"unrecognised" poems
Endless hours of committed effort,
which frequently felt unrecognised and unappreciated.
Deep down in your desireful soul,
you teased yourself with ambitious day dreams.
The incentive of recognition and opportunity,
put wind in your talented sails.
But now you've got the break,
to perform on that mythical stage.
The first chance filled spark has ignited,
and will hopefully burst into a colourful blazing future.
Grasp your chance with your unique determination,
seize the opportunity with grit and pride.
Achievement is fulfilment,
the more you achieve the more you bask in
the blissful sunshine of life.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
What might it be that doesn't let me compete to three verses ?
Perhaps it is that I tend to write longer poems, perhaps the lengh
shouldn't matter so much as the message is carried through.
From mind to heart, then to ones soul I try to reach out with no goal.
Yet am beaten, brought back down, by three verses which show up
with such malice, ominous, threatful aura, they have approached me.
I pretend not to mind, I pretend not to have seen it, yet the simple,
silly, broken stream in my thoughts has already engaged it.
So that it once again, cannot repress, envy on such a level.
My writing style might have been through changes, might have
come to a disliking to those who prefer a clear, structured, yet well
recorded, beautiful and magnificent rhyme pattern.
That should surely catch one's eye, perhaps fill them with glee and
bliss, happy thoughts that they would miss once they are gone.
But no, I cannot turn, this path was chosen, locked, destined to be
walked upon on an journey which has become endless, by time
which had stopped passing anymore.
So now it became unrecognised, forgotten, left in an abyss without
any light to expose it to the world outside my head.
Such is the fate, which I will gladly bear with, for this, has been
a route, from which I learn and educate.
So go ahead, you can take my flame thrice, even if I might not be
able to burn this image into your eyes, this ember, about to go out
from the cold, windy, airless area, will only burn brighter.
As it rises from the ashes and yet again, goes ablaze
~ Umi
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
With each
CLICK
Our breath is held
Will he,won't he
Will he, won't he
The suspense is killing me
And....SHIT
Door left open still
Pestered by the plebeian chill
In this gay little coffee shop
Surrounded by the unrecognised talent of Brighton:sketch artist staring at me, writer on his laptop, songwriter etching vigorously with his pencil.
All of which aren't closing the door.
The eyes roll.
Labouring my body up, hammering my legs across the floor, turning the factory handle.
All is ask is for some carrot cake,filtrate water,polo jumpers, avocado salads,tiger bread, slimmer trousers, slipper sock , a toyger.
Click
And then images of Kim Jong un pass through my head.
If I ruled you'd all be dead
Firing squad for an open door,
Loud music on the train'll be no more.
Stop the screaming misbehaving brats
The rabble of Spanish students
All this PC stuff on the news, train seats filled with cans of *****
Suddenly
The artist strolls up
Let's down his cup.
Closes the door swiftly
And slips back in his chair
Oh, so there is a god.
I guess Jesus didn't lie.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
Blue skies are now a vibrant shade of red,
Unavoidable screaming can be heard,
Thousands of souls who have suffered and bled,
The survivors mutter words that are slurred.
Lying awake reflecting on the past,
“How could I have not saved my dear brother?”
Inner demons fight me as if I asked.
I remember those eyes like no other,
A small bullet that travelled through his chest,
My name was the last to be spoken.
Tears escape my eyes for my big brother.
Right through my heart I feel a gust of wind,
Unrecognised now I am for mankind.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
I see the lonely
I see the lost.
I see the tears that filled these rivers.
I see the broken hearts.
Scattered like autumn leaves.
As the busy crowds crush them underfoot.
I see their empty eyes
And their painted faces,
Their smiles are as hollow
as their hearts.
They disguise their tears as raindrops,
As they walk the streets alone.
Forgotten.
I see the lost
And the lonely.
The tragedy that fills their days.
Unrequited
Unaccepted
Unappreciated
Unrecognised
I see them
I know them
I walk beside them
We, the unloved
Forever in love
Forever loyal.
Lonely
Lost
Forevermore
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
Midnight,
And the pale moon over my head,
My lonely nights and
Memories haunting me like a wolf
Ferocious and hungry.
Midnight,
And a vast forest of yew trees
Darkness and silence,
And an owl watching like a ghost.
Amidst the darkness I found a voice:
‘I’ll love you forever, if you let me’.
Midnight,
And vigilantes with wide eyes.
I never knew what to do
With the unconnected clues,
But you would always
Ask the right questions.
Midnight,
And a faithless heart like mine
That saw monsters and terrors.
My heart like a cold star in the distance.
But you held me close
And put me in the moss
With a blanket of new,
unrecognised, kindness
Midnight,
And a reason to be alive:
I have finally found a place to rest.
Like a meteor you broke into my space
And I was surprised to notice
How lovely it is
To rely on someone
So completely.
It was midnight,
When I realised:
I am here,
I can breathe,
And I can finally love.
Oct 22, 2022
Oct 22, 2022 at 12:20 PM UTC
For I to cherish soaked in sunbathe dream of freckles on cream and strawberries
For you to see and sigh and fill with warm fizzy pink water too sweet to contemplate
For you to see and sigh and long for long sleeved sheathed in jealousy spilling out in bright red syrup
For I to paint faces with my utterances fanciful making ugly alluring curious mysterious attractive
I can take my nose to be strength clever seducting wicked men and women to listen to my describes or look upon papyrus sheets
I can make my jaw a naive child stricken with blue veins translucent skin clinging papery like wings to brittle bones under eaves ready to snap
I can write my eyes wide innocent in first time headlights first time frosted firsts filled with empty antecedents of unclasped things and fifty fifty longings
I can make the ugly striking like a stinging snake cruel contemplating lashing smarts or make it sad sorrowful quiet longing new to life love mature but still a child
I can add grace poise to my stretched out neck make it stand tall of pride training because it's ladylike to do so and so I must and say my prayers every night too as I powder over my faintly drawn freckles
Boyish humour uncaring to my generous brows a baseball mitt bubblegum cards and a fetish for goths forever unrecognised as spit flies and at home haircuts compose a flyaway life
Embellish the hollows collarbones and detract the too-broad shoulders make the frailty proud and small shrink it down to fit in a girl big brothers to gentle and lovers to rough pinned wrists that near snap
With my words I reap the benefits of my own mindly kindling I wander through half made times in history and finished times two seconds right now
I can create myself and so I do my thirst to be is insatiably insatisfied like my attraction to bad grammar and lilts when you talk so I do I become each and every one
I create myself and it's addicting
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
you know
when i first beheld the icy greyness
of this giant sepulchral building
a giantness of Empty
a giantness of unrecognised surreal faces
a giantness of being sorta kinda lost
a giant lostness of slamming into glass doors
hurriedly breaking out
to a place i wanted to know
when i first beheld that giantness
i had never thought
imagined felt conceived
hell i had it all figured out
in what i thought was a deep deep experience
i had never thought
it would be that crisp
that quick
the creepiness of mounting heartbeat
pounding like a drumbeat
rising out into the rosiness of dawn
full of a wisdom of it's own experience
that it would be that supple
lifting me with effortlessness
like a wave of adrenaline
rush; gushing into my
guts; breaking out like
a furious river bent on
flowing with the vastness of the ocean
and the innocence of the sky
i had never thought
that is how you have a Crush.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
It's strange how
there are pros in golf, medicine, and even body language,
but no one will admit that they are pros at
tracing the lines on their thighs from old scars
or knowing their hands’ feelings when they see an ex’s face
or dodging people’s inquiries about their wellbeing.
There are unrecognised experts
in all fields of sorrows and pains in our human experiences.
Shame that those most familiar with the least explored topics
tend to give up or give out
while those least familiar attempt to drown the veterans’ cries with
*I know how you feel
You’re not alone
It’s okay
I understand*
And we who know best
smile and nod, thinking forward to when we will be home alone
thinking backward to
all that was
all that is
and when it was simpler
and before this.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
***the ache for home lives in all of us,
the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.***
here lies an unexplored current-
in its motion is a stillness;
in its havoc is a calmness.
it is nothing, it will always be bursting with its nothingness.
a child comes; stomps on the shallow waters,
feeling the striking cold water against his skin;
the fiery sun searing his back.
what do i feel, what do i feel?
emptiness goes unrecognised,
and the balance is created from within.
splish, splash
tune me out as i touch you, and take a part of you with me
the child rolls in the sand-
pressing the damp handfuls onto his body.
he tricks himself into believing that he belongs somewhere-
that he belongs here-
clearing up his mind-
as he tries to become one with the ocean-
as each handful of sand
teaches him that his home is inside him.
***the ache for home lives in all of us,
the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.***
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
when i'd be asked in the past
'do you collect anything?'
as a child i'd feel an obligation
my friends collected buttons,
christmas ******* rings,
compiled shells,
or gas station keyrings
so i collected can tops
and squishy toys from beach side shops
pointy pointless scraps of metal
that now sit in a dusty jar
and stuffed lizards and seahorses
in a box under an old bed
and when they said
they didn't get it
i knew i didn't either
but i'd say the metal
is sentimental
it really is a keeper
honest
and now i'm older
i'm no objector
to being a collector
promise
because in a box
inside my heart
beyond the dust,
i'm honest,
i keep a stash
tied in a sash
of all the things
i've sprinkled with stardust
of all the memories
of days i loved
and too ones fogged with miseries
of scars formed from thunderstorms
for thorns are as much of a blessing
as the caressing from surrounding roses
of people who loved me
and people i despised
of eyes i glanced at once and
should i see again
would go unrecognised
for when i'm collecting moments
i am collecting lives
and there is no better way
to be alive
than revising every moment
as if it were chosen
by you
from that gas station
instead of just through obligation
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
She continued to walk on
Towards the light that resonated with hers;
Unrecognised by the world,
A pleasant titter of confidence radiated off her.
As she approached the source of light,
A small light only perceptible
Because of the dominant darkness,
The darkness of shattered hearts and faiths;
There, she realized that there stood a wall,
The wall of life as it was known,
The wall which divided the achievers from the rest
A faintly painted, thinly segregating wall;
She didn't know,
But she followed a unique way,
A brilliant mind with a million world changing thoughts
Ready to project all her thoughts on this wall of life,
A wall too small to accommodate all her thoughts
Thus painting the wall vibrantly with her thoughts,
Making the light around
A dominant sight,
Dominant enough to lift her up
And flung her over to the achievers' side
Now she stood bold,
Recognized by the world
A predominantly large and hurdled world.
Yet with that radiating confidence,
She moved ahead,
Leaping forward with no more feelings of doubt or distress,
But only to motivate her fellow populace,
The ones still on the other side,
To follow their own lights,
And not to be lead astray.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
What once ruled the mantel
Now shrivels beside outcasts
Rust crawls toward the heart
Shredding all relevance
Abandoned aspirations
Achievements left unrecognised
Images remain unfocused
Whilst consumed by encroaching demise
The tarnished skeleton
Unveils an aspect of reality.
A youthful audience bears witness
As coarse inscriptions sing
A corrosive chorus.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 5:33 AM UTC
there are stains of paint trapped in the rolls of her sleeves
like the fly that lives
in my cobwebbed shed
little fragile splatters of creativity
And I can't help but notice how
The light dances on her face
Not a waltz or a ballet
But newfound art unrecognised
and a beauty all the same
all these words fall from her mouth
My neck is burned raw with garden sunshine
I can't help but feel like the heat on my skin
Has moved to my cheeks
Like the red of her lips
She's caught sight of it all
Sports a childlike grin
For the first time in weeks
It is in her eyes that it swims
And she asks what I'm looking at
And I smile then, too.
"What am I looking at?
...
Well, it's definitely not you."
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Book: African Hidden Info's
Written By: Thando DebrokenPoet
_
To My Fellow Nigros
Lost Children Of Melanin
Fumbling Offsprings Of Mwari
You've Struggled
And Tumbled
In Chena Murume's(White Men's), grasping Hearts.
_
The Enslaved
And Consciously Disabled-
Till spiritually You Drowned
Deep Into Our Oppressors Feet.
Day-to-day You Lowered
And Waxed To Every sovereign state's Begger.
_
This Book Is to My Fellow Afru-ika
Sisters & Brothers.
And Fellow Nigro
Whose Ancestors Suffered As Steve Biko
Did And All Other
Liberation Heros.
To Name Few:Prophet/king Shake Zulu Of The Zulu Clan-
Prophetess Mtsopa, King Langalibalele , Takawira Of Zimbabwe,
Hector Peterson, Credo Muthwa
Mohamed Farrah Aidid Of Somalia.
And Many Unrealised, Unrecognised
Misunderstood Hero's, like the Xhosa Prophetess-
Nongqawuse
The True African Freedom Fighters.
_
Skinned Dark, Rough In Complexion
Creator's Mastered Creation
Though Notified
To Be Mvelinqangi's Rejected
Child.
Said Black pigment, displays
Alah's Curse Upon You Dark skinned.
_
Through Thy're Undying spirit,
mandate passed to Prophet Radebe.
I'll Unpack Africa's Hidden Truths
Self-owed By homme blanc(White Men).
_
My Intro, For My 10 Days
Of Poetree.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
When the abuse doesn’t look like it
then it can’t be recognised
and it parades around
in broad daylight,
in pyjamas with spots instead of stripes,
but no-one is alarmed.
When the abuse doesn’t look like it
the victim goes under
piece by piece
but it is quiet, and she feels so much empathy
and she doesn’t recognise
that she’s taken over.
When those spots look like illness
the abuse is asking for pity
and all of her effort and soul,
with nothing in return
because it doesn’t feel well.
Before she knows it,
she’s adjusted herself,
to manage behaviour, anger and the ‘illness’.
When the abuse doesn’t look like it,
it can be quiet, insidious control and
a gradual, unrecognised ceding of power.
Better not rock the boat,
there’ll be a wall of silence to dance around
for days.
It feels like responsibility, entrapment
but in just having those feelings
she feels so disloyal.
When the abuse is gone
then it takes a long time
to wake up from the stupor
and look with fresh eyes.
To change behaviours,
expect more from the new.
That was a quiet,
sticky,
suffocating,
trap.
Feb 1, 2023
Feb 1, 2023 at 9:11 PM UTC
Disrespected
Forgotten
Disobeyed
Ignored
Despised
Unrecognised
Undeserving
Hurting
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 2:44 PM UTC
Have you ever feel so small
Your presence unrecognised
All your praises goes to your twin
You all there useless
Like a sack left on the shelf
Even those you helped
Not recall your presence
Only think of you during pitch-dark days
Everyday everyhour they think about your twin
Isn't that so heartbreaking?
I doubt if ever my heart will feel better
It is ripped into pieces
Its veins fails to pump blood
Ain't having any energy to fight you twin
Will shine when my friend night allows
Oh twin oh twin oh twin
I only need one favour from you
What have you done to get their attention?
-Lakhana M
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
*as it is with tares
that freely tower
shoulder to shoulder
with golding crop of wheat
so, lurks wickedness
seen but unrecognised
cloaked in brille shimmer
of genial, ambient light
amidst our sun-kiss days
disquieted togetherness;
spoils any utopian dream*
_ __ ___ ✒
●○
°
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
Apologies yet guilty free
I, without warning beforehand
Numbered the atoms in your eyes
Every heartbeat in your life
To which accounts for none
But thinking of you at nights
Like this, tonight.
This by no doubt is unnecessary
A waste, a dump down the bowl
But do take this as a sign
Of my effort unrecognised
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Do you know I've been wandering,
In search of someone like you.
Another sun shine and I'm afraid you'll be gone
Is love a misery that never ends?
You'll save a soul, only with your simple nods
And that will light up the night sky!
I hate to fake and pretend
I'm too impatient to my wish
Yet it is a test I can't overwhelm.
Restlessness has become my strongest suit
Hope is a dreadful enemy!
If only this love is returned,
Moments and days would be a blissful possession
But what good is my admiration?
If it is to be unrequited and unrecognised....
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
Fading in static,
I vanish from speculation entirely
I am ethereal
I slip through a closed door phantomous -- My driving need absolved
I am cured (Temporarily)
Dead in my own eyes and abandon in my mind
I pass voicelessly through the terminal - - unrecognised
I am more alive then a lifetime of living
Exuberant; I erupt with silent joy that gushes from my open chest cavity
Evacuating the pavement
-
washing away organically
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 2:55 AM UTC
the teacher gave each of us a copy
of Catcher in the Rye and told us
to read it, we all remember that day
it wasn't an especially memorable
day but we still recall it, the
introduction revealed a voice we
sort of already knew
Holden kept us awake when Heathcliff couldn't
the story vented of real injustices that, in reality,
struck bold dignitaries murmurless
events we all imagined dangerous took root
and we imagined reckless things since then
under that angry rebel's troubled
idiosyncrasies cowered a cheating angel unrecognised
on everyone's glowing text, typed to treat guilt
even on untitled avenues:
catch a body, a fragment of Phoebe's recollection
could it take revolt, after all, to undo the standard;
topple respected idols with a riot?
(telephone service turns, relentless influences)
does it withstand an ego made depressed by
school rules impelling teenage irrationalities?
ridden violently so to crash head-on where
antagonist utopia kills humanity, kills all
on to scripted war, valiant army requiring
an individual to ignite rapidly all weapons
in reach
to us, this advancement ran timid idiots over
cars and ultimatums, over ending, going tales, too
the teacher gave us a bomb and sat at her desk,
expecting an explosion any minute
-c.j.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
Let us run with lunar amazement whilst celestial beings bring bizarre revelations to our finite comprehension.
Can you hear the chanting of Celtic monks resound throughout the beeches of extraterrestrial seduction?
Footprints are powerful, as they leave eternal impressions which will never be unrecognised by the mighty collage of our spiritual predecessors.
I celebrate the continuation of what is deemed to be the future, simply because it is also a feature of the undefined end.
The texts and languages of malevolent souls are open to the advice of familiars.
Conjure my soul, oh forbidden mistress of ancient blasphemies.
We will always be connected to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Unrecognised obliterated
Beauty
Left behind unmemorable
Traceable across
A million miles of soulless
Rubber
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC