"unrelentingly" poems
A sign of desperation
Of envy, of misery, of dejection
Of hopeless yearning for nothing lifelong,
As almost everyone can barely notice.
Worldly desires, oh futility!
Images of true vainglory
Captives of fake reality
Stuck in their reverie
Of exaltation and flattery
Fishing for praises so badly
Insensitively, so unrelentingly
Without a thought or two.
What do you hear? What do you see?
These people sound so thirsty
Of approval and regard and dignity
Capricious predisposition, tomfoolery!
Looking for love and delight
For honor and respect and might
For grandeur and luxury
For anything but worthless beauty,
For a way not to be left behind or aside.
What a surrealistic find!
Amuse me; let the world drool for thee,
But like a century-long malady,
Such an absolutely incurable affliction
It is nothing but merely, purely,
Just as trivial as this poetic entry,
Vanity.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
She took in the light
Of flashlights
As though a sun
Warming her
To perfection
Her feline smile
Unmoved for hours
Despite her heaving breaths
Unrelentingly fed
To the fading bulbs
Where she waited
For him
In the dim
Until the door opened
And he
Walked in
Lifting her
As he sat down
Laying her on his lap
In his chair
By the window
Where he
Brushed her
To sleep
Just once more
Once more
In the golden glow
He had seen before
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
Brother, you told me once you were scared
to have a daughter.
You knew this when you baby-sat
a baby girl with your wife,
and you, a former American Army infantryman
melted and was brought down in a way
that the guns you faced in Afghanistan never could.
She’ll be my princess, I remember you saying.
A little girl all dressed in pink,
whatever she’ll ask for, you'll give it.
You were relieved when the first child
you and your wife had was
a baby boy, but to be honest,
you melt all the same,
even 9 months later.
But I’ve always wanted to ask,
“Why are you afraid to have a daughter?”
You know the stories how our mother gave birth for the first time
and how she labored in the car
when she drove herself to the hospital.
And how your pregnant wife came home on her lunches from work
and would cry on the floor because her back hurt so bad,
But she still sat up and went back to work--
the same way our older sister cried on her first day back
from maternity leave and parted with her baby boy for the first time,
the same way Mom went back to work when you and Dad deployed.
What you know of women is that we’re strong,
that we dry our tears and continue on with the world.
Really what we do is keep the world spinning
with the force of how much we love.
So anything, you give your daughter
will be returned in multitudes.
You were taught the same way to love that I was--
instinctively and unconditionally and unrelentingly.
And maybe you’re afraid that your daughter
won’t be able to walk home alone at night
or that no one will listen to her,
And you know this is a poem from your younger sister.
So savor that I’m saying you’re not wrong,
because I don't know when that will happen again.
Your daughter may have to work harder to be heard
and to keep herself safe than any son you have.
But know no matter, how strong she is or how hard she works
that **** still happens
and it won’t be her fault.
and you know because you have two sisters
and you’ve heard our stories.
Statistics say that 1 in 3 women experience ****** or physical violence.
We have one President, who bragged on a Hollywood Access bus
about grabbing women by the *****
because they let him
and because no one stopped him.
Brother, be scared of the men who would hurt your daughter,
but brother, don’t be scared to have a daughter,
Because she will love you the same way
your wife, your mother,
and your sisters have loved,
that our bodies may break and tear in the doing
but we will choose to do it all over again.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and beyond the curb of ignoring an annoying party-acquaintance,
you step outside to feel the briefly welcoming air;
you think you'd overcome the standing hairs of your neck,
but you don't and you stay.
Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Slowly, after that last awkward smirk from your blind-date,
you reach for your cigarettes and head outside into the rather stark breeze of night,
leaving coffee for smoke, intertwined with the thin ice, that is breath.
Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and it's cold, too cold to leave the room,
and it's dark, too dark outside,
but you leave anyway because whatever stands inside is a spoiled pique unrelentingly trying to get you.
Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
a city with a past
that echoes unrelentingly
through its present
a city of whispering shadows
& tortured souls
of sharp edges
& crystallised tears
© Jacqueline Le Sueur 2016 All Rights Reserved
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
*I forget what speaks louder of you;
if it is the hunger of my lips
longing to kiss you
or the kiss waiting discretely
to be born from yours
swaying on the verge of vulnerability
I forget if it is the kiss
that tender
and irresistible
becomes unbreakable;
your soul’s assent
or if it is the words in note
the morning writes and you erase
in an innocent attempt to
hesitate your truth
pausing at its tip
or the shrug
off your left shoulder blade
that briefly masks your will
before it is abandoned
at the edge of quiet moments
when you heed without refrain
It is the candidness of silence wept
to carry the ripest, sweetest kiss
onto my wanting lips
without disturbing yours
in truth
unrelentingly
and quietly insatiable*
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Do you remember Mexico?
How old were we then, twelve?
That place was so loved
It smelled like dust and slow-cooked beans
We caught a toad
We painted dorms
El Sauzal, the willow, the willow
A beaten-up concrete playground
Bright, yellow sun
Red, sticky Fanta
Worn-in smiles adjusting to the smell of strangers
I fell in love with a Mexican boy
We didn't even play soccer together
Watched a movie in a language neither of us spoke
Climbed trees with leaves that needed a rake
Cleaned a nursery room
Told scary stories around a red campfire
Letting the world seep into our veins
Saw the dolphins when we camped at the beach
Named and re-named the tick-ridden dogs
The water was wetter
The air was headier
The sun shined more unrelentingly, more heavenly
The blisters harder-won
The rain more of a blessing
The life so much more tangible and delicious
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 7:34 AM UTC
What is beauty?
The order in Chaos as some old philosophers once thought? A shy definition. Order doesn't draw a thunderstorm in my chest like beauty can.
We are afraid of Infinity.
Afraid of what infinity means for us,
That we don't really know everything or could ever even hope to know everything. A realization that what we thought we knew is so unrelentingly more complex and storied than our brains can handle.
In fact, we don't know anything. Nothing is familiar to us except the wholly misguided notion that such a banal concept can be used to describe what we often hold most dear. Few can stand to admit that our familiarities are but grains of sand slipping through our fingers while we look out over the ocean of time.
Hold tighter and they fall faster, cup them in your hand and the wind blows them out. Only when they have all fallen do you notice how strange your hand looks in the blaze of a midday sun.
Afraid of what we mean to Infinity,
That is to say, nothing at all.
Of the nothing that we are becoming all of the time.
We cannot stop, and cannot progress.
That we are tucked into our lives and wake up not knowing whether we've just started or whether we've been here ten thousand times before or whether we are even awake.
Some are comforted by the thought that life is just one big circle, that there are high points and low points but then high points again. But no one really knows what happens when we come all the way around.
And most people are afraid that when we get back to the top, we will fall right through the loop into nothingness. We will become the last grain of sand that slips through our grasp.
We look down the foggy beach and see no end in sight, we look out over the ocean of time and see only horizon.
So Beauty then?
I am not a grain of sand, though someday I will be.
But right now I am here with you, sitting on our favorite beach in Pleasant weather.
The sun overhead, the sand between our toes, the smell of the ocean.
Scanning the horizon in hopes of seeing a whale or a dolphin or something remarkable,
But content to be here now all the same.
Our reconciliation with infinity.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 10:36 AM UTC
I anixiously wait
To feel the clawing
Of that body mania.
Reaching up for the burning
Taunt of wanton heat
You pour through my skin.
I want to have it swell
Inside so fiercely,
So unrelentingly
That it will blindingly
Consume my feather triggered nerves.
A wild animal barely contained
Inside this caged body.
Restrained passion sparking far out
As the wick of a firework.
Spin my mind into a tizzy
Tease and then give in,
And my body will melt
Like lava on the brink of
Building an island out of this.
©NDHK
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
I found you and fell instantly.
you pulled me under, an undertow in the ocean.
you washed me in your unrelentingly charm.
seductive eyes. luring hands. tempting lips.
head tilted back, mouth ajar with a heavy sigh, eyes still locked and trained on mine.
you reach your own victory,
and it’s even in your name.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
Maybe my soul fights my body so unrelentingly because
its mission doesn't fit inside.
Perhaps this
is why I cling to my loves for dear life.
Maybe my brain has to relearn its lessons so many times because
one day
I'll guide just as many people to the same
conclusions maybe
the truth is my imperfections cannot overpower the Made in Heaven stamp on my personality and perhaps
my heart is in the right place
after all.
For now,
I'll keep breathing.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Too many people are fearful, regarding
contact with The Divine; they realize
that they will be transformed by God,
but unrelentingly remain unwilling…
to make a commitment to His Kingdom.
Being identified as a Christian, grips
them with apprehension; the idea of
ridicule pierces their soul; wisdom
from God currently evades them, since
a deficiency of Faith constrains them;
with the presence of the Holy Spirit,
one is empowered to properly evince
God’s Truth for successful living.
We’re made to stand out; holy fire
within us illuminates God’s Love at
work in us with humble thanksgiving.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
I have brought this woman up
Many times in the past.
Memories transpired
Of her flaring fire.
Vivid depictions
Consuming my mind.
A handful of dust
Is all that I am left.
She has left me choking on her dirt.
She has abandoned me in hallows.
I am stranded in the realm of her empty soul.
I am starving for attention I will never receive.
It is the street I gaze at internally.
Continually, unrelentingly she beckons.
She calls me to my gradual death.
She has led me to the pinnacle of my existence.
As she has driven me into the grit of granite.
I am ground into the concrete to remain.
I am trapped in the skinning of her grasp.
Melted image of a memory branded within.
This image is one with me, as I to her.
She is entered into my spirit.
Disconnected, empty, cold.
Stretched out, worn out, thin.
She is branded in my heart.
Red welts making up her name.
She continues to peel at my skin.
Without her, I am nothing,
Yet within her I am the ghost of a stranger.
I am the whisper of a lost reminiscent.
Lost in the murky shores of time,
Vanished into the gust of a hurricane,
Swallowed into the ocean of deviance.
Swallowed by the jaws of granite,
I am digested through mess of intestines,
Mistaken for **** and thrown back out.
I am left with a handful of dust.
Memories transpired,
Of her flaring fire.
Vivid depictions
Consuming my mind.
A handful of dust
Is all that I am left.
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 7:21 PM UTC
A dysfunctional suburban family just after Rance has lost the man who was his father. After 10 yrs of depression following tragic loss of wife; he had in effect, become the
Man upstairs that Rance had cared for and enabled since he was 15.
Now he was going to los Angeles
He's 25 ,an aspiring writer and armed with a nice , newly aquired self contained R.v his dog stormy and a thirst for the knowledge that a 6 week drive from east Tennessee will bring .
Rance , Stormy and their best friend Macy go for a mid-week 3 day wilderness trip to work out the bugs.
----------- ---- ------------
All too soon it was friday morning; approaching noon, as we sat there at our campsite. Neither of us having uttered more than twenty words since we.had finished breakfast.
Neither of us; including my dog Stormy, was ready to re-enter that door we had exited two days earlier, but -due to the fact that nothing lasts forever-' the red light had turned to green , the second hand had once again started its ominous tick, tick, ticking and nobody can continue to sit at the stoplights forever ; avoiding the inevitable move ,whether forward , right or left into the flow of traffic.
Sooner or later someone or something will push up behind to honk the horn or gun the motor. Then the only thing to do is move or throw up a finger. Though; at that point--with finger or no finger thrown to the approaching fates, the moment is lost-'the future looms as that clock unrelentingly shuffled on its inevitable grind.
So we reluctantly packed up; taking us one -- long, slow, -- last look around ,as if we could actually see what it was that we were leaving behind. Then slowly and solemnly we made our way back through that door. TICK TOCK-'TICK--TOCK -- TICK.......!
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
Can we ever tread pathways which surpass the expectations of our fallibility?
Loss can be beautiful, as she pronounces her unforgiving denials, whilst solace sheds her tears of joy at the unity around the richness of nothingness.
Similarly, arrival can be likened to departure, and departure can be likened to arrival.
It is important to understand that cognitive restructuring along pathways of Celtic and sombre insight is releasing, especially when precipitation falls unrelentingly upon the skull of a dead sheep.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
I have walked my paved and beaten roads
crossed my old and new bridges
and jumped my low and high hurdles,
unrelentingly... allowing nothing...or no one
to rise before me...and tell me : you are wrong,
when, i feel it so strong...that i am right!
no reason could be saner than what I've been taught
no voice, could be more reasonable...or gentler
than those voices of my folks...my childhood...my past,
nothing, or, no one...can ever destroy...or impede
this bursting...yet tempered love within...
i let it grow, the right way i know
i let it nourish my soul,
for, it saves me...from sunrise, to moon glow...
Sally
Copyright June 16, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
'ENTRY' --I go in
'EXIT--' I get out
'VERBOTEN' I stay away
These three words ring so strong and loud
Should I stay ?
But what's this all about?
Should I get away?
Can't decide--due to my doubt
VERBOTEN
Forbidden
I don't bother to argue
Prudence--a rule that's golden
When to get out or stay in I'd know
If I do have wisdom enough
Living life is not as easy as changing your clothes
The journey is long, lonely, burdensome and unrelentingly tough
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Coming to terms with the tears,
The knife shunt into my side,
The days wasted,
And the years gone by....
Who was I, then?
Where am I now?
Beneath me the ground shakes unrelentingly,
The objective to set me falling.
My heart stands up on its own two legs,
And walks away from the strength I'd spent years rebuilding,
Only to stare at what tore it apart in the first place,
Enthralled by the fact that it's all history,
But then he just speaks to the mind,
Then he, too, joins the nostalgic glare.
Now it's as if it were yesterday.
I need not open up wounds that never even closed.
I simply forgot they were bleeding.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC
does growing up
ever hurt for you?
because for me,
it did.
i wasn't really quite prepared
for losing my shell
losing that child-like innocence ,
and losing .
but i did.
and i did it unrelentingly.
Then i lost enough to make a sea.
In that sea of everything you lost
you see yourself bobbing
on the waves.
gasping for air.
it doesn't come.
and in the sea of things you've lost,
saltwater will fill your lungs
until the sea becomes you.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 6:43 PM UTC
Betrothed to the beast,
but "warned tirelessly."
Still, she cared for the monster
he was made out to be.
With a fear filling façade he repels those
with tongues like pitchforks
and words of cleansing fire
She would tend to the wounds inflicted
upon his disfigured face, and in his arms
she was shielded and safe,
working to pry apart the scaly armor
burnt into his blackened skin.
Yet over time as his skin began to soften
so did she sharpen a hidden blade,
and one fateful night
She stabbed down deep
into his bare back
sadistically watching as he bled unrelentingly.
She fished 'round his oozing chest
and pulled out a prized heart to present.
And so she returned to the very sooth sayers
who warned her covered in red
as a monster whos enchanting mask
proved far more fatal and grotesque
than the beast she did betray.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 8:11 PM UTC
Let fractals grow beneath my fingertips so I can feel them spiral through my veins
as salt water percolates through suppurating wounds.
Let me lie supine in the open air of dysphoric intimacy
So the cold creeps through the subterranean skin of my chest
Let my blood flush my cheeks and spread unrelentingly
excoriating the flesh of my exposed body supplicating itself before the sky.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
Mass population
Overthrow
Higher elevation
Another plateau
Reach for the sky
Shoot down the stars
Strung out
Flnng out
Like Celestial garbage
From here to Mars
Constant confusion
Insanity
Distant illusions
A travesty
Calling out
In silence
What do you hear
You'll hear nothing
If it's nothing - you fear
Spaced out perspectives
Right and wrong
Mission objectives
That go right along...
... With
Increasing intrusions and suicide
Seeking Solutions that's never been tried
Some of us hope
Unrelentingly believing
That the answers do exist
Somewhere
Out there in the void
Flung out
Strung out
Just like the stars
In some kind of celestial garbage bin
Stretching from Earth...
... All the way to Mars
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
Haunted by rejection
Caged by your selfishness
Your forceful restraint of love
Knocking the air from my lungs
Without having to throw a single punch
Surrounded by star-kissed love
Reminding me of that which you refuse
That which I have refused myself
Why did I settle for this emptiness?
My heartbeat for you lessened
Each unanswered text, every forgotten call
No time made up for those tears
The loneliness that came, nothingness
Your crass words
Lightning to my gut
Crevasse-like holes you created in me
Never quite filled by drunken nights
Those words, assuming and pompous
As if you knew my heartache
Arrogant and pretentious
Downplaying the sound of my heart
Pretending you know me
Like you ever tried to know me
I was daring, courageous
Not circumventing vulnerability
Unrelentingly, unashamedly
Convinced
How worth it we are
How worth it I am
How dare you say
"Make love to me"
As if I haven't been trying this whole time
Every second I was with you
Yearning for that love in return
Your quiet rejection inflamed my heart
Creating in me a fire
Anger masked as butterflies
I thought "if only"
If only I try harder
Then
Then you will see
How beautiful it could be
Could have been
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:24 AM UTC
*** by *** my elbows fold into myself, peering through my small intestine until they articulate the undulating passage of my ileum.
My knees crumple, embedding themselves absolutely into my chest until they flatten my heart against the walls of its own cavity as it beats faster and faster into the shrinking labyrinth of capillaries, distorted by the pressing loss of space.
My mouth is filled with the gentle tang of warm spinal fluid as sinew and muscle catch in my teeth.
Indiscriminate limbs clamor out of the carnivorous spit of stomach acid into the empty spaces left by my long deserted lungs; until all of myself is cowering behind the stoic battalion of my ribs, unrelentingly upholding an assemblence of structures against the assailing inward pull of joints and fear.
Soon they crack, and the sudden consolidation of mass breaks a hole in the floor and the parasitic being of self spills through ceiling and insulation to rest in the basement.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC