"unpolished" poems
I stumbled upon you
Like a child
that finds a pretty stone
Bewildered by your presence
I sat and admired
Counting your cracks
Caressing what makes you glitter
You stood infront of me
Bold and beautiful
Like nothing I'd ever seen
And as you gave me your attention
I think I misconstrued your intentions
I wanted to put you in my pocket
But you said no
So there you sit
Perfectly unpolished
A love
I can only visit
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC
Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.
A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.
A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.
A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.
But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.
Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
like the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
The Great Barrier Reef
A beauty born out of rock and sand
Seldom touched by human hand
An image of beauty
Slowly demolished
By the unpolished
The Great Barrier Reef
An unexplained bleaching
Its beauty compelling,
Its color expelling.
It lays in pain,
Forever longing a voice.
The Great Barrier Reef
It burns with heat
A half now surrendered
To the changes from above
A feeling unknown
Whirlpools surging
Destroying all we’ve known.
The Great Barrier Reef
She’d given up
Hope.
The destruction will never stop,
Her perseverance now lost.
But maybe someday,
The world will once again live in peace.
The Great Barrier Reef
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
Hello Chicago
Flat carpet-town of corn meal
steel spears at the northern junction
of Cahokia and some unknown dream
No lillies grow here sir,
no tulip fields
though there are many Dutch
a little up north
Wisconsin, dontcha' know?
Family blood rains through the Chicago river
named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder
wanders
with the roaming buffalo
I sat at the top of Sears
(Willis)
Tower and peered into the foggy distance
and made out the shores of Michigan
through Indiana
the leftover rains of a continental freeze
churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries
and bowels
of today's earthly body
And when we drove in from O'Hare
in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways
counting down the streets
thinking maybe they'll go all the way to
Mississippi
just a long row of
Concrete
I saw the brick tower
of a decrepit Frito-lay plant
where they cooked their corn and potato
into succulent
can't eat just one
little snacks
for the whole of america
to enjoy in backyard barbecues
and convenience stores
and grocery outlets
All across the planet
Now with the trucks they come and go
up to and whizzing past Chicago
on to greener states with greater relief
with hills and lakes and winding streams
Different sections of the sculpture
Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts
quaking and breaking into tiny stones
a monumental David
cracked in the gallery
bird **** corroding the silicates
unpolished and immortal
words
Chicago!
oh you mighty city you
built from sod and sweat and dew
of new morning
I see your towers
you dreamer, you
But your towers are in Dubai,
and Shanghai
now
The world moved on
and forgot everything about
that magnificent mile
burned to make you earn
new toys and fancy things
from far beyond your winding river streams
But you didn't die
amazing, how much they tried
to rust you out
to bleed you dry
no,
Chicago,
you keep your ***** rivers flowing
all the way to the Mississippi
flanked by modern Roman concrete
all the way to the great green sea
out into the puddle that surronds
the Amerigo
Chicago
don't you give up that river dream
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
Jane the economy toaster
Was cheap as appliances go
Her unpolished sides were all greasy
And as grey as suburbanite snow
The edge of her slot was all melted
And her tray was encrusted with crumbs
Her lever was missing a handle
And would nibble at fingers and thumbs
She lived at the back of a cupboard
With some rusty old pans and a spider
In the gloom she would dream that somebody
Would hammer a muffin inside her
That some special son-of-a-baker
Would fill up her dusty old holes
With croissants and baguettes and bagels
With waffles and tea cakes and rolls
But alas with her family broken
The whisk and second-rate kettle
Her owners replaced the whole set
With something more classy in metal
And so in her murky wee crevice
She wept and she twiddled her ****
She twitched her lever with envy
Of the toaster that lives by the hob
Jane faded away and she vanished
But in silicone heaven she boasts
That she's Jane the economy toaster
The maker of muffins for ghosts
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Just because they don't wolf whistle when you enter a room
Doesn't mean you're ugly, they're just oblivious to your beauty
The fact that you think differently
Doesn't mean you're dumb, your intellect is simply extraordinary
Dear friend, don't throw it all away
All because of some unfortunate soul who didn't ask you to stay
They're the one's missing out, because they refused to dig through all the trash
To find the treasure.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
You are me
A diamond in the rough
and an unpolished gem
Rough around the edges:
sparkles hidden by worn
patches of life
Lost in the hum drum
of broken hopes and dreams
separated by stretches of land;
yet somehow, united on a whim
You are me
A mixture of soils and faiths
A terra cotta ***
planted with seeds of hope
You are the stem
to my blooming petals
Grounding me, nourishing me
together we are the Earth's rose
You are me
Hummingbirds of hope
and lovebirds in the spring
We are a paradise of believes
in an ocean sparkling blue
filled with all our
dreams come true
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
my cat bit my earphones
i am a person who commutes everyday with my earphones on. i listen to music and i dance to it. doing what seem to be small jerks to the public but a series of big and grand moves in my head. i was a dancer.
but my cat bit my earphones.
i hum the tunes ever so softly only to find out the stares from the people i ignored the whole ride, could hear me. i was a singer.
a silent performer.
for the audience of none.
and yes, my cat bit my earphones.
i am a person who can’t live without it. i listen to music and i zone in. i cancel all the thoughts in my head and just be. in the midst of beats, melodies, harmonies, and lyrics i was at peace. the maximum volume became my version of quiet.
and yet my cat bit my earphones.
the cheapskate in me stops me everyday from buying a new pair even if in exchange i’d have to embrace a new kind of quiet.
the quiet shared by the people i commute with:
the roaring engines, the horns of cars following no beat at all, the shouting of the barkers and conductors rapping with no flow. i hear everything. i was a listener.
a loud performance
for the audience of one.
all because my cat bit my earphones.
i blame my cat everyday for this punishment. i love my cat but sometimes i wish she could pay for it or even apologize for that matter. but i have no choice but to continue my everyday commute without my earphones.
**** my cat bit my earphones.
the thoughts i can’t mute when i commute now screams loudly begging me to listen. begging me to write them down. begging me to finally piece together all the words i know will make sense when given time. i am a writer.
i just can’t help myself but think that my cat bit my earphones.
now i am a person who commutes everyday without my earphones on. i listen to my head and i feel it. putting together ideas and emotions that may seem unpolished to me but could be something great to the public once heard. i am an artist.
a performer.
for the audience, i’m the one.
all because my cat bit my earphones.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 5:02 AM UTC
comely, maybe
but not beautiful
my features are as round as vowels
and I carry the moon in my hips
I am an unpolished beauty
smooth pebbles resting at the bottom
of a cold clear stream
with an empty purse
imagination
my only currency
in this world
I am a shrinking violet
occasionally a rose
february-white
caught in your button-loop
long-stemmed red roses
stalk runways
hollywood bombshells
are bubbly as champagne
and full of flesh and light
but *** sans love
is still an empty bathtub
whatever happened to pin-up girls
long cigarette holders
and muted photographs?
I am distorted
in the fish-eye view
of the modern lens
in my fantasies
I am no longer sand and loam
I glow like a tall slim candle
though I am often numb and dumb
and my girls are as absent
as long lost unicorns
I am the bohemian princess
I travel through foreign lands
clothed in exotic costume
a jewelled headdress, and
indian pyjamas coloured sapphire,
turquoise and cayenne-red
my feet are near bare
and my hippie hair
is a mass of blonde curls
I take a sojourn in
southern california
warm desert air
soft against my skin
I surf in the salty sea
held buoyant by the waves
a sunset stains the sky tangerine
the palm trees
black against the orange light
click teasingly in the breeze
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
are you
the slightest bit
of my favourite old
marigold?
yes, you were
you were marigold all around
bloomed awake all year round
but my beloved summer bloom
left my heart a bit too soon
marigold and its fair beauty
is not as pretty
as i always knew they would be
marigold and its golden locks bloom free
was never fragrant
as i always believed it would be
marigold fitted in early morning's gown
was never sweet
as honey tainted were their crowns
you are
every bit of marigold
that slipped between my bedroom door
and in my gardens marigold tore
you are
every bit of marigold
my favourite bloom in vase displays
in bundles of little amber bouquets
and so do my marigolds wilt fast
golden yellow will be
unpolished brass
these soils take them home
back as seeds in beds of river foams
"goodbye to my
-beloved marigold"
is what i should've said
a long time ago
-
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC
She is all kinds;
Of stunning,
Exquisite intrigue;
Sultry crude substance,
She is bequeathed of delicate allure;
She is,
Raw beauty;
Unpolished titillating elegance,
Unfettered natural charm;
She is provocation,
Captivating distraction;
Deviation of one's resolve,
Without so much as a casual glance;
Riveting seduction,
A Mona Lisa of subtle sweet temptation;
Yet unpolished,
She shimmers and radiates through the haze;
Unlike fool's gold she is genuine tangible truth,
A magic act of unquestionable splendor;
Waiting lurking smoldering essence,
She is --
Rapture divine; beyond words...
© okpoet
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
It's a perfect day
Yeah it's made just to play an acoustic
But the first one
With roots with the frame of a huge stick
And it's just for
You it's ingrained oh with the name of The One and straight from
An unpolished and untamed platonic love so here it comes
A song prior to the Vinaccian fame because baby I'm
A pharmaceutical part-time musical carpenter of the heart and the
The first verse in reverse comes words we've never heard
Like a message from the best and it's a version for the birds
Where infancy's re-lived
To speak of infantry's a kid
And the reviver speaks Malayalam-sans and baby then he says
"It's the way I am and it's my way man"
Maybe you hear it
Girl I humor and I do it when I want you
Maybe incoherent
But I'm fluent in the music to taunt you
To be your pioneer
Oh it's like fuses to my ears 'cause
I'm deaf with nothing left
But yeah the music you can hear and
I lose it when I'm with you my dear so
Maybe you hear it
I humor and I do it when I want you
Baby incoherent
'Cause I'm fluent in your music to flaunt you
Oh you hear it
Girl I humor and I do it when I want you
So incoherent
But I'm fluent in the music to taunt you
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
The story goes: A sad poet sat
beside the unpolished fireplace
immersed in the dying fire
and began with would be heres.
Such tragedy choked me when you set off toward the horizon.
And I knelt gasping, gasping for breath.
Begging for a last look, before death.
I burned in depth.
You spat flowers, moving away
giving a shadowed smile
And an empty love letter.
I dearly wished for better.
There was no better.
There however, was an end
to the rise and fall of my chest
I bet you thought it was for the best.
Twenty years of solemn dysfunction
and morbid melancholy.
Darling! Listen to my ifs and buts
silly and dramatic cuts through my throat.
Believe! For a moment watch close
my insane heart would still beat
if you were here, by the fireplace now
I could make a perpetual vow
to speak your soft heart only.
I hate confessing I feel broken and lonely.
But I'd do anything
And I'd do everything for you.
to come back and do
all I thought impossible
but possible with you..
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
Almost
by Michael R. Burch
We had—almost—an affair.
You almost ran your fingers through my hair.
I almost kissed the almonds of your toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost contemplated using Nair
and adding henna highlights to your hair,
while I considered plucking you a Rose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost found the words to say, “I care.”
We almost kissed, and yet you didn’t dare.
I heard coarse stubble grate against your hose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost called me suave and debonair
(perhaps because my chest is pale and bare?).
I almost bought you edible underclothes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost asked you where you kept your lair
and if by chance I might ****** you there.
You almost tweezed the redwoods from my nose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
We almost danced like Rogers and Astaire
on gliding feet; we almost waltzed on air ...
until I mashed your plain, unpolished toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost was strange Sonny to your Cher.
We almost sat in love’s electric chair
to be enlightninged, till our hearts unfroze.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
Keywords/Tags: Almost, love, lost love, loss, lost, relationship, relationships, hesitation, procrastination, hesitancy, vacillation, near, near miss, nearly, close call, miss you, missing you, missing, loneliness, lonely
Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 8:54 AM UTC
Savages
The sting of your words concentrated
at my left temple,
As cold as a barrel
awaiting the blow.
These wounds have torn me apart.
So many hands have
Snatched away my substance until
all I am reduced to is bone.
Savages,
cave dwellers,
ready to run like a cannibal
With my heart
in your hands.
How can I go on aiming my arrows in midair?
Hitting nothing,
going nowhere,
relentless but hopeless.
My identity is formed in your merciless hands
and ignorant eyes
which see beyond the petty and toxic names
you throw at me.
Didn’t I coax your wounds?
Wasn’t I there?
Didn’t I let you lay your head on my lap,
and tickled your back?
But now I realize you eat your two helpings
of manipulation and a vindictive
Side, cleaning the plate.
And with your belly full
you are fully aware
of how to trap me.
Why did I even tell you my past?
Expose my vulnerabilities?
I wanted to share so much,
I knew it would last.
But if trust is thrown around
like a grenade in the summer wind,
It will blow in my direction.
Annihilate trust for good, rip apart my soul.
You are uncivilized
While I am civilized
You are unpolished and ferocious
While I am polished and kind.
You are a savage
And I am an angel.
And one day you will be reduced to the filth
you walk on
While I will ascend to the sky
you will never see…
Kena SunGoddess Dawn 2010
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
While putting on her shoes she remembers
Father calling her from a far room to
Prepare for church, to wear her best, and to
Shine her shoes. She slips her foot into the
Shoes, placing a finger behind the heel
To lever in, the foot sinking down with
A tidy feel. I want to see my face
In the shoes, Father would call back then, and
She remembers spitting phlegm onto the
Black leather of her shoes and brushing with
The old yellow duster Mother used to
Polish the furniture. She pushes her
Other foot into the shoe, ********* it
In with ease, sensing the heel fit in snug.
She gazes at her black shoes, unpolished,
Unkempt. How Father would turn in his grave
To see them as such, she thinks, drawing a
Tongue licked finger along the toe of both
Shoes. I want to see my face in your shoes,
Father would bellow, his loud heavy tread
Entering the room twenty years before,
His hawk eyes scanning her dress, her hair, her
Shoes. And woe betide you, my girl, if they’re
Not shiny, Father said, towering tall
Over her, peering down overhead. She
Sits up staring at the door of her old
Room. No more shoe inspections; no more smacks
And smarts. Father’s silent now, Father’s dead.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC
I look out into the world and see all this beauty
And my heart runs wild
As sensations I’ve never imagined rush through it
And I want so badly to create these wonders
I want to mould beauty
So I start
Eager, young, naive
I begin
Trying, working, struggling
My teacher shows me how
I try some more
A kind soul corrects me
I continue trying
But before I show anyone my beauty
I see a version more perfect
More beautiful
And I let mine fall
I wake up
No longer young
or naïve
or eager
Doubtful,
Aged,
I wake
my dream shatters
I let it fall
And I sit and try to shed tears
But can’t for I am too old for that
I sit
watching this version of beauty pass by
I know you will say
We should not compare ourselves with others
You will say
there will always be greater and lesser people than ourselves.
But in truth
what is to be human?
To live amongst people
To be thankful when around those with less
To find it hard to do the same when those arond have more.
I know you will say
We each have our type of beauty,
One we can give,
One that will move someone,
One that will belong to someone
It will be their version of beauty
Their perfection
And I think
I decide that you are right
I pick up my pieces
Get back to work
Finally I’m done
My beauty is perfect in my eyes
I lock it away in a place where none can find it
I keep it.
Once in a while
I look at it
Once in a while
It moves me
Once in a while
It makes me smile
For none else can see it and find fault in it
None else can crush it
Since it is mine
I can never destroy it
Once in a while
It’s my perfection,
My beauty
I say all this
But I Lie to myself
For each time I look at my beauty
Look at my perfection
It looks dull
Unpolished
And no matter how hard I want to try
Always unfinished.
Though I have all the time in the world.
It hurts
I am my own worst judge.
Beauty is the reason we create
Why the vampire lives forever
Why a single note of the orchestra
freezes hearts for one breath
Why a simple melody will move souls
Yet stop the evening breeze from being felt
They are all perfect
that’s what I want
Laughable
How can I possibly get there?
What was I thinking
Assuming.
I should just let it fall one last time
For beauty is clearly not meant to come from me
Just observed,
Some are made to create beauty
I was made to be moved by it.
So what do we do then?
For I had dedicated my life to creating beauty
Now what?
Why did I have to see their beauty?
Why did I foolishly look?
For the funny part is
They are my image,
or maybe I’m the cheap imitation of theirs.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
The angels, with their folded wings
walk on silent ground
They know not whether
to weep,
or wield their sighing harps.
It seems like hearts are stones,
or jewels would they be?
Precious gems, maybe.
Of different hues,
with scattered light.
Encrusted, unpolished
by time and tears,
by things spoken and not. ...
The angels, moving forward--
with their timid halos
and shorn heads-
their soles
touching sacred ground.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
You cannot **** the yearning of a soul,
nor it's nature to pour itself out through the artist.
You cannot stop the soul from sharing the joy that it is compelled
to share with the world.
The artist is not a machine, producing nothing twice.
Producing imperfections and unpolished thoughts.
Producing art in it's purest form,
directly from the soul.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
He's like...
An abstract painting.
Someone who is
Full of color and meaning.
Defined by unique strokes and techniques,
An unpolished beauty
That I won't fix.
He's an art...
Yet to be known,
A treasure...
That I can't own.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
My support for your dreams is
as long-lasting as zinc,
because your potential to shine
is as immense as unpolished platinum.
I do not care what others might say or think,
for a tiny spark will light you up
as bright as magnesium .
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
sparkles of blue green gold
and red flow around
in four inch death machines
as they twirl in small circles
of beating rhymes and
musical conspiracies
tight jackets in plain colors
of black white with an
occasional bright color of
shy blue of daring pink
that unbutton going down
into slacks of the high quality
bodies press together in
slowing moving paces
that circle and twirl around
a hardwood floor that
clicks with all the death machines
steps and shiny scuffed
unpolished foot aches
holes of endless happiness
that go on forever
never ending in
bright happy colors as
pairs of two fly seamlessly
in a circle around
a glass slipper belonging to no one
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Kali, make me an implement of your final cruelty and wisdom
Where there is motion, let me slow the vibration
So that your senses might attune to stillness
So that you might destroy my innocence and abolish my existence
May Kali Yuga swallow every form
May the myriad wonders go rushing, gushing thru your fangs
May the birth pangs of tomorrow chase the fortune of today
May the endless hours be abolished in calamity
Teach us to acknowledge the concrescence of our essence
Show us finality of form
Destroy the walls of every home—for we have willed it
Forever in a vacuum
May there be no sound of seasons
May every reason fall to chaos
You have made us in your image
Teach us to recognize
Where there is form, void;
Where there is truth, deception;
Where there is certainty, a cosmic pun;
Where there is reality, hallucination;
Where there is touch, neglect;
Where there is growth, a garden full of ashes;
You of many names: Anima, The Serpent Mother, Blessed Other,
Mind of Nature, Mind of Man, She Who Can, She Who Is, Spider Woman, Tao
Bring us to the edge of the unspeakable now
Disrupt our petty play
Absolve us from decay
Amazing how we’ve come so far
And are still so far apart
Everything is natural
I tell myself
But then
What makes us so strange?
Something here is strange
We seek to make it known
Like a deadbeat injuring himself
On the job
In Tennessee
Subject to
Endless repetition
In the marble quarries
Of old Athens
We copy what is known
Expecting praise
While cities of the night
Reveal an ancient face
The body is the portal
The world is but a riddle
On the stone cells of
A tomb
Golden wax
Breeds life
From the base of a great tree
Where an old woman
Sings in praise of Kali Yuga
Calls the pasture to her hand
And all the humming things
Come forward
Blind & obedient
Like unpolished flesh
The drapery billows w/
No motion
Sends the eyeballs off
In search of internal shadows
Where the Other waits
Where it always has
Where it will be confronted
Where it will be embraced
Where it will be known
Or die to our division
& cover up our genitals forever
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
Unpolished and in need of work, you found me and took me in. You focused my reason for being into a path of accomplishment. You were patient and gave me direction. You watched and waited as I resisted the changes that you made in me. Slowly and subtly you influenced me. You gave me a chance when others would not. You believed in me and saw what others could not. In the end, you stepped aside and let me shine. You did not take the spotlight but let it shine on me. A polished gem taken from a diamond in the rough into something more that I could ever imagined I could be.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC