"unnumbered" poems
Raw energy.
Despite the stiffness in his fingers,
despite the way his fingertips harden with calluses,
the industrious pianist hammers out the same tune
that he played last night,
and the night before,
and the night before that,
and unnumbered evenings before that.
Each notes falls magically into place,
none out of tune or without purpose,
perfectly in time.
Raw diligence and focus flooding his brown eyes,
gazing deeply into the sheet music.
His yellow forehead wanted dabbing,
Steeped in his sweat.
A manifestation of his time spent in his trade.
The conscientiousness in his eyes.
The raw vitality of his weathered hands.
The way he fills each note with sentiment.
Perhaps those are what keep calling me near?
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 3:19 PM UTC
Standing here, between two walls
Doors, unnumbered, crowd the hall
Behind each door a secret kept
Of fears, of lies, of tears been wept
Portals each to different worlds
Lessons learned from little girls
Listen as the truth unfolds
Tales untold of a wounded soul
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Describe fires in riverbottom
sand, and the cooking;
the cooking of hot dogs
spitted in whittled sticks
over flames of woodfire
with grease dropping in smoke
to brown and blacken
the salty hotdogs,
and the wine,
and the work on the railroad.
$275,000,000,000.00 in debt
says the Government
Two hundred and seventy five billion
dollars in debt
Like Unending
Heaven
And Unnumbered Sentient Beings
Who will be admitted -
Not-Numberable -
To the new Pair of Shoes
Of White Guru Fleece
O j o !
The Purple Paradise
5.8k
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, ****** and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk--
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned--
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
4.2k
I'm spinning around
you, my gravity
the stellar certainty
of my casual orbit
My magnetic love
—don't let me fall
into the unnumbered deepness
of this darkness
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
A traveller am I on the roads of the world. In my wanderings
have I seen lands famed in story and shorn of all glory today.
I have seen the unheeded ruins of insolent might - its banner
of victory is gone with the wind, like boisterous laughter stilled
into silence by a sudden thunder-clap.
I have found stupendous pride humbled to the dust, dust
on which the beggar spreads his tattered rags, dust on which the
traveller leaves the print of weary steps to be effaced by the
ceaseless march of unnumbered feet.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
In gratitude I wake with tears of joy on my face. The wonders of heaven are as unnumbered as the human race. Pulsing through my veins like blood silently dripping in the bowl. Healing mankind as I have to leave the plane of matter behind. Love and Light seeking darkness to unbind. May you know me by the truth in your heart,may you see me as the never ending thread as the bridge of the lost. For some it could be footprints on the sand, for others silence of the screaming lambs. In gratitude I am caught like the winters snack on the web of the widow of who our souls are brought. Thanking my way across the vastness I jump for joy upon the home land in gratitude I sat just as I thought.....
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 4:17 AM UTC
72
Glowing is her Bonnet,
Glowing is her Cheek,
Glowing is her Kirtle,
Yet she cannot speak.
Better as the Daisy
From the Summer hill
Vanish unrecorded
Save by tearful rill—
Save by loving sunrise
Looking for her face.
Save by feet unnumbered
Pausing at the place.
2.8k
With a blistered heart
From unnumbered breaks,
A cloud of unshed tears
From untold betrayals,
I reenter the world
After an eternity or more
Of self imposed asylum
From a world of superficial bliss.
A world unchanged!
A cruel untended garden
Of deceptive beauty
And unkind thorny roses.
Lovelorn shadows,
Masquerading venomous claws
With beauteous flamboyance
And undesirable attraction.
Lethargic feelings,
Dousing my desires
With drowsing memoirs
Of countless emotional abuse,
Causing momentary spasms
In cerebral regions
Parading nocuous images
In the plenitude of projected beauty.
Scarred beyond immediate cure,
I recede from said world-
Too adverse for tender hearts
Back to hibernating moods
To nurse evergreen cuts
Cuts so deep, so lethal
Only the indolent strides of time
Can attempt to stitch!
Awaiting prophetic moments
Moments with mirage qualities
When in-love I can fall again
When a damsel I can trust again
When my heart can beat again
For one with pure intentions
Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors
*But virtuous in biblical ways*...
© Raphael Uzor
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
2.6k
Down through the tomb's inward arch
He has shouldered out into Limbo
to gather them, dazed, from dreamless slumber:
the merciful dead, the prophets,
the innocents just His own age and those
unnumbered others waiting here
unaware, in an endless void He is ending
now, stooping to tug at their hands,
to pull them from their sarcophagi,
dazzled, almost unwilling. Didmas,
neighbor in death, Golgotha dust
still streaked on the dried sweat of his body
no one had washed and anointed, is here,
for sequence is not known in Limbo;
the promise, given from cross to cross
at noon, arches beyond sunset and dawn.
All these He will swiftly lead
to the Paradise road: they are safe.
That done, there must take place that struggle
no human presumes to picture:
living, dying, descending to rescue the just
from shadow, were lesser travails
than this: to break
through earth and stone of the faithless world
back to the cold sepulchre, tearstained
stifling shroud; to break from them
back into breath and heartbeat, and walk
the world again, closed into days and weeks again,
wounds of His anguish open, and Spirit
streaming through every cell of flesh
so that if mortal sight could bear
to perceive it, it would be seen
His mortal flesh was lit from within, now,
and aching for home. He must return,
first, in Divine patience, and know
hunger again, and give
to humble friends the joy
of giving Him food--fish and a honeycomb.
2.5k
Light at each point was beating then to flight,
The sapling bark flushed upward, and the welling
Tips of the wood touched, touched at the bound,
And boughs were slight and burdened beyond telling
Toward that caress of the boughs a summer’s night,
Illimitable in fragrance and in sound.
Here were the blue buds, earlier than hope,
Unnumbered, beneath the leaves, a breath apart,
Wakening in root-dusk. When the air went north,
Lifting the oakleaves from the northern slope,
Their infinite young tender eyes looked forth.
Here all that was, was frail to bear a heart.
2.4k
758
These—saw Visions—
Latch them softly—
These—held Dimples—
Smooth them slow—
This—addressed departing accents—
Quick—Sweet Mouth—to miss thee so—
This—We stroked—
Unnumbered Satin—
These—we held among our own—
Fingers of the Slim Aurora—
Not so arrogant—this Noon—
These—adjust—that ran to meet us—
Pearl—for Stocking—Pearl for Shoe—
Paradise—the only Palace
Fit for Her reception—now—
2.3k
It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk
The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
There is no rustling in the lofty elm
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
And interrupted murmur of the bee,
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again
Instantly on the wing. The plants around
Feel the too potent fervours: the tall maize
Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,
With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light
Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,--
Their bases on the mountains--their white tops
Shining in the far ether--fire the air
With a reflected radiance, and make turn
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,
Yet ****** from the kisses of the sun,
Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind
That still delays its coming. Why so slow,
Gentle and voluble spirit of the air?
Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth
Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves
He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,
The pine is bending his proud top, and now
Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak
Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes!
Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves!
The deep distressful silence of the scene
Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds
And universal motion. He is come,
Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,
And bearing on their fragrance; and he brings
Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs,
And sound of swaying branches, and the voice
Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs
Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers,
By the road-side and the borders of the brook,
Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew
Were on them yet, and silver waters break
Into small waves and sparkle as he comes.
2.3k
The Siren song
Sung by the Sea
Sounded so much
Sweeter
Before the boy
Was born.
Truth be told,
I was born that day as well.
We shared our first breaths.
Delicate and enduring atmosphere.
Sweetest, most overlooked element:
OXYGEN
Awoken our lungs
And spread life out
Through our
Fingers,
Toes,
Tears.
(His were louder,
Mine were longer)
We shared more than
rarefied air that day;
Excitement.
Confusion.
Love.
Fear.
Before I knew it
My Scorched sailor’s skin
Sought sanctuary
In
Landlocked love.
You see
The inconvenient, unfortunate, and unavoidable
Fact of humans is,
They like to eat.
And warmth is also nice.
Diapers.
And Kathy next door just got this great icebox and she says she doesn't know how she lived
without it and that in the long run it will actually save her money, what with buying in bulk and not
going to the store so often and leftovers.
So there’s that too.
So I work
Willingly, willfully
With wetness
On Back,
But not behind ears.
And my captain is a good captain,
A true captain.
Our pay is always waiting when and where promised.
Pennies are not pinched when providing rations.
He gave me this job out of the goodness of neighborhood.
But he has no child.
No wife.
Little reason to head to port,
And less to linger long.
I see my boy’s chestnut eyes in my dreams
And they act like the cruelest potion,
Which, when sipped
Leaves the drinker with only more thirst.
But there are dollars here,
And, what other skills do I have?
And, bellies are full.
I try not to complain.
Tonight,
I want the fireplace,
Roaring.
Our boy smiling, laughing
His cheeks having played chameleon
With the scarlet of our flag.
His mother;
Her eyes,
Outshining her hair,
Outshining the sun,
Scroll between our boy and the page,
As she reads his favorite book of tales.
He doesn't understand a word,
But I do.
We share an unnumbered smile.
He likes the pictures.
My mouth has tasted of salt for
64
Long
Days.
The ocean gives,
And the ocean takes away.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Silence
At first a void
Then sudden burst of energy
Forces collide
Atoms split and divide
From nothing comes forth something
Radiance breaking free of abyss
Hot gaseous ball coalesces then cools
To form a planetary sphere
Which orbits a citrus giant
Giving off golden light
And warming touch
To embrace a world
And allow the basis for life
All this by chance and happenstance?
All complexity born from
Random motion and chaos?
How vast and unnumbered
The twinkle in the heavens
Yet all alone?
Oh I gaze up at yonder skies
And marvel at wonders
My eyes have never known
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
Nighttime spills over the horizon
staining the land with shadows
its blackness deep and unyielding
but soon arrives a tide of constellations
glistening with the brilliance
of stars unnumbered
they wash over the Earth
bathing all in soft starlight and
cleansing the darkness
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
December tenth stares from a wall,
At a girl with night-colored hair and
Eyes the shade of a twilight
That blurs purple into the darkness.
The girl looks out
At the blurred edges of this night’s snowflakes,
Falling softly past the windowpane
And down to empty streets below.
It has been more than a month since her birthday,
Her escape from fourteen
That twirled around the clock
A hundred or more times before
Finally stopping.
Maybe not a hundred times,
It was only one month
Repeating again and again
With thirty days of sunshine and one of rain,
Only one of rain.
Madoka always dies on rainy days.
A teacup clatters,
Not quite the clinks of shattering glass,
But startling all the same.
The awakened girl looks into
Kind eyes and golden curls left free to spill over a friend’s shoulder.
Still intentional in all movements,
The golden girl continues setting up the rest of that midnight’s meal.
Tiramisu melts upon tongues as
Two friends sit in silence,
And two survivors let their thoughts soften with the disappearing cake.
The quiet reigns,
Until the twilight girl leaves
With the waking of dawn’s light.
A soft “thank you” drifts with the snow behind her
While unnumbered days rise up ahead,
Forever blocking her sight of what’s to come.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
That moment the bass drops in a favorite song
Submerging your body from the core inside the musical trance
The first few strides in the open air after days of isolation
Open eyes opening once more as the daylight kisses them
A smile appearing where your lips were caressed by another's
Blossoming as your fingertips trace the fresh tracks of a kiss
The soothing heat that spreads through your body
Bringing a cool breeze gushing from your core within
You didn't have a drop to drink to feel this drunkeness
You sit in silence yet the music is still felt
You were never imprisoned to feel the freedom of open spaces
And your lips have been untouched for days unnumbered
But the memory is still there, fresh as the grass beneath your dreaming feet
As refreshing as the waters of a forgotten stream lightly touching your palms
Bringing a sorely missed kindred spirit back to its other life
Complete in it's entirety and clear in view
Without lacking in touch, smell or others alike
Oh love, it's real, more real than we could ever fantasize.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
*What could break my soul but this
The unnumbered skies
Still, free pouring, moments
Riddled with the thoughts
Of God himself
These thoughts are timeless
And these hopes - endless
As the days of the maker himself
Such that I could taste eternity
Let burn my soul dry
And whisper my ashes into the beyond
An abyss barren of kings, and quiet, and shame
You are everything
To my nothingness
Like an ocean, forever raging its waves
Upon shore,
Sand,
And soulless cliffs of desolation alike
Still no saltyness could compare
To that which we soaked our sheets with,
Secrets wrought in moonlight
To kiss yesterday's memories
As though we knew
They were dreams in passing
Dreams ever present
And dreams moving on*
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 10:43 AM UTC
With weary frankness I lean into
Evenings diffident shadows,
Wavering hues, grays and blues
Peering between the cloistered stars:
Endless dream I forgot how to navigate
Encompassing moments built by tidal movements
And sudden divisions between orbital shells
Inertial havoc starts the blood rushing
The world's a quagmire of uninhabited space
With lonely islands of pulsating matter
Suns unnumbered, rippling the waves collapse
Take all my heartbeats too, that as I languish,
The resonance might start another avalanche
The fiery, seeding vacuum of dawns early light,
That old magician's hat trick.
But be merciful to me, centrifugal womb of time;
Both the product and the witness
The sum of the totality only here, only this, only now-
This forever world, always just on the brink
Of breaking into a hundred thousand new worlds,
From insignificance multiplied
Far beyond any meaningful purpose:
For nobody controls even one solitary particle down here.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,—I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds—the whispering of the leaves—
The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
1.4k
Check off
all these belongings from a list
that I wrote in thick blue marker
on a cardboard strip I ripped
There's a book I lost at 26
with dog-eared pages fading gold
16 pens, 45 cents
a dented tin of birthday cards
unnumbered rolls of mints
Sit back
on the carpet in the heat
take another sip and press on
to the bottom. To the green.
There's a look you had at 28
with bow shaped mouth and arching eyes
15 hours, many road trips
your crooked tooth would slant your grin
Never saw me fall right in.
And today I pace apartment floors
or sit amidst a box flap hall
halted breath, an iron hour
clad in sweat, still packed away
in taped up, cardboard yesterday
There's a photograph, from 2010
atop the slippers that you gave.
Raging smiles, orange lights at night.
The River Walk in wintertime.
And it's my favourite pic.
But the 21st was moving day
and all I've got are pickled dreams,
an empty house and waiting boxes,
"Tear my guts out," so they say.
No fight quite like a duct taped box.
No companion like your face.
No shrink quite like an empty bottle.
No wake-up call like moving day.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
(The Dragon Prince and LycanTheThrope collab)
**Tongues have inspired the fallen notes
Halls left upon lowly senses**
*Fingers whisper a shining guide
Six lights to smolder
One time to count*
**Burn it beneath glory wells
Mortal souls shun the flesh**
*Withering silver decays among the divinity
Shrieking our innocence at the walls*
**Choirs of dark fair wounds slice behind our hearts
Speak west, until restful skies eye bare stars**
*Forgotten dreams grew so white
Smoke burns declaring unnumbered lingers sinning*
**Break me a new spine against the wildest demons
Eternal losses slain within black wounds**
Holy water and treacherous sympathy mold along the oak
Tell me I didn't overdose on gold and rusty wires
~Lycan
~The Dragon Prince
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
My nose, it just bled numbers--
Bled for years on years unnumbered
'Til I lost my youthful hunger
For anything but numbers
And coagulating blood
But with figures cold and clotting
And with innards now unknotting
I clear the corridors of blotting
And begin to finally breathe
Know pens belong on pages
In your pockets, in your hands
Not in lives, or heads or veins
Most certainly not in plans.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC