"unobtrusive" poems - Hello Poetry

1026 The Dying need but little, Dear, A Glass of Water’s all, A Flower’s unobtrusive Face To punctuate the Wall, A Fan, perhaps, a Friend’s Regret And Certainty that one No color in the Rainbow Perceive, when you are gone.

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12.7k

Emily Dickinson

The Dying need but little, Dear

1026 The Dying need but little, Dear, A Glass of Water’s all, A Flower’s unobtrusive Face To punctuate the Wall, A Fan, perhaps, a Friend’s Regret And Certainty that one No color in the Rainbow Perceive, when you are gone.

9

Maids, not to you my mind doth change; Men I defy, allure, estrange, Prostrate, make bond or free: Soft as the stream beneath the plane To you I sing my love's refrain; Between us is no thought of pain, Peril, satiety. Soon doth a lover's patience tire, But ye to manifold desire Can yield response, ye know When for long, museful days I pine, The presage at my heart divine; To you I never breathe a sign Of inward want or woe. When injuries my spirit bruise, Allaying virtue ye infuse With unobtrusive skill: And if care frets ye come to me As fresh as nymph from stream or tree, And with your soft vitality My weary ***** fill.

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10.1k

Michael Field

'Maids, not to you my mind doth change'

Maids, not to you my mind doth change; Men I defy, allure, estrange, Prostrate, make bond or free: Soft as the stream beneath the plane To you I sing my love's refrain; Between us is no thought of pain, Peril, satiety. Soon doth a lover's patience tire, But ye to manifold desire Can yield response, ye know When for long, museful days I pine, The presage at my heart divine; To you I never breathe a sign Of inward want or woe. When injuries my spirit bruise, Allaying virtue ye infuse With unobtrusive skill: And if care frets ye come to me As fresh as nymph from stream or tree, And with your soft vitality My weary ***** fill.

21

My fingerprints tell a story on occasion I'll glance down at them Careful yet unobtrusive rings of life Much like the tree that grew in the yard of my childhood home. Tonight these circles within circles trace the outline of your body. Your spine. Your hip bones. Your ribs. Every muscle tense and then relaxes under the strength of my extremities I'm horrible at saying goodbye I'd much rather lie here and outline your body for you. My fingers the chalk outline at a crime scene Fugitives are always careful about fingerprints. They're easily picked up by white dust and foreign gloved hands But this time, I'll leave my ringed prints behind I want them to know I knew you.

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Feb 16, 2012

Feb 16, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC

kelle

fingerprints

My fingerprints tell a story on occasion I'll glance down at them Careful yet unobtrusive rings of life Much like the tree that grew in the yard of my childhood home. Tonight these circles within circles trace the outline of your body. Your spine. Your hip bones. Your ribs. Every muscle tense and then relaxes under the strength of my extremities I'm horrible at saying goodbye I'd much rather lie here and outline your body for you. My fingers the chalk outline at a crime scene Fugitives are always careful about fingerprints. They're easily picked up by white dust and foreign gloved hands But this time, I'll leave my ringed prints behind I want them to know I knew you.

21

I watched the planets form before me little hard spheres of light of Life, pulsating the fabric of space ripped with stars like holes to heaven the noise floated effortless below me the galaxy engulfing my pores as if it did not know better and even if it did, would I still play the part of the quiet unobtrusive passenger? I rose up over the oceans of space dipping, swirling, dense shapes shift and I as well I plucked the constellations made them sing for me inky melodies finding solace in my mind away from the shifting noise and as I fell I grabbed the comet's tail it shook and I shook it in return finally feeling like I had found home but I looked around at the familiar blackness and I realized I had always been.

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Oct 2, 2014

Oct 2, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC

cherish

First Brain

I watched the planets form before me little hard spheres of light of Life, pulsating the fabric of space ripped with stars like holes to heaven the noise floated effortless below me the galaxy engulfing my pores as if it did not know better and even if it did, would I still play the part of the quiet unobtrusive passenger? I rose up over the oceans of space dipping, swirling, dense shapes shift and I as well I plucked the constellations made them sing for me inky melodies finding solace in my mind away from the shifting noise and as I fell I grabbed the comet's tail it shook and I shook it in return finally feeling like I had found home but I looked around at the familiar blackness and I realized I had always been.

22

625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time These Fleshless Lovers met— A Heaven in a Gaze— A Heaven of Heavens—the Privilege Of one another’s Eyes— No Lifetime—on Them— Appareled as the new Unborn—except They had beheld— Born infiniter—now— Was Bridal—e’er like This? A Paradise—the Host— And Cherubim—and Seraphim— The unobtrusive Guest—

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2.4k

Emily Dickinson

Twas a long Parting—but the time

625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time These Fleshless Lovers met— A Heaven in a Gaze— A Heaven of Heavens—the Privilege Of one another’s Eyes— No Lifetime—on Them— Appareled as the new Unborn—except They had beheld— Born infiniter—now— Was Bridal—e’er like This? A Paradise—the Host— And Cherubim—and Seraphim— The unobtrusive Guest—

17

955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained. Biography to All who passed Of Unobtrusive Pain Except for the italic Face Endured, unhelped—unknown.

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2.3k

Emily Dickinson

The Hollows round His eager Eyes

955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained. Biography to All who passed Of Unobtrusive Pain Except for the italic Face Endured, unhelped—unknown.

9

Black lake reflects a trail of ivory plumes, Cockatiel's alabaster tail of feathers. Such loveliness can only be the moon's, Which skinny-dips in lunar altogethers. Raccoons catch fish along the shore, Fastidious paws clutching their prizes. She paddles her canoe with silent oar, Observing nature's soft nocturne disguises. Silhouetted loons rock low upon the waves, Asleep till sunlight sets them to their songs. Her wake bisects the path the moon engraves, As wilderness whispers tranquilly she belongs. She'll stay the night foregoing comfort fire, Moonlight enough by which to pitch a tent. And come tomorrow should anyone inquire, No trace reveals her overnight encampment.

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Feb 20, 2012

Feb 20, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC

brian-oarr

Unobtrusive Traveller

Black lake reflects a trail of ivory plumes, Cockatiel's alabaster tail of feathers. Such loveliness can only be the moon's, Which skinny-dips in lunar altogethers. Raccoons catch fish along the shore, Fastidious paws clutching their prizes. She paddles her canoe with silent oar, Observing nature's soft nocturne disguises. Silhouetted loons rock low upon the waves, Asleep till sunlight sets them to their songs. Her wake bisects the path the moon engraves, As wilderness whispers tranquilly she belongs. She'll stay the night foregoing comfort fire, Moonlight enough by which to pitch a tent. And come tomorrow should anyone inquire, No trace reveals her overnight encampment.

16

Submerged in the empire of your tide Trying to feel unobtrusive, let me saturate Lips filling with the brine You pop sweet oxygen bubbles Chewing gum at its finest Pulling candy from my estuary Blue blood sweeps from between my fingertips Floating face through Eyes open into yours The deepest tide-pools I've ever seen Slipping into the tangle of Your fingers The swivel of refraction Shattered warmth diffused in frosty capped overture Oh to be a native of you Never needing a map or a light or a guide Swallowed without notice Nothing but another wave the endless March of tumbling reverb The only reaction possible to your vocal chords The song of the ocean The simmer of the tide

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Mar 24, 2013

Mar 24, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC

hallie-bear

Suspension

Submerged in the empire of your tide Trying to feel unobtrusive, let me saturate Lips filling with the brine You pop sweet oxygen bubbles Chewing gum at its finest Pulling candy from my estuary Blue blood sweeps from between my fingertips Floating face through Eyes open into yours The deepest tide-pools I've ever seen Slipping into the tangle of Your fingers The swivel of refraction Shattered warmth diffused in frosty capped overture Oh to be a native of you Never needing a map or a light or a guide Swallowed without notice Nothing but another wave the endless March of tumbling reverb The only reaction possible to your vocal chords The song of the ocean The simmer of the tide

22

I seek coffee shops, Quiet, hidden, Tucked away, Dark wood, mugs with fat lips, Unobtrusive, corner seat, Nothing forbidden. Ah! The smell of the brew, Nose tingles, Eyes closed, Sublime fascination, Moments to settle in and roots I grew. A book opens or my laptop does, Ambient sound soothes as a caressing touch. My coffee arrives in its carriage comfortably so, I reach out and pick it up, All mine, nowhere to go. Look around my wandering gaze, Lost souls, finding their way, With their thoughts through the haze. What do I do, I watch them wafting and waning with their thoughts, Some with others yet alone, Some alone, yet not lone. Coffee companion, friend,love, Subliminal cold or hot, And without a word exchanged, A clan, a tribe, Community found. What’s your brew, Dark and strong Or golden hued Or perhaps pure white, A dash of brown to bring to light, Night or day, Coffee in the shop, Is my magic hop.

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Jul 25, 2019

Jul 25, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC

MSD

**Coffee Shop**

I seek coffee shops, Quiet, hidden, Tucked away, Dark wood, mugs with fat lips, Unobtrusive, corner seat, Nothing forbidden. Ah! The smell of the brew, Nose tingles, Eyes closed, Sublime fascination, Moments to settle in and roots I grew. A book opens or my laptop does, Ambient sound soothes as a caressing touch. My coffee arrives in its carriage comfortably so, I reach out and pick it up, All mine, nowhere to go. Look around my wandering gaze, Lost souls, finding their way, With their thoughts through the haze. What do I do, I watch them wafting and waning with their thoughts, Some with others yet alone, Some alone, yet not lone. Coffee companion, friend,love, Subliminal cold or hot, And without a word exchanged, A clan, a tribe, Community found. What’s your brew, Dark and strong Or golden hued Or perhaps pure white, A dash of brown to bring to light, Night or day, Coffee in the shop, Is my magic hop.

35

The yearning for Escape, a misinterpretation Conception instigated from understanding Unobtrusive acquiescence of unending comprehension Thoughts explode in the blue and rain down Lovely eruptions submerged in moonlight Showering the spheres with a dazzling gleam Deluging them with adoration and consideration Illuminating the path to eternity

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Jun 18, 2014

Jun 18, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC

No-names

Sparkle

The yearning for Escape, a misinterpretation Conception instigated from understanding Unobtrusive acquiescence of unending comprehension Thoughts explode in the blue and rain down Lovely eruptions submerged in moonlight Showering the spheres with a dazzling gleam Deluging them with adoration and consideration Illuminating the path to eternity

8

1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass. No Ordinance be seen So gradual the Grace A pensive Custom it becomes Enlarging Loneliness. Antiquest felt at Noon When August burning low Arise this spectral Canticle Repose to typify Remit as yet no Grace No Furrow on the Glow Yet a Druidic Difference Enhances Nature now

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1.9k

Emily Dickinson

Further in Summer than the Birds

1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass. No Ordinance be seen So gradual the Grace A pensive Custom it becomes Enlarging Loneliness. Antiquest felt at Noon When August burning low Arise this spectral Canticle Repose to typify Remit as yet no Grace No Furrow on the Glow Yet a Druidic Difference Enhances Nature now

17

I opened this card, to write to you, a birthday wish or two but my pen touched the paper, and there wasn't anything I could do... I felt the need to try and tell you, about all of the things you do... about your rolls at home, or the streets you've roamed, or the way you don't have the slightest clue (although soon I am reminded, indeed you actually do...) I wanted you to know, I admire your mundane, unobtrusive, unforgiving glow I admire your leadership, in an unbiased, newborn, kind of way. I tell you Thanks, for more, than when you hold open the door... Which you would probably do... Without anyone asking you... I used to write stories about what everyone was doing wrong... Then I would talk to you and write a poem, and it was more like a textbook, written with life... and in life, the reality of death, and all that death meant. there was a calming sensation that I finally kept... from all that I know, and from all that I've seen, which is my only tangible reality... I have come to the conclusion that you are a man from their dreams... The Gods, and the Goddesses, that mythologically once sat around a table and hand picked each perfect little atom into what would one day become the likes, of you and me. Inspiring beyond comprehension the only thing I can do is let the pen lend...a few words... or phrases... heavier than mentioned my heart races with tension when I try and envision that dimension and remember that lesson, about doing good with the time we're given... I stop, and I smile. And I say thank you again, because you're the most refreshing of men. You are touching lives, and I want you to know, I am blessed, and speechless, and full of pride to stand here telling you Happy Birthday, tonight. If ever I gave someone the feeling you give me, my only hope is that their pen becomes just as heavy, and they write about what it meant to them, to have a new place, for a life long friend.

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Jul 19, 2012

Jul 19, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC

secret-garden

Happy Birthday, Friend.

I opened this card, to write to you, a birthday wish or two but my pen touched the paper, and there wasn't anything I could do... I felt the need to try and tell you, about all of the things you do... about your rolls at home, or the streets you've roamed, or the way you don't have the slightest clue (although soon I am reminded, indeed you actually do...) I wanted you to know, I admire your mundane, unobtrusive, unforgiving glow I admire your leadership, in an unbiased, newborn, kind of way. I tell you Thanks, for more, than when you hold open the door... Which you would probably do... Without anyone asking you... I used to write stories about what everyone was doing wrong... Then I would talk to you and write a poem, and it was more like a textbook, written with life... and in life, the reality of death, and all that death meant. there was a calming sensation that I finally kept... from all that I know, and from all that I've seen, which is my only tangible reality... I have come to the conclusion that you are a man from their dreams... The Gods, and the Goddesses, that mythologically once sat around a table and hand picked each perfect little atom into what would one day become the likes, of you and me. Inspiring beyond comprehension the only thing I can do is let the pen lend...a few words... or phrases... heavier than mentioned my heart races with tension when I try and envision that dimension and remember that lesson, about doing good with the time we're given... I stop, and I smile. And I say thank you again, because you're the most refreshing of men. You are touching lives, and I want you to know, I am blessed, and speechless, and full of pride to stand here telling you Happy Birthday, tonight. If ever I gave someone the feeling you give me, my only hope is that their pen becomes just as heavy, and they write about what it meant to them, to have a new place, for a life long friend.

25

amid scurrying feet in the whirling humanity with divided aims and sizzling brains she paused with singularity of purpose never in a hurry, more at peace on a park bench, alone bent and weird, she sat. when she moved her bones creaked on rusty hinges! ragged in dress, torn in body, face scourged by Time, its contours deep like ravines her withered ******* hanging like nests of tailor birds hair lying disheveled, with eyes shrouded in mist she looked out into the sinking sun, never dreading the darkness that falls the park bench was her temporary halt she sat there every evening determined to live on, with the coins habitually dropped into her outstretched hands by those sailing past her unobtrusive self. like a monument of patience she sat. sat, so alone!

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Oct 1, 2017

Oct 1, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC

valsa-george

Alone in the Crowd

amid scurrying feet in the whirling humanity with divided aims and sizzling brains she paused with singularity of purpose never in a hurry, more at peace on a park bench, alone bent and weird, she sat. when she moved her bones creaked on rusty hinges! ragged in dress, torn in body, face scourged by Time, its contours deep like ravines her withered ******* hanging like nests of tailor birds hair lying disheveled, with eyes shrouded in mist she looked out into the sinking sun, never dreading the darkness that falls the park bench was her temporary halt she sat there every evening determined to live on, with the coins habitually dropped into her outstretched hands by those sailing past her unobtrusive self. like a monument of patience she sat. sat, so alone!

30

Smudge of light dim on pavement made damp by drizzle. Morning haze softening colours, smoothing harshness to pastels unobtrusive, Extending the awakening dawn void of witness to the rising sun. Muted chorus of lark and blackbird sensing the absence, forlorn.

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Oct 2, 2018

Oct 2, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC

grumpythumb

Lost morning

Smudge of light dim on pavement made damp by drizzle. Morning haze softening colours, smoothing harshness to pastels unobtrusive, Extending the awakening dawn void of witness to the rising sun. Muted chorus of lark and blackbird sensing the absence, forlorn.

11

I planted a cherry tree Four seasons back In a morose rain Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs And rows, of wild berries Running amuck in an unruly strain. The tree is a full bloom now Of white satin flowers Swirling against a beaming blue Tonight, as night keeps a vigil over my eyes I get under my squally Cherry Tree And suddenly I see it ailing Sick old moon peeps through its branches And I hear them crackle, not clear though Moaning unobtrusive, through a wicked grin. The moon lingers on long Shining painfully in the womb of night. I feel the stiffening wood coagulate in my veins As blackness suffuses unbridled In the cold wilderness of mind. April never was summer in Kashmir Look unto these dark skies Those pierce the ether yet once more Pelting mercilessly upon The ailing, armourless beings Whereby the cruel moon grins And my heart wilts with each withering flower Knocked down in the mud by The unsparing shower. Tears trickle down the smeared petals And I collect them into my eyes Till the plethora can no longer be contained I let them fall Into the capacious ***** of earth And in this cruel April rain My Cherry Tree shivers. Moans. Weeps. Over me.

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Apr 14, 2013

Apr 14, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC

syed-rabea-bukhari

The Cherry Tree

I planted a cherry tree Four seasons back In a morose rain Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs And rows, of wild berries Running amuck in an unruly strain. The tree is a full bloom now Of white satin flowers Swirling against a beaming blue Tonight, as night keeps a vigil over my eyes I get under my squally Cherry Tree And suddenly I see it ailing Sick old moon peeps through its branches And I hear them crackle, not clear though Moaning unobtrusive, through a wicked grin. The moon lingers on long Shining painfully in the womb of night. I feel the stiffening wood coagulate in my veins As blackness suffuses unbridled In the cold wilderness of mind. April never was summer in Kashmir Look unto these dark skies Those pierce the ether yet once more Pelting mercilessly upon The ailing, armourless beings Whereby the cruel moon grins And my heart wilts with each withering flower Knocked down in the mud by The unsparing shower. Tears trickle down the smeared petals And I collect them into my eyes Till the plethora can no longer be contained I let them fall Into the capacious ***** of earth And in this cruel April rain My Cherry Tree shivers. Moans. Weeps. Over me.

37

Falen: As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly you leave marks behind However small & in return Life and travel leaves marks on you most of the time, those marks - on your body or your heart - are beautiful Often though, they hurt Wolf: We always seem to leave impressions picking up our scars and beauty marks along the way, hoping to do more good than wrong, and maybe find love on our paths the world is a vampire.....bleeding us but also an oyster..feeding our souls Falen: In order to be, you must do. All great things start from that one adventure, that one dream, that one idea, that one step. To adventure is to find yourself whole, to have a story at the end of this all. The places you see, the things you make, the people you meet will fuel you forever. Choose to see beauty where others see none and strive for greatness Wolf: Have the courage to follow your dreams and to follow your heart choose wisdom over folly, but never forget how to enjoy yourself..and to respect and love others be assertive while unobtrusive.... and learn all you can life is a journey. we must always keep moving forward remembering the past, but leaving it where it belongs live each day as if it were your last one day you will be right Falen: Not all wanders are lost. We lust after traveling the world we just want to find a beautiful place and get lost in it, we want to discover something new we want to feel & be free Wolf: It's the gypsy spirit in us all keeping us on the road and unfettered to hermitage ensuring that we live and breathe with awe and wonder Falen: I've got wanderlust in my veins I was born to live and I live to regret nothing I'm in love with cities i've never been to and i'm in love with people i've never meet Wolf: Gypsy blooded to the end

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Dec 7, 2015

Dec 7, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC

Bunhead17

Wanderlust * By: Wolf Spirit Poet and Falen Acon

Falen: As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly you leave marks behind However small & in return Life and travel leaves marks on you most of the time, those marks - on your body or your heart - are beautiful Often though, they hurt Wolf: We always seem to leave impressions picking up our scars and beauty marks along the way, hoping to do more good than wrong, and maybe find love on our paths the world is a vampire.....bleeding us but also an oyster..feeding our souls Falen: In order to be, you must do. All great things start from that one adventure, that one dream, that one idea, that one step. To adventure is to find yourself whole, to have a story at the end of this all. The places you see, the things you make, the people you meet will fuel you forever. Choose to see beauty where others see none and strive for greatness Wolf: Have the courage to follow your dreams and to follow your heart choose wisdom over folly, but never forget how to enjoy yourself..and to respect and love others be assertive while unobtrusive.... and learn all you can life is a journey. we must always keep moving forward remembering the past, but leaving it where it belongs live each day as if it were your last one day you will be right Falen: Not all wanders are lost. We lust after traveling the world we just want to find a beautiful place and get lost in it, we want to discover something new we want to feel & be free Wolf: It's the gypsy spirit in us all keeping us on the road and unfettered to hermitage ensuring that we live and breathe with awe and wonder Falen: I've got wanderlust in my veins I was born to live and I live to regret nothing I'm in love with cities i've never been to and i'm in love with people i've never meet Wolf: Gypsy blooded to the end

52

Apple taste Placed atop Your head-- Shotgun *Klu Klux Klank* Bang 00 Buck Shattering Thine Crystalline ***** Optera Forever Encased Behind Glass Locked and keyed Plead Plead Please Let me out To Use my wings I'll allow myself This Dream Only for a While of Rubbing Antennae (With"you") Caked In Pollen (All the other children used To laugh at my unobtrusive Thorax) I forgot The taste Of Breeze Please Free me from This prison Cell Inside Your Nucleus Warm and inviting I think I could learn To lov- To lo- No, I understand You don't use the L-word In this Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species You Use much more subtle Habitual Mating Rituals Practiced by Boys And Girls Alone Once Their government Handbooks are issued Ashamed and Full of doubt They seek out The silence Offered on Forgotten Moons Where they can Meditate to The infinite hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of the universe You can hear it Now If you listen close Enough *Almost A Whispering Deep inside (me?) I Think I could... love you*

0

Mar 25, 2013

Mar 25, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC

jacob-1

Poetry A-Plenty For the Poor and for the Gentry

Apple taste Placed atop Your head-- Shotgun *Klu Klux Klank* Bang 00 Buck Shattering Thine Crystalline ***** Optera Forever Encased Behind Glass Locked and keyed Plead Plead Please Let me out To Use my wings I'll allow myself This Dream Only for a While of Rubbing Antennae (With"you") Caked In Pollen (All the other children used To laugh at my unobtrusive Thorax) I forgot The taste Of Breeze Please Free me from This prison Cell Inside Your Nucleus Warm and inviting I think I could learn To lov- To lo- No, I understand You don't use the L-word In this Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species You Use much more subtle Habitual Mating Rituals Practiced by Boys And Girls Alone Once Their government Handbooks are issued Ashamed and Full of doubt They seek out The silence Offered on Forgotten Moons Where they can Meditate to The infinite hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of the universe You can hear it Now If you listen close Enough *Almost A Whispering Deep inside (me?) I Think I could... love you*

94

window leaning on an old book the cold winter air spilling into the room like it has been waiting for years for this moment, starless sky and illuminated hands colored blotches speaking in the hushed tone of unobtrusive shades there is a single cigarette packed away in the stories and trinkets, it is whispering sweet nothings in my ear and you you have been lurking in the hallways your hands, thumbprints, lips etched into the window glass so every time i look to see the world you will be there Your bittersweet presence brushes chalk dust across my skin because i desire you here but i think that is all

0

Dec 9, 2012

Dec 9, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC

annie-1

indecisiveness

window leaning on an old book the cold winter air spilling into the room like it has been waiting for years for this moment, starless sky and illuminated hands colored blotches speaking in the hushed tone of unobtrusive shades there is a single cigarette packed away in the stories and trinkets, it is whispering sweet nothings in my ear and you you have been lurking in the hallways your hands, thumbprints, lips etched into the window glass so every time i look to see the world you will be there Your bittersweet presence brushes chalk dust across my skin because i desire you here but i think that is all

18

Madame Blaine isn't happy. Every night his apparitions appear and they're getting darer by the day (sorry, by the night). Her fault she didn't tell him to go the first few days on the southern window rather she felt bad as he stood out there thought it better to offer him chair. His hesitation stoked her kindness not much she would lose if sat face to face recapitulating life they were together barring the first few spent talking the weather. Once in the room he gave her his ears (or so it seemed) as she talked of loneliness with hint of tears blinking and nodding an occasional sigh but not once offering a courtesy of reply. He would sit unobtrusive in the gentlest manner till his proposal last night dropped the sky on her (sorry, the ceiling) the first words he spoke shattered her peace May I Diane, offer you a kiss? She fumbled to decide an aye or a nay silence was all her voice could say the apparition rose to grab the moment reading in her muteness a loud consent. Since then she is wondering if she can boast of having been kissed by one now a ghost or hide within her as an indelible shame an indulgence that could earn her bad name.

0

Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

Madame Blaine

Madame Blaine isn't happy. Every night his apparitions appear and they're getting darer by the day (sorry, by the night). Her fault she didn't tell him to go the first few days on the southern window rather she felt bad as he stood out there thought it better to offer him chair. His hesitation stoked her kindness not much she would lose if sat face to face recapitulating life they were together barring the first few spent talking the weather. Once in the room he gave her his ears (or so it seemed) as she talked of loneliness with hint of tears blinking and nodding an occasional sigh but not once offering a courtesy of reply. He would sit unobtrusive in the gentlest manner till his proposal last night dropped the sky on her (sorry, the ceiling) the first words he spoke shattered her peace May I Diane, offer you a kiss? She fumbled to decide an aye or a nay silence was all her voice could say the apparition rose to grab the moment reading in her muteness a loud consent. Since then she is wondering if she can boast of having been kissed by one now a ghost or hide within her as an indelible shame an indulgence that could earn her bad name.

30

This is a poem for the ones who go unseen, the ones who go unnoticed, Who go through their life in a quiet reverie Though they are of few words There entire life is a dream They don't get an influx of likes on social media, No one is begging them for dates They just do what they need to do, While blending nicely into the background Their minds are loud But there lips refuse to make a sound This is for the ones Who think they don't belong No one can see their pain Because no one looks close enough these days We're a surface level generation Praising fool's gold We fill our mind's with aggravation And our lives are either extremes of mania or stagnation But then there are the unseen Still reveling in all the simple things They are the unobtrusive rebels of society, The true rebels really For they don't rebel on Instagram They rebel, unwittingly, For everything they do Is in opposition to popular culture I write this To remind you all To not overlook the underdog, For they are the most riveting of people Though they don't build a personal brand and a steeple To advertise their life They are the most genuine folk Without a lick of pride I haven't always been so cognizant of the underdog's pain I connect with them the most, of course Because they really listen to me, and make room for my authenticity But at times I've chosen to be vain Ditching the underdog for the "cooler" crowd, And all for social gain And yet, surrounded by people with whom I do not have a sense of belonging Loneliness echoes in my heart, And it amplifies when I'm trying to fit in It leads to deafening silence And in the dead of night, hours of crying But you don't need to be born an underdog To change this social conditioning For our whole lives our culture has programmed us to be on a mission, To be better, more efficient So we can gain success, so we can have superficial love We're not merely automaton's with minds We're sentient beings, with hearts that need to love And we're alive

0

Jul 29, 2018

Jul 29, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC

seariver

Too the Ones who go Unseen

This is a poem for the ones who go unseen, the ones who go unnoticed, Who go through their life in a quiet reverie Though they are of few words There entire life is a dream They don't get an influx of likes on social media, No one is begging them for dates They just do what they need to do, While blending nicely into the background Their minds are loud But there lips refuse to make a sound This is for the ones Who think they don't belong No one can see their pain Because no one looks close enough these days We're a surface level generation Praising fool's gold We fill our mind's with aggravation And our lives are either extremes of mania or stagnation But then there are the unseen Still reveling in all the simple things They are the unobtrusive rebels of society, The true rebels really For they don't rebel on Instagram They rebel, unwittingly, For everything they do Is in opposition to popular culture I write this To remind you all To not overlook the underdog, For they are the most riveting of people Though they don't build a personal brand and a steeple To advertise their life They are the most genuine folk Without a lick of pride I haven't always been so cognizant of the underdog's pain I connect with them the most, of course Because they really listen to me, and make room for my authenticity But at times I've chosen to be vain Ditching the underdog for the "cooler" crowd, And all for social gain And yet, surrounded by people with whom I do not have a sense of belonging Loneliness echoes in my heart, And it amplifies when I'm trying to fit in It leads to deafening silence And in the dead of night, hours of crying But you don't need to be born an underdog To change this social conditioning For our whole lives our culture has programmed us to be on a mission, To be better, more efficient So we can gain success, so we can have superficial love We're not merely automaton's with minds We're sentient beings, with hearts that need to love And we're alive

56

. Building castles out of stardust-- and sprawling cities lit by starlight. The arranger stands on geometric borders-- unobtrusive to the rebel's dream. .

0

Jan 22, 2010

Jan 22, 2010 at 11:34 AM UTC

redbarchettadrive

~The Rebel's Dream ♥

. Building castles out of stardust-- and sprawling cities lit by starlight. The arranger stands on geometric borders-- unobtrusive to the rebel's dream. .

7

Cutting you open just to see, What the cause of death could be. Lets open the chest and try to find, What killed this person. Death of what kind? Spread those ribs a little wider, So we can see what's inside 'er. Use a saw on that skull, Not a hatchet or a maul. Remove that brain and check it out. Tell me what they were thinking about. Cut some more. Into the belly. Is it full of bread and jelly? Did they eat some chicken soup? Did they have to take a **** Is the liver nice and clean? How's the kidneys and the spleen. Where's that blood work and tissue sample? Your time for analysis has been ample. The end results are inconclusive, 'Cause all your parts are unobtrusive. The only thing that they can find, Is that death is never very kind.

0

Nov 26, 2012

Nov 26, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC

mike-west

The Autopsy

Cutting you open just to see, What the cause of death could be. Lets open the chest and try to find, What killed this person. Death of what kind? Spread those ribs a little wider, So we can see what's inside 'er. Use a saw on that skull, Not a hatchet or a maul. Remove that brain and check it out. Tell me what they were thinking about. Cut some more. Into the belly. Is it full of bread and jelly? Did they eat some chicken soup? Did they have to take a **** Is the liver nice and clean? How's the kidneys and the spleen. Where's that blood work and tissue sample? Your time for analysis has been ample. The end results are inconclusive, 'Cause all your parts are unobtrusive. The only thing that they can find, Is that death is never very kind.

22

They walk—no, more likely, they saunter, Embassy functionaries, associate profs at G-Dub, A smorgasbord of polka dots and vitae, Leopard-print and Linkedin pages, Sufficent and necessary in their presents and futures. I occupy a bench in my own shambling manner, Denim-clad most days, Perhaps affecting a less humble khaki If I am feeling particularly grandiloquent, Redeployed here from more rough-and-tumble of more avenues, Among the bar-and-concrete hosteled llamas and coyotes (Probably closer kin, if one is being honest) Simply an ornamental thing, overgrown garden gnome Or bowdlerized lawn jockey, unobtrusive and unnoticed By those who would coo at the macaos and mandarin ducks Or shudder at the offal left uneaten by black bears and maned wolves. And so such days proceed, from my convenience-store coffee arrival To such time that something approximating dinner Must be conjured or cadged from somewhere, My thoughts tend to stray not to the lionesses Nor sleek Catwoman-esque jaguars, But to the unpretentious turkey vultures of the fields of my youth, Circling warily, inexorably in threes and fours above And I know there is neither ennobling nor annihilation to find here, No outcome but to simply await.

0

Feb 24, 2017

Feb 24, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC

wk-kortas

A Variation Upon Randall Jarrell's "The Woman At The Washington Zoo"

They walk—no, more likely, they saunter, Embassy functionaries, associate profs at G-Dub, A smorgasbord of polka dots and vitae, Leopard-print and Linkedin pages, Sufficent and necessary in their presents and futures. I occupy a bench in my own shambling manner, Denim-clad most days, Perhaps affecting a less humble khaki If I am feeling particularly grandiloquent, Redeployed here from more rough-and-tumble of more avenues, Among the bar-and-concrete hosteled llamas and coyotes (Probably closer kin, if one is being honest) Simply an ornamental thing, overgrown garden gnome Or bowdlerized lawn jockey, unobtrusive and unnoticed By those who would coo at the macaos and mandarin ducks Or shudder at the offal left uneaten by black bears and maned wolves. And so such days proceed, from my convenience-store coffee arrival To such time that something approximating dinner Must be conjured or cadged from somewhere, My thoughts tend to stray not to the lionesses Nor sleek Catwoman-esque jaguars, But to the unpretentious turkey vultures of the fields of my youth, Circling warily, inexorably in threes and fours above And I know there is neither ennobling nor annihilation to find here, No outcome but to simply await.

25

In a corner a quiet corner he passed by every day it stood unnoticed solemn proud in silent dignity unobtrusive content intact Until by chance the light of dusk skipped off its latch and caught his eye He paused and turned midstride without a thought unsure of why and then amongst the shadows its silhouette appeared familiar lines and shapes like voices in a dream that drew him close and near He paused again and wondered if he dared to touch its shell He paused again and wondered if he dared to reach within his shell And then he heard a melody played so long ago a tune too simple for a symphony a song too beautiful for him alone But there was no sound only a memory of a time that used to be only a memory of someone he used to be He closed his eyes and held his breath his hand outstretched Until by chance he found its latch and opened its protective case he peered inside and saw a vision he once knew blushing in the fading sunlight glowing from its inner hue He reached inside and cradled softly its slender neck then raised gently its graceful body to rest beside his neck he found its bow still loose and supple without tension held with ease and then he stroked its hair on strings untuned beside the bridge as fingers rose to dance on strings untuned beside the bridge

0

Feb 4, 2010

Feb 4, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC

jai-rho

An old song

In a corner a quiet corner he passed by every day it stood unnoticed solemn proud in silent dignity unobtrusive content intact Until by chance the light of dusk skipped off its latch and caught his eye He paused and turned midstride without a thought unsure of why and then amongst the shadows its silhouette appeared familiar lines and shapes like voices in a dream that drew him close and near He paused again and wondered if he dared to touch its shell He paused again and wondered if he dared to reach within his shell And then he heard a melody played so long ago a tune too simple for a symphony a song too beautiful for him alone But there was no sound only a memory of a time that used to be only a memory of someone he used to be He closed his eyes and held his breath his hand outstretched Until by chance he found its latch and opened its protective case he peered inside and saw a vision he once knew blushing in the fading sunlight glowing from its inner hue He reached inside and cradled softly its slender neck then raised gently its graceful body to rest beside his neck he found its bow still loose and supple without tension held with ease and then he stroked its hair on strings untuned beside the bridge as fingers rose to dance on strings untuned beside the bridge

69

It is more than I deserve. It is perfection. It is the perfect Sneaker, perfect in price, perfect in design, and perfect in appearance, and a perfect fit. My new Sneakers are everything I want to be. They are Sneakers worn by Angels, who are only used to walking on clouds, and so demand a Sneaker that is fit for cloud walking. In fact wearing these Sneakers is like walking on Cloud 9, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHOrtW4PJm8&list=RDWHOrtW4PJm8&start_radio=1&t=53. Each step bathes my foot in pleasure and is an invitation to dance, or run like a gazelle. I love looking down and see my Sneakers looking up. "We are perfect for sneaking around in comfort, ya wanna sneak up on someone or even sneak up on a tiger, we're your Sneakers, silent, unobtrusive, splashes of blood, simply wash off. We are the perfect Sneakers for the fashionable predator, we provide silent service". "We cushion every step, we cushion the steps of kings and queens, and we cushion the steps of career criminals, we don't discriminate. We are fit for every foot. We are fit for the newly married, and the newly divorced. We are more than you deserve".

0

Mar 1, 2020

Mar 1, 2020 at 4:14 PM UTC

MachoMole

Sneakers

It is more than I deserve. It is perfection. It is the perfect Sneaker, perfect in price, perfect in design, and perfect in appearance, and a perfect fit. My new Sneakers are everything I want to be. They are Sneakers worn by Angels, who are only used to walking on clouds, and so demand a Sneaker that is fit for cloud walking. In fact wearing these Sneakers is like walking on Cloud 9, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHOrtW4PJm8&list=RDWHOrtW4PJm8&start_radio=1&t=53. Each step bathes my foot in pleasure and is an invitation to dance, or run like a gazelle. I love looking down and see my Sneakers looking up. "We are perfect for sneaking around in comfort, ya wanna sneak up on someone or even sneak up on a tiger, we're your Sneakers, silent, unobtrusive, splashes of blood, simply wash off. We are the perfect Sneakers for the fashionable predator, we provide silent service". "We cushion every step, we cushion the steps of kings and queens, and we cushion the steps of career criminals, we don't discriminate. We are fit for every foot. We are fit for the newly married, and the newly divorced. We are more than you deserve".

5