"unplanted" poems
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
I
Half of the fellow father as he doubles
His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk,
Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles
To-morrow's diver in her ***** milk,
Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone
Bolt for the salt unborn.
The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled
Corrosive spring out of the iceberg's crop,
The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled
The swing of milk was tufted in the pap,
For half of love was planted in the lost,
And the unplanted ghost.
The broken halves are fellowed in a *******
The crutch that marrow taps upon their sleep,
Limp in the street of sea, among the rabble
Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep,
And stake the sleepers in the savage grave
That the vampire laugh.
The patchwork halves were cloven as they scudded
The wild pigs' wood, and slime upon the trees,
******* the dark, kissed on the cyanide,
And loosed the braiding adders from their hairs,
Rotating halves are horning as they drill
The arterial angel.
What colour is glory? death's feather? tremble
The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air,
And ***** the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble.
The ghost is dumb that stammered in the straw,
The ghost that hatched his havoc as he flew
Blinds their cloud-tracking eye.
II
My world is pyramid. The padded mummer
Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt
Incising summer.
My Egypt's armour buckling in its sheet,
I scrape through resin to a starry bone
And a blood parhelion.
My world is cypress, and an English valley.
I piece my flesh that rattled on the yards
Red in an Austrian volley.
I hear, through dead men's drums, the riddled lads,
******** their bowels from a hill of bones,
Cry Eloi to the guns.
My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan.
The Arctic scut, and basin of the South,
Drip on my dead house garden.
Who seek me landward, marking in my mouth
The straws of Asia, lose me as I turn
Through the Atlantic corn.
The fellow halves that, cloven as they swivel
On casting tides, are tangled in the shells,
Bearding the unborn devil,
Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels.
The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide
Binding my angel's hood.
Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour?
I blow the stammel feather in the vein.
The **** is glory in a working pallor.
My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn,
The secret child, I sift about the sea
Dry in the half-tracked thigh.
3.9k
the war zone is open
a simple stumble
onto a carelessly unplanted landmine
the photographic proof
of the ones in the winning troops
a wire was tripped
my carefully grounded feet
now stumble sightlessly through
confused by combat
as the clouds of battle
brew and storm
mushroom around me
my soul is shattered
by the shrapnel of the relationships
that were never quite had
grenades packed with unbidden love
a thousand times stronger
than any known explosive
scar and pock my psyche
with their silent detonations
the rockets of unreason
guided by an unbalanced radar
pierce the pretend walls of armor
which were never successfully reinforced
this isn't the first or worst battle
know it won't be the last,
because
there is no safe zone
there is no ceasefire
there is only surrender
to the ceaseless uncertainty
a prisoner of my own
hostile forces
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
A captured breath among the ancient trees
Glowing in a perfect dream
From time and tide drifting upon your sea
In the dustless shadow
Of faint moonbeams
A fresh-bloomed rose, smiles at morning dew
Its thorns have yet to *****
The hands of time, which fairly flew
Sweetness unripe
To pick
Time and tide drifts upon the ancient seas
Rolling in a perfect dream
Capturing breaths from unplanted seeds
Before becoming
As they seem
The fresh-bloomed rose a thorn reveals
Within the perfect dream
Yet time and tide drifts into quickly heal
A captured breath
Is now redeemed
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
#Under the mango tree where the shade is dark and deep
she waits with years on her skin.
The face though weary with the burden of time
has not yielded to the fate
of having once loved and lost.
She believes the winds from the barren field
will one day carry the rustle of footsteps
raising a song from within earth
that the moment is arrived
for the dead river to rise in tides
and flood her cheeks with the sapplings of
all the unplanted kisses.
When the nights come
the fireflies would sing
love is such a beautiful thing
basking in the glow of her heart.
Jun 5, 2024
Jun 5, 2024 at 11:54 AM UTC
Angry gods unworshipped and unknown
High up in heaven forgotten and alone
Resurrected in text, decreed as foes
**** the rituals that fed on our souls
Good deeds go undone under the sun
My prayers unspoken weigh a ton
Their hearts filled with vile disgust
Decomposed corpses, boils and pus
These unplanted seeds wither and rot
Pestilence and famine never stop
Songs once written of former glories
Greek in origin their ancient stories
Bored and restless in their continuum
Unprepared to give the bare minimum
Human-like attributes, they deviate from norm
Made in our image, distorted in our form...
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
genius is snapping at my dragons. feel free to ask them. they’ll barter hard tongues
and won't apologize for mad hatters. but this. This matters.
it ungathers. It unravels and the sunscape chafes on the void's tatters.
but it rathers you know me now,
than meet me at crossroads.
it's your call.
come
from your unexamined life
and be sitting with your eyes
like two mouths.
they will speak when spoken two;
when i give you all...
and you want me
too.
hello. my name is unsung. and That's the song.
don't get me wrong; but right your vessel -
and
this ocean will float your devils
with your nephelim. with your unbridled elan.
be sweet. keep your feet unplanted, but be enchanted by the road you're on.
find me in the thicket of unbearable seeing.
you will be me -
for the moment you release
' things '
and imprison Nothing.
of course
you'll need a cauldron
to rehearse your heresies
as often.
may i suggest
a new
guess ?
a question that suits you
better than " what the **** ? "
and has feathers ?
can we do that
and love each
other ?
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
One half of a crying moon sat in the June sky
An uncertain state of silence that I hate
A swarm of red lights from some farm device
Blink fiercely with a hive like intensity
Miles of metal fences leaning lazily
Held together by sandbag security
Could have been knocked over by a summer breeze
Unplanted fields yearning to be tilled and seeded
Punctuated by bare bones buildings and
Stark steel structures pulsing with electricity
Armies of insect swarm the tall lamp lights
Highways become rocky roads
Rocky roads ride out into dirt paths
Then circle back to the gravel covered tracks
Becoming the grey running highways
Nature and industry the strongest cycle
The strangest and straightest signifiers
Of nature’s outliers we call humanity
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
The gambit snaps leaving the boat all slack
With the whispering grey winds above
No doves, no doves
And the sailors all clasping their hands tight
As the maids make the night
More peaceful for all in their sight
Children play with their apple pies which were made
With care and magical obsession
For mother was never there
No she was never there
In the Fall or in the late of May
With this the household suffered many long years
Years that would never be thought of as
Successful
But what is success?
What does it smell or taste like?
But the burnt taste of ash flicked from one's former self,
But the after taste of charred burnt and buttered toast,
But the first wind when one opens the morning door to step outside.
We, oh what a word is we, used by a young man
That has seen some things but not everything
Oh and to see everything
One would be a fool to think and talk that way
That is why there are the roads unmade by man and God
That is why there are trees unplanted and yet to be grown
That is why there are flowers yet to picked
And young women yet to be licked
Fortune marries itself to itself under a wedlock flower garden
As all the children of all the towns
Are slowly rising from their beds
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
What is love?
Love is when I look into your eyes and see my tomorrow.
No, what is love?
Love is the ability to see hope through my own eyes,
to see rainbows and to touch on skies,
love is the ability to recognize that there are,
yes, there are;
so many books unread,
so many souls untouched,
so many seeds unplanted,
so much success unattended,
so much, oh so much, left to be done,
love isn't always intimate,
love is being able to stand up for yourself so much,
that when they try to tear you down,
when they try to take you to the bin,
you can still manage to utter, "I am still a brand".
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
Suffering,
Like light rain,
Loud as thunder,
Alone like wind about the face.
I know it
As an empty bed,
Made, but not slept in;
An unplanted garden
Left empty on the plate.
Don't tell anyone
How you feel,
How we suffer
The agony alone.
There's an occasional text
To remind one of lonliness,
Especially around twelve o'clock.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
How endearingly the flowers are held
In the arms of the nurturing soil;
Yet I'm condemned to walk without Love,
Wearied and spent by this hopeless toil
Confined behind bars of loneliness
I observe Love running wild and free;
What crime could warrant such punishment?
Even Hell knows no such agony
As the newborn babe that cannot speak
Cries out helplessly for what it needs,
So I cry for a harvest not granted,
. . . I cry for the unplanted seeds
And will Love's words remain unspoken?
Now the waves of Terror rise and fall!
Shall my heart stay an idle harbor . . .
Unworthy to be Love's port of call?
May 18, 2022
May 18, 2022 at 6:51 PM UTC
empty promises are full
filled with unplanted flowers
by the voices of our loved
the seeds whisper ***** words
that are used against us
they are manipulation
in its most exquisite form
we are completely blinded
we are fooled to think it’s love
let me tell you a secret
empty promises are not
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 5:52 AM UTC
Like trying to find a leaf
In a forest of thoughts
Living in a world of emotions
Where the wind will talk
Searching til the cold of winter grows
When the leaves all fall
We lose all hope
Instead of the one that calls home
Only to realize we are the seed
Unplanted to live free
Yet caged in our minds from a fire that seeks
Reversing my mind
Rebuilding a heart
Forever I dream
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
feeling trapped but i am not confined
all of my fears inside my mind
can't scream, can't run, nowhere to hide
alarms are blaring, i'm dressed in white
i'm choking, i'm falling
i don't know why
the sky is blue, birds are singing
i'm treated well but my ears are still ringing
i'm running as far, as far as i can
from all that is good, from a stand-up man
still, nothing is wrong
but the alarms keep going
it could be a false alert but i won't risk not knowing
as i am looking back on all the bridges i've burned
and nothing has changed, not a lesson was learned
my heels are callused, my tears run dry
i tread onward
leaving behind
the birds and the sunshine and flowers that may bloom
for the fear i may **** them, i presume
so the seeds go unplanted and i'll sit in the rain
because it hurts way less
when you're prepared for the pain
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
The wind blows.
Tracking, violating, a little train on its way
to the E island for the ninety-fourth time this day
in this infinitesimal airport, this enormous node
converged of weaves of space,
meaning collided.
A young woman gazing somewhere not special,
until my sight aligned with hers: rail unravels
its skeleton as the train forwards
only as bitten by the steal heaviness, that
guises dumb voyagers, a heavy lightness
inside.
Tapped by sound, a haphazard feeling of mind, I
percept couples prattling in native English
from scattering finches called home
Drifting away or reflowing towards,
adjacency suspends in lenses of all.
Afraid
to envision the scent of seeds unplanted,
to dwell on questions without an answer,
to defy gravity,
I know you are too.
The wind blows.
Departing with my hue of strength found in all that I lacked,
a sprawl of bouncing breeze leaves my tune beneath the rail.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 1:51 PM UTC
After years of wandering alone
hearing mountains moan into
the sunset, uninhabited beaches
spread into the ocean like the
arch of the moon
I stand at your door,
sopping wet and weary
back bent from carrying eighty
litre backpacks across ancient
roads that only the locals
knew
I said to myself, I have found me
as the roots of the trees arched
around my feet, their rough arms
folding around me, the earth
moving to the beat of my heart
the wild bird song stinging
my eyes with tears
I said to myself, I have found me
but you stand their
arms outstretched
the laces of your shoes still untied,
(and it still infuriates me!)
the smell of vegetables, rudely unplanted
roasting in a metal ***
as my head moulds into your shoulder
like tar
No, you say,
you found your way back to me
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 3:24 PM UTC
What if you were given the choice of living
an alternate reality?
In a strange forest, a labyrinth of bark doors.
A life where your dreams are radiant diamonds seen.
Would problems crumble like twigs upon the forest floor?
Or does always exist a veil of unimagined terror's sheen.
A false peace.
Some memories refuse to easily fade, would thoughts
from the life you abandoned, permissionless, invade.
You will exist extremely haunted by
your unfulfilled deeds and unplanted seeds.
Make the life you already have hold meaning.
Live the days you are given
with the lustre of someone actually
abandonlessly living.
The wind was lust that day.
Change lies within the morning rays.
Be who you are
In the life you have chose to stay.
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 7:14 PM UTC
Like a confetti of flies trouble arise.
People come against like a plague of locust
Sparkled tear gleaming to nirvana’s kindness
The stupendous unfitting of my unenterprising, undignified soul, frigid memories takes a toll, expectations of seed unplanted by the waste said I stand daunted and lost.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC