"unperceived" poems
605
The Spider holds a Silver Ball
In unperceived Hands—
And dancing softly to Himself
His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds—
He plies from Nought to Nought—
In unsubstantial Trade—
Supplants our Tapestries with His—
In half the period—
An Hour to rear supreme
His Continents of Light—
Then dangle from the Housewife’s Broom—
His Boundaries—forgot—
4k
1097
Dew—is the Freshet in the Grass—
’Tis many a tiny Mill
Turns unperceived beneath our feet
And Artisan lies still—
We spy the Forests and the Hills
The Tents to Nature’s Show
Mistake the Outside for the in
And mention what we saw.
Could Commentators on the Sign
Of Nature’s Caravan
Obtain “Admission” as a Child
Some Wednesday Afternoon.
3k
Miracles lay behind decimals
In this domain of imminent decay
They tread drearily
Coming and going
But hardly making a difference at all
Dwindling happenstances
Going unperceived by untrained eyes
Ephemeral, glowing thoughts
That transcend into dull, mere materiality
But they don't really matter at all.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
416
A Murmur in the Trees—to note—
Not loud enough—for Wind—
A Star—not far enough to seek—
Nor near enough—to find—
A long—long Yellow—on the Lawn—
A Hubbub—as of feet—
Not audible—as Ours—to Us—
But dapperer—More Sweet—
A Hurrying Home of little Men
To Houses unperceived—
All this—and more—if I should tell—
Would never be believed—
Of Robins in the Trundle bed
How many I espy
Whose Nightgowns could not hide the Wings—
Although I heard them try—
But then I promised ne’er to tell—
How could I break My Word?
So go your Way—and I’ll go Mine—
No fear you’ll miss the Road.
1.8k
I remember being little.
Innocence.
When I was gentle with my words
And with the things my hand would hold
The way my cheeks would rose up from the cold.
Little fingers.
Little feet.
Sweet smiles snuck a treat.
Laughter and play.
Feeling safe in every way.
Seeing only the best in everybody.
Trusting everyone who came by.
Being held and needing a cuddle.
Splashing in a rain puddle.
Hearing, everything will be alright.
Bob Marley's motto tucked me in at night.
Being a princess is an actual occupation.
Thinking your parents aren’t scared of anything.
Believing in things that cannot be believed.
Having an imagination completely unperceived.
Finger painting.
Dancing.
Footy PJ's
Encouragement.
Laughter
Through all of my days.
Always feeling loved.
Never any doubts.
Bedtime stories.
Button noses.
I scream for ice cream shouts.
Soft whispers.
Tender touches.
Quiet kisses.
These are the things an adult misses.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
Do not
Be frightened of the 'life',
The path which leads through shadows reach -
The unfamiliar at our back,
With twining claws which grasp and reach.
To scatter back to our old home,
To settle in a mire of dreams,
And thoughts and laughs
Of memories past,
Avoidant of the unperceived.
Set forth anew, and claim the right
To live and love and
Clasp the light, to scan the morrow
With fresh eyes,
To stake a claim, to sow, to rise.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
On Par for Divorce?
Where does he go and what can he do, this wife he married is not the same
words of love have been replaced by abusive words, bent on giving him shame
the sun has turned into rain; you’re trapped, with nowhere to avoid getting wet
now caught in the web of her discontent, and holding your head down with regret
You look toward compromise, hoping to work things out and make it right
only to encounter resistance, she wants nothing less than you out of her sight
as words fall on deaf ears reality sets in, you are full of contrition and remorse
no it gets worse, she's on the warpath and solely focused on threatening divorce
Looking at your young children, with tears in their eyes, what they must now see
a crushed father, withdrawn from the world, only wanting to take them and flee
while wisdom falters and silence overcomes, still dumbstruck on what you can do
remembering a love that once was, but no longer, realizing your marriage is through
Surviving the pains and turmoil of divorce, a challenge sought by many before
only too often leading some to those bitter waters, transfixed on evening the score
but children become the true victims suffering the most, unperceived by those in pain
only in adulthood will those scars surface, on future relationships they leave their stain
Trying to mitigate emotional scars in any divorce requires sheltering children from your hurt
their emotional well-being is of paramount importance, their exposure to anger you must avert
while difficult to accept, divorce can sometimes be for the better, perhaps you will yet come to see
your door to emotional stability was never locked, search deep within for only there lies its key
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Containers full of pain and sorrow
And laughter and joy.
Tiny universes held together with skin,
Sitting in a bus station at 3am.
Drooping faces weary with travel.
These are my people,
Though they don't know me.
My family,
Though they don't see me.
I sit alone in the corner and watch them watch their T.V.s
I watch them wait.
I watch the woman across from me.
The picture of middle-aged addiction.
Clinging to her garbage bag belongings
Like a scared child clings to its mothers breast.
As I memorize every line on her face,
Broken teeth and searching eyes,
I realize that she is beauty defined.
Has anyone ever told her?
In that room,
unperceived,
The ineffable resides.
Hidden in the suitcases of crack fiends
And vagabonds.
3am Escanaba to Milwaukee
That's my cue to leave,
I raise my hands to the ceiling and I shout
"Goodbye, you're all beautiful!"
They look at me like I'm crazy.
I don't care.
I am madly in love with their humanity.
I never want to know sanity.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
"Love Conquers and Conjures a Fall"
What do I do?
Could it truly be my ordained duty to this one of beauty set before me?
Not allowed to be proud,
to scream out loud that a cloud has been lifted,
that I've been gifted.
No longer the obsession of confusing my once unperceived deception.
The very essence of her presence reels my will from surreal to real,
revealing a feeling of peeling apart my concealed heart.
Under divine direction,
with opulent affection,
and your eyes reflection,
my heart gains protection,
my life direction,
my soul connection.
It's hard to conceive belief she could alleviate the gated fate of my forsaken heart.
By R. Craig David-copyrighted 2001
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
they dance on the edge of nearly
unperceived breezes
the sighs of dead men's final breath
that follow me to the edge
of the thickets
many lay at the feet of those who wish to taste death
but not know it
brothers in arms
who cross from the horrors often placed upon them by man
into a swath of light that holds no measure of time or space
or pain
they are free to walk from the remnants that linger in living consciousness
yet remain
tied to the moment of their crossing
the essence of their love for kindred souls
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 6:55 PM UTC
A life in broken glass,
A reflection-
One million pieces,
Impossible to see myself rightly,
Tell me who I am,
Which of my pictures fit together,
This curse-
this curse
This curse of suburbia,
The unperceived ritual,
Take
Regurgitate
Build
Charge the culture gods,
Update the computer shrines,
Dam them all,
They replaced the spiritual encounter:
Our birthright,
Traded for ***** water,
Our entire lives,
Washing nothing away,
This murky bath is our judge,
Confronting our condition
If I could reach into Apollo's cloak,
I would pull down the stars and put them in my eyes,
Drowning myself in pedals of flowers,
Give me stimulation,
A temporary satisfaction,
But dislocated from the natural idea of rest,
Wilting away from their stem,
Ready to die
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
Screws jammed the lock
In my throat, twisting
Clockwise, choking
Tighter which each revolution.
Throbbing steady like
Hands in a clock crying
On the hour for time
Spiraling from its
Golden hands towards
Dimensions unperceived and
Already retrospect.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
It’s paramount the notion
That men are born to grow,
Extend their creativity,
Expand the very best they know.
Explore the realm unseen before
Beyond their very reach,
Inflate the mind’s potential
To absorb and grasp and preach.
To plunder flair unrealized
Extend skills unperceived,
To craft a very masterpiece
Of magnificence, unbelieved.
To raise the spire of excellence
To sculpt a work of art,
Compose a peice which scintillates
And moves the very heart.
To reach beyond the mortal
And let the spirit free
To pen a Michelangelo
And have God sit with me.
Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
30 April 2010
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
a glance
a word
a gesture
a little sigh
a formula
the neighbor’s greetings
the train schedule
a note on your door
quite clear to understand
not long ago
now seem to foster
strange significances
the code for
unequivocal interpretation
no longer works
ambiguity hovers in mid-air
you hesitate and ponder
before you speak
begin to choose words carefully
hoping
against your knowing
that this would make them clearer
yet feeling that it does not really matter
that whatever you say
may be received quite differently
from what it is meant to convey
likewise
what you hear and see
appears to lack precision
possible meanings
proliferating connotations
of irony, deceit, hidden aggression
threaten to shroud familiar sense
make you question old axioms
in fearful apprehension of unperceived realities
signs of a loss of self?
your brain dissolving?
senility approaching before its time?
or just too much of that foie gras and cabernet
the night before?
will it be gone tomorrow
with bright sunshine and blue skies
or darken your remaining days
under leaden clouds of doubts and insecurity?
Or is all this just a reminder
that you should take
nothing
for granted and that
the only constant in life
is
change?
* * *
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
There was once a boy
A boy that resembled a toy.
A boy who wore oversized shoes,
Baggy pants and unusual spectacles.
A short stub,
That lazed clumsily around the room,
A boy whose appearance was hardly noticeable,
And presence engulfed.
The poor boy was constantly annoyed,
Teased and bothered.
Thrown around the room
Like the rag he seemed to be.
There seemed no escape,
From terrifying bullies,
That roamed around the school,
Waiting patiently to crush him.
The helpless boy waited,
For the Bully to take him,
Grab him by the shoulders,
And smother his dreams in pain.
One day, however, the boy waited.
He waited patiently
For the bullies to take command,
But they never did, they just walked past.
The lonely boy discovered,
That he pertained an unknown power,
One that left him nameless,
And devoid of appearance.
He knew he was not vitreous,
See-through or transparent.
But he could roam through a room,
Unnoticed, overlooked.
He could run through a clear field,
And go unperceived.
He was able to devour a thousand meals,
And never be blamed.
Such abilities brought wonderful joys,
And grand pleasures,
However such leisure brought
Terrible solitude in return.
The assurance of his safety warmed him,
Knowing he’d be free of harm.
But the gawky boy was lonely,
Devoid of company or charm.
He roamed the halls alone,
He sat absently in his desk.
And slowly his loneliness
Began to consume him.
He was overcome
by the colorlessness of his pale skin,
The crookedness of his misshapen brow.
He slowly fainted, into a mirrored glass.
The boy had become,
That he had always been;
Another shadow,
Another gust of wind.
His pale skin disintegrated.
The oversized shoes sank.
His spectacles shattered.
The smirk evanesced.
The boy became,
That which cannot be named.
A light breeze,
A faint whisper.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
A silent thunder which
We feel but cannot hear
Rumbles on relentlessly
Through our lives as an
Unperceived presence
In this life and the next.
Is this presence our
God who is indifferent,
To our problems and
Those of seven billion
Souls, and is unlikely
To be interested in our
Insignificant lives?
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 2:00 PM UTC
A bite of the nail
Three heartbeats
A stare then a glare
Four more
An empty parking lot
And flashlights
Blazing
Across the dust
A flicker of the lash
Doom doom doom
Again and again
Something swifts
Something drifts
Clockwise
In an unperceived motion
Something throughout the molecules
And particules
Underneath the thin air
Slightly above the tire prints
A feeling in the gut
In the brain
In the heart
Aghast by the ghostly ghouls
Shivers
Travelling
Through every pore
Unsnarling
Little towers on the back
On the neck
Molten faces
Figures
Mannequins
Melting
Molasses
Everywhere
A sick kind of sweetness
Strangling
Suffocating
With a smile
As wide
As the door
Opened
On the second floor
The one
That was never shut
That one
People claimed was open
Specially
Ocaisonally
But was only just broken
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
The incandescent lights, the crowded subways,
The penetrating fumes, the worried pace,
The ticking clocks and the rushed sweat,
The heavy breathing.
The city moans.
A man welded into a sea of bodies,
Sweat hanging from his frowned brow.
Shaky hands and an empty stare.
A quick pace walks unperceived.
He cannot be seen.
A cellular phone buzzes into his ear,
Vibrating inside his wealthy pockets.
A raggedy angry man shouts,
Like the constant bickering of his wife,
The commands of his boss.
Dark circles have replaced his eyes,
Moans have overcome his speech.
Leisure is an unobtainable dream,
Happiness is once again
An unknown deed.
He stares from outside his window,
Confined within a wooden desk.
Stacked between a wave of duties,
He looks for an escape,
And a tempting distraction.
A thin-boned young woman, with
Child-like body, and undeveloped hips,
Walked without a pace,
Without rush, or march-like hurry.
She pranced, yes, she pranced.
Oh how her body danced,
Without worry, or clenching irk.
Her smile illuminated the beholder,
And her stubby figure, suddenly
Had become graceful.
She turned, her baby blue eyes,
And stared at him in return.
She extended her arm,
She bent her hand.
She beckoned, and he ran.
He took her hand and all
Was left behind.
The city lights, the buzzing screeches,
The never-desolate streets,
And the suffocating sweats.
The yanking automobiles,
The stumping feet, the irritable frowns,
The traffic lights, the ***** streets,
The helicopter roars,
And the rush hour jams.
The bickering wife,
The dictatorial administrator,
The dying parents, the crying children,
The mounting responsibilities,
And countless sleepless nights.
He welcomed her slender arms,
The quiet nights, and the countryside aroma.
The city fumes escaped his lungs,
And he could finally breathe,
Hear, see, taste, and feel.
Oh, how he longs such respite,
He whispers, as he stares down the window.
And slips the hand he had been holding.
She prances away,
And he stands, alone.
In between his desk, inhaling
The city fumes. Exhaling a tired breath.
Hearing the screeching wheels,
The angry drivers, and the busy tack
Of hurried standbyers.
It had only been a rush hour dream,
It seemed.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Of the darkness that takes my breath
It is only yours I seek
Silent
Falling heavily on our hearts
It's destiny
Two souls connecting in a flurry of mind and body
Detached from reality
A resounding whisper
Tangible, but almost unperceived
A delicate balance of fallen heroes and starving hope
I seek the future
And yet, have found an abyss
A pull so strong that my world seems to lay baited
On the possibilities that could be
Deftly defying all odds
I'm swept up
Impervious to ailment and frailty
Only set up for one purpose
To seek that which you hold
To be that which you are
And become that which we were made to be
As one.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 10:15 PM UTC
I desire to create,
What remains unperceived,
Unrepairable faith in it's authentic self,
Unscathed by anothers opinion or morals,
Their hopes and desires,
The birth of such a rebellious idea remains unearthed,
I want it raw,
But God despises it,
The idea of being challenged,
So all left of my thoughts is the binding vision of tomorrow,
A vision of hope,
That ensues an ameliorating repercussion on my mental capacity,
Concluding the idea of a saviour,
And Of my passion and greed,
Greed to learn something I shall never master,
Sep 28, 2024
Sep 28, 2024 at 1:45 PM UTC
I remember being little.
When I was gentle with my words
And with the things my hand would hold.
The way my cheeks would rose up from the cold.
Little fingers, little feet.
Sweet smiles,snuck a treat.
Laughter and play.
Feeling safe in every way.
Seeing only the best in everybody.
Trusting everyone who came by.
Being held and needing a cuddle.
Splashing in a rain puddle.
Hearing, everything will be alright.
Being a princess is an actual occupation.
Thinking your parents aren’t scared of anything.
Believing in things that cannot be believed.
Having an imagination completely unperceived.
Finger painting, Dancing.
Footy PJ's, Encouragement.
Laughter
Through all of my days.
Always feeling loved.
Never any doubts
Soft whispers, Tender touches.
Quiet kisses.
These are the things an adult misses.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
From deep within this heart
that beats with only love for Mother
and Mother’s all-consuming love,
a raging flame burns silently,
extinguishing all that is not pure
and leaving only grace.
All the pain
of the thoughts we are
is burning in stillness and peace;
gifting us our true and only Self
in the most magnificent release.
Any lingering traces and
all the hidden trails
of our countless, misunderstood lives,
the concepts and ideas, the misdirected,
algorithmic orders of our minds:
Burn it all to ashless vapor
in the ***** of the unrelative,
non-dual and unperceived Truth
of The Mother’s endless pyre.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 5:33 PM UTC
Gasping for air
All I receive are thousands of particulates of sweat
Exiting my body through deep pores
Opening like potholes
In the road to my dreams.
Then
With nothing but the force of my own sheer will
I drag the thin
Searing
Beads of pain
Fear, and loss
Deep into my lungs…
Is this not the determination
The commitment, you’ve been looking for?
If not
Then that for which you look
Truly does not exist.
You call this a phase
A stage
You say “Gage, I know you”
You tell me that next week
It’ll be something new
That if I don’t follow through
That if I can’t STICK to one thing
I’ll always be shifty
That you have no faith in me
Truth is
Next week you could find me here,
But you wouldn’t know
Because you’ve never bothered to hear me
Because to you
My voice is nothing more than elevator music.
My voice is nothing more to you
Than the tick of a clock
The buzz of a fly
You have no choice but to listen to it---
But
It stops… Eventually.
LISTEN TO ME
This is yet another
Unperceived misconception
Of your invention
Leading you in the wrong direction---
Traced back to a lack of attention
From when I would go against convention
Trapping us in this contention---
I
NEVER
STOP.
Truth is
I am different
THIS IS NOT A PHASE.
This is a symphony
Of beautiful rage
Breaking the cage
Of my destiny
But you still
HAVE---NO---FAITH---IN---ME
Oh how you perplex me
With your dry mouth
Cracked, and swollen
From scolding
You have no faith in me-
Unable to taste the sweet
Golden juice
Dripping from the fruits
Of my labor…
You have no faith...
But if you just stop and listen
Turn around and see
The click of a key
Your son’s typing stories
The throw of a ball
These normal sports bore me
I’m walking a path
You can’t walk it for me
It’s not that I’m carefree
Rather
You fail to see
That commitment for which you look
Is inside of me
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC