think,
What if he thinks I’m ugly or what if I stink?
I get quite ashamed when it gets the best of me,
It sort of makes me wonder if anyone can see.
See me when I’m cracking my knuckles or breathing heavily,
Or playing air piano while walking or talking unsteadily.
To you its probably invisible,
But to me its quite unmissable.
Back to the thoughts there getting worse now,
If you knew what I was thinking you’d probably think how?
How is someone as confident as you so insecure deep down,
But the thing is I was treated so badly growing up in my hometown.
And a college so far from home is the only place I feel at peace,
But even still, some days I feel great unease.
So if you see I’m feeling a tad on edge,
Don’t take it personal, its nothing you’ve said.
Its just the anxiety, so I hope you can understand,
I just need reassurance, yes please, that would be grand.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 6:03 AM UTC
So, another day of it.
The clock an instrument that ****** you
with its skeletal finger,
and now the night crawls up, covers
the town before dinner, the cold
licking your skin the way it can
every October.
You haven’t been yourself.
You’ve been stumbling,
legs like lead pipes, head
pulsating, unmissable signal.
Stand -
a conker crack scurries
across the skull.
Sit -
pulse in ear, gut gurgling
just as a long-blocked sink.
Sleep is a taste of petrol,
appetite so far gone
you expect postcards.
But at least the night crawls up,
delicately, coldly.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
I stared at the cinderblock wall, kudzu clawin’ up wild,
A green chokehold sprawlin’ ‘cross this Tennessee hollow,
Life flickers in me, a match struck on a humid night,
But leukemia’s creepin’, a month to ***** my candle’s glow.
Sixteen and I’m done, no worse than folks who linger here,
The sun meltin’ over the Smokies, the sweetgum air—why ain’t it mine?
I despise death’s slow drag, its damp, cold fingers on my neck,
Not scared—just ****** a fire ragin’ in veins gone icy.
A dream once slunk in, like a copperhead through the pines,
Cross my warped floorboards, me froze, watchin’ it glide,
No fangs, no strike, just sickness coilin’ in its hush,
Woke me to the truth—my end’s stalkin’ these backroads quiet.
Why me leavin’ while others grill burgers in the dusk?
This land’s too pretty—cornfields gold, mockin’ my rot,
I’d toss a Molotov at it all, this carefree Cumberland sprawl,
If my arms had the grit to torch my **** fate.
The world churns on, deaf to my hollerin’ from the porch,
Beauty cuts deep—crickets chirpin’ a song I can’t keep.
Everybody’s fightin’ to breathe, no soul less than me,
But what’s it worth when death’s got my number dialed?
I chuck my truth like a deer stand spear, unmissable,
To God, to life, to folks cruisin’ Main Street clueless,
At sixteen, dread’s my gospel, my rebel yell,
A war cry howled, so this whole county might pay up.
Life’s a gift for us about to get yanked away,
We cling tight to what’s rippin’ loose in the wind,
My ache, my envy for kids racin’ four-wheelers, unborn,
No hate—just a love for livin’, sharp as a switchblade.
Through cussin’ and jealousy’s hot sting, I thread a tune,
A jagged love song hummin’ over the TVA hum,
Reckon this truth, let your own gripes loose like hounds,
I ain’t kneelin’ to anything . And I am proudly mad.
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 12:23 AM UTC
Beauty is unmissable
stands eternally sure.
That smile once smiled
can never not be.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 10:37 AM UTC
this pencil is sharpened
only to write, profess, and
spill
all my love for you.
could you spare me those
unmissable hours
you spend filling the
curves of my lips,
ruffling my hair
in your fist; and breathing hard
down my neck?
call my name, darling
and I will engrave you
in my soul.
- m
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC