"unowned" poems
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Grasping her every arm,
In unowned mittens and scarf.
Tattered, the eyes red as Mars.
Though all she can do—
Is gaze to peoples jewel afar,
And wonder in optimum.
The best possible way to omit;
A lifelong scar of tantrum.
An infinite tribulation mimics.
Mediocrity sneaks to pry.
Uncanny euphoric figments,
Biding the year-end tide.
To lay undone ashes of shame.
She mourns a winterscry.
Putting off the endless dolor,
Till death ends that butterfly.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
The Prism Through Which We See Clearly
~
light saws our untrue selves with acute angles,
piercing our holistic pretenses, daily disambiguation features,
our sheltering disguises into our essence refractive elements
this is not a cute rainbow poem - run from here
it is a dissection of our true nature
why belabor, why elaborate?
through the prism
you color-coded self, tracted,
a mapping of your intersections,
what each color speaks, needs not an explication,
your hidden humanity comes to my eyes, in full revelation
at last I see you clearly
the lost and black withered limbs,
the stirring, leaping, enflamed flaring, never ceasing, breathing elements that mark your singularity
did you know your eyes are constant singers?
through prism, each note heard distinctly, as it rises uplifted,
your song, mine for observation and weeping exhalations,
your song, the production number of thy own composition,
through prism, our interior visual disinterred and released,
here I must cease, for what seen, grievous weeping deepens,
from the glory and the pain my blurred wetness overwhelms
the clarifying crystal useless when tear coated
through the prism,
before the full length mirror,
my own, unowned, never could be owned,
'mirror mirror on the wall,'
warped weave of tissues, mine,
the song sounds, mine,
from lungs disgorged
myself, diagnosed and displayed
of what I see, spitting speech
ceases and desists,
the only thought permitted, repeated,
where is my shelter now?
5/13/17 6:49am
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
Hugging knees in darkest corners
Leaving love behind
Sinking so deeply, light is lost
Spirit broken
Heart shattered
Soul torn
Before the mending could begin
Before the pieces could be swept up
Smacked to the ground
Crushed into powder
Irreparably damaged
Irrevocably heartless
Too much love begets too much torment
Agonizing over unowned burdens
Cold shadows become welcoming
As warmth feels more like Hell
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 12:55 PM UTC
XXXVI
When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong since then, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop down between us both
As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
Must lose one joy, by his life’s star foretold.
2.2k
A holy day it was
When the dark skinned gathered there
Under open skies unowned
On the land of their forebears
They met to offer forth their prayers
They entered the walled space
Through gated entrances five
Mixed mass of gender, age and creed
Unarmed they gathered, unarmed strived
Ruled by white Lords, to keep culture alive
From a raised bank, he watched
Fair general and his native troop
When the time was right, dropped his arm
Unleashing bullets on endless loop
Laying waste to unwary group
Swarming mass in open tomb
Clamour to protect all life and love
Mother crouched encasing child so soft
A man holding his wife, a flapping dove
None spared from cold end reigned from above
Hot metal darts indiscriminate
Sliced through humid burdened air
Muting wails of the sentenced helpless
Piercing flesh of the souls stripped bear
Earth wept with weight of blood spilled there
Thus ebbed the day of the massacre
Beaded sweat trickles down Generals brow
Blood and meat lay heaped at exits five
Shrouded in questions of the why and how
That such slaughter could one man and his arm allow.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
Empty silhouettes wander down abandoned streets,
Dousing their souls in scotch and whiskey
Placing firey papers to their lips and their lungs full of tar
The only noise comes from the dead houses,
Filled with broken children
And tired parents with bags upon bags upon bags under their lonely eyes
And unowned women stand on the corners, climbing into old cars
Their mothers wouldn't be proud
And babies can be seen crying through cracked windows
While husbands caress their wives, the ones covered in bruises
And teenagers sit on stoops, covering their damaged arms and bandaged hearts
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
We had the world behind our back,
We had it together with us,
But it changed one day.
It decided to turn its back on us.
I wish I could turn back time,
Where everything felt perfect,
A world where we felt free,
But now it feels like us against the world.
I want to fall in love again every time,
I never stopped loving you.
I wish I was still the one,
I hope you could fall in love with me again..
I would never stop loving you,
I'll always be waiting for you,
If only I could still be the one,
but I'm not..
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
as people come
into my game
it becomes their game
along with all the baggage
that they carry
but it really is
only a shared moment
a temporal unowned event
an ephemeral collective experience
not to be taken seriously
my game is then
only what I bring to it
a performance
in that moment
best played
with energy
with authenticity
with serendipity
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC
It was deep.
Much more than meaningful.
More like a cornerstone romance,
from a library in the cosmos.
Like a deep sea scroll,
One unobtainable,
And nothing about it tameable.
It was like solstice, but not summer,
Like solstice, but not winter.
Like a fifth season,
One of its own,
Flaunting all the colours.
It was something enchanting,
Like snow falling on palm trees.
Something mesmerising,
Magnetic,
Hypnotic,
And blissful.
It was unclaimed,
Unowned,
Like land on Jupiter.
It was shocking,
But not horrible.
More like waves of adrenalin,
The ones that save your life.
But this pearl was less about my life,
And more about my death.
This was less about him
And more about me.
For all the magic I foresaw,
Was the magic that is me.
...........................................................................................................
I am the supernova romance
Etched on an emerald tablet,
Clutched by Aphrodite.
A story you’d find carved in a dream,
Retold upon rising with bewilder and a gleam.
I was the dance to The Drifters,
Upon 11pm sandy shores,
The kiss under the bridge,
In that electric storm,
The naked swim in the caves,
That night the moon turned rose red,
The whisper louder than the roaring crowd,
That made you smile and nod your head.
I'm the twist of violet,
In an orange fuchsia sunset,
A besotted perfume linger,
Once inhaled you can’t forget.
I was the fire in that winter desert,
Where we talked about the truth,
The zest in your drink,
When we sat squished in that tiny booth.
And I was the 20 white candles lit,
In that studio,
On the French blue coast,
The warm wink in the room when
You stand to give a toast.
Now I’ll be the film you wish you saw on the silver screen,
And the private island you only wish you could have been.
So before I died I was reborn.
From that shell without the veil,
From that pearl without the mourn.
Projection death on a canvas blank.
For the romance I have only myself to thank.
BY NICOLE BONOMI
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC
They ask me about words
and
I forget that they often
don’t know the same words
that I do.
I forget that sometimes my words
and
their words are mysterious
and
often not as profane
as they might be used to.
Then, I remember
that there are countless words,
concepts,
ideas,
and
beliefs that I am totally,
sometimes shamefully,
unaware of.
(all of these based in vernaculars unfamiliar)
None of us live the same type of life.
None of us
have earned passage
through hardship
any more or less
than anyone else.
Ours are circumstances,
unshared.
Not luck, not fate, not grace,
not inherent anyway.
No different than my last name being Claywell
and
my typing that very same name
into the system of The Department of Corrections;
seeing that name,
the same as mine,
unowned by me,
belonging to faces of men
and
women that I have never
and
likely would not ever meet
in our respective lives.
What does it matter?
It’s a name,
no different
or more or less special than Jones or Smith.
The name is mine and theirs,
as unique to us as we are to one another;
poet
or
prisoner.
Person first, second, and third.
Like a story,
a book,
a treatment plan,
sitting on a shelf or locked inside
a mind until the proper moment
providence or provisional,
authored by the judiciary or just
some guy.
(like me)
We live by words,
are released by words,
are transformed by words,
frightening, fitful, fretful or foreign.
Words give us our humanity,
allow us to encourage or enrage,
engaged so as to establish
a renewal,
reestablished ability to
manifest,
to actualize
the abracadabra
of
our own magic act…
our lives.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 9:22 PM UTC
i wish I could've told you
how sorry i am
for letting someone like you
give even your physical aspects to me
you dont play in your sins
but tonight you found something so unholy to touch
and im so sorry for tempting you
you promised me that you never thought i was that bad
just a troubled teenager stuck in her ways
but did i tell you about how good i knew you could be for me ?
it troubles me
because i care about you
my touch will only burn you in the end
and you will have wasted your love on
lucifers beloved daughter
and gods unowned deciple
you said im an angel
but did your forget these wings were made of broken hearts too?
i'd hate for it to be you
do yourself a favor
i know you have a flavor for the devils candy
but dont ever let those holy hands touch this trashcan of sins again
i wont stop you
until you have nothing left of yourself
don't forsake the pain
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Waking fog I trip through the smog of memories misfit two step
Lyrics of lore gone past for bore of thoughts float off for evermore
Now awaken I speak in tone crack my bones as my lover is with no other
Fast to speak quick to the week I carry my soul in a soft pinkish bag
Surrounded by strangers that act much tamer then I ever wish to do
They are old timid watch this and that on an old unowned TV set
I stare as I wear my sleeves tucked in with no ounce of fear
Listen to the whistle of the horses galloping through the meadows there
Money separates us from animals but still that savageness
The deep natural fear is still
Quite there
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 1:01 PM UTC
White- Eyed Alive-
do or die
piece of the pie
and the American life-
Preprogrammed responses
they all seem to do it-
a previously animated existence
we replicate
but we don't really do it-
The Stepford Wife
and Mr. Right
neither holds an interest for me-
I fit no mold
with no people of my own-
The Wanderer
Vagrant
I Am Alone
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
I have been reading some literary pieces;
For their words soothes me, deeply.
Though some meant a bleeding heart,
Still gives me enough encouragement.
That, is only to find myself hanging -
both craving and puking those words.
Realized that art can be an escape for some
but not for yours that is longing.
Longing for words not from authors
but from the person who means to you.
For she can form words but he can't
That even absorbing those words, he can't.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
I know you too well.
I know your disregard for me,
For everything
About me.
I know the face of the ocean.
I know your waist that turns you.
I know the magic of your laughter
That heaps upon me,
Upon the shadow of me the Sun abandons.
I harbor all of your beauty that are unowned
And my heart moves there.
All my struggles march into you,
Towards you.
I am aware of the success
That might never come to me,
As some things are meant for your denial,
For your forgetting:
Isles, alleys,
Roofs,
Banners in the streets;
Let all forgotten things be forgotten still,
Quiet,
Awaiting all of your gifts
All of their lives.
But please...
Don't deny me of the gift
Of forever loving you:
For all things,
All days even,
Might finally forget me.
© 2010 J.S.P.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 8:08 AM UTC
#the forming of substance 07
Stephan W
*Radiance.
Within the void are
the greatest mysteries of the universe,
as matter and anti-matter clash;
only to create a newfound energy..
un-owned, unaccountable, unconcerned--
the energy emerging from the clash negates itself
through mutual annihilation; leading to an increase
of space between what it is that is lit; and in
the accelerated rate of expansion of this space,
Illuminated/illuminating matter takes on the risk
of being removed from participatory perception,
or better said-- to a place beyond retrieve..
and so it is also-
within the void of space that exists within us;
the galaxy-within--
ever-swinging in polarity between the gravity-pull
of illuminating/illuminated substance,
and the ever-distancing properties of
an unowned, unlit space...
dark Energy-- a repulsive force,
attempting to quantify the space between
all that truly matters--
yes.. creating space,
and therefore more room
for it to engage into its ever-increasing
chaotic activity.. quantitatively participating in
its fine art of distraction, dilution
and extortion of time
through nothing other than the negation of matter,
and therefore, the negation of potentiality--
of substance, and so also
the transmission of light.. luminosity:
parts within the heart, lit up with
and by the infusion of our own spirits,
through the beautiful act of volition,
of which, the countless galaxies in the universe
exist as a type, given.. (what-if)...
if only to encourage us through amazing,
mesmerizing example--
surrounded, each.. by a circumference of support
of the dark matter of potentiality--
providing the gravity of containment,
solely in and through its belief in its own possibility,
giving way to its utter inability to deny itself to
what has become already lit,
becoming then.. not only a defining part of the galaxy,
but also a gravitational-formed hedge of protection
against the everpull-entropy of the repulsive force--
of all that is unaccountable-
in its velocity-based separation from volition.
And, so it is with the universe,
so, also.. the universe-within;
Having left its glass-globe sphere,
this spirit-centered cosmos
now unfolds, within skin.*
#
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 9:46 PM UTC
Evolving human
Surrounded by colours,
Gentle grins provoking last
Enduring glances of suspicion,
‘What have they to smile?’
Unfamiliar green-carpet
Streets and glowing faces,
Sounds of unusual happiness
Inundating land, echoing
In the calm unsuffering seas.
Dark elegant suits knit
With gold and silver threads,
In disuse.
Lost briefcases enshrining
Carbon-stained paper sheets,
Unowned, unwanted, and unneeded.
Trees no longer afraid.
May the souls of their ancestors
Rest in peace. Memory does persist.
Sober fancy ties around
Chocking blue necks,
Thrown away.
White collars freeing from chains.
Unleashed,
What was, forgotten.
Forging truth in history
No one teaches,
Lies of imaginative deceptive minds
No one learns.
Red once-fashionable high heels
Buried with garbage, along with
Addictive games and batteries
Creating manmade hills,
Offered to nature as Trojan horses
Waiting to astonish.
While flowers bloom
And wilderness takes over,
Evolving human wonders
‘Where have I been until this moment?’
And smiles.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 4:38 AM UTC
I'm no one's
picture perfect
I'm not a favorite
day dream
nobody is wondering
does he love me?
I hardly fit in a
frame
and I'm never on my
A game
I'd call it a shame
if it wasn't my
whole
life
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
🌼 💔 🌼 💔 🌼
Broken hearts and Daisy chains
Loves me Loves Me Not
Pluck the petals... none remain
Given not a thought.
When hearts are mended
it is true
T'was for sweet words spoken
When I gave myself to you
The daisy chains were broken.
Butterflies and cloverleaves
The place where we lay down
More Daisy chains were yet to weave
Laid on this maiden's crown.
Now I'm alone, I can't atone
Because my lover left
He was untrue, his heart unowned
And I am bereft.
🌼 💔 🌼 💔 🌼
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 6:15 AM UTC
The world used to be better, I know, the AC used to work
no commitments or fetters, although, that's really not a perk
No hot water in the pipes, or electricity in the lines
nothing left but weak gripes, reading all the signs
Anarchy so attractive in my youth, just another word for free
a bureaucratic hidden truth, as fruit upon an unowned tree
The lack of controls and government, freedom now held high
not a religious or better covenant, never seeing eye to eye
Ah but to turn back the clock, and reverse the damage done
paying heed to the future knock, hoarding bullets for my gun
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
I found myself exploring the darkest corners the other day
I had to answer these questions, how do I feel, what do you call this emotion and why do I feel this way.
The recesses answered me
I am unowned, unclaimed
I am not a responsibility of anyone, I am no longer her daughter, his daughter
No one will ever say 'she's mine' again
Or tell me of my first word, my baby memories
But the question is, what the **** have I really lost, if anything at all?
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
#*Your beautiful heart's glow is so often hidden behind the clouds of stubborness-- your lack of ownership within pretty much everything that is about who it is that you truly are. You ride.. skirting on the edges, never truly committing to much of anything that is inside of you.. putting pieces of yourself out there, yet never truly taking ownership of much of anything that truly is of you. You may feel things in their fullness that is of you within certain, contained moments, but the glow of those glimpses into your own self is far too often short-lived-- within something in you that almost completely washes it all away..
The nearly predictible pendulum-swing now so far the other way, almost completely denying those very real moments of connectedness and inner clarity within you..
And I am not one to want to live and operate between the swing's extremes, as it is there at that place that you expect others to pick up all of these un-owned pieces for you, and it is there also at that place that you have a whole string of men-- now.. and in your past, who all tumble and orbit in your wake in their desire to put together for you things that were never theirs to put together..
They were always things for you to take ownership of and become accountable for, but you will have no part of that, and so here you now float within all of your unaccountability, and will continue to float- as long you continue in your choice to not fully engage within yourself.
.. And you go on and say that I do not care about your heart, but you do not own much of anything that is about that amazing heart that is within you,
so how would you even know?
You don't.. but even if you did,
it would all but become buried once again within all that is unowned within you.
Loving in to a system like that, is not a good stewardship of one's ability to love.. so if there is some remote form of goodbye embedded within these nearly indiscernible conveyances..
then I thank you in advance for its gracious release. You are not getting any younger, my beautiful.. one day this beauty-laden, cloud to cloud game of hide and seek is no longer going to work quite so well*
#
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC