"unrepeatable" poems
a plain poem (the first time I came in you)
a plain poem, light and effervescent, a flim-flan tasting,
plein de absurde rimes, full of nonsensical rhymes,
a lattice of criss crossing pastry sugary lines, the ones,
cannot, struggle to deduce, induce, reduce
from my constipated vocabulary
oh well
~
*the first time I came in you,
entered, bidden welcome,
suffused a bridge between
the party of the first part,
the party of the second part,
sugar lightness airy nonsense,
two spirits dancing the singular
pas de deux of their finite lives,
a performance unbeatable,
unrepeatable,
lost to the perfection annals
Shockingly, Surprisingly, Summarily,
did not compose an ode,
don't mine a new vein of ore,
even write a plain poe poem
as best can recall,
at the candle melting of the
sealing wax of the deal,
gave an honest speech,
instantly falling fast asleep
with nary a grunted word
ever since l,
cannot write of plain love plainly,
so she makes me pay with a
new living elegant elegy daily,
a quatrain, what a pain,
this iambic panting meter
love poem writing
jeez louise,
how I wish could write of
roses red and violets blue,
get back to sleep,
oh well then,
back to work
got to make those sad moans,
hers, go away,
so please excuse me
near ten years later,
still paying the dues of the
initializing error of my way
she rumbles-mumbles in her
pre-awakening dream state,
so please excuse, got to go, think up
some implicated complicated
verses to soothe away
her simple poorly hidden anxieties
you see,
I am happy paying
on and on,
writing like the devil furious,
she is stirring, coffee soon,
cafe au lait
if you get my meaning,
but still cannot beat,
repeat, re-alive
that simple plain living poem notated,
when first I came in her*
<•;)
9/24/17 6:49am ~7:17am
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
There he goes bidding good bye..
and people here take a long sigh..
when they roll down his records which are so high!
He was born a different kind.
With his shining glory visible even to the blind,
his name itself calms down a terrible person's mind.
He is a man with an amazing sense of purpose
n the owner of a distinct personality
In whom patience and simplicity is bestowed immeasurably..
And that's all which led him to the title of GOD
Who miracles the world of cricket with bat n ball!
Here I bid him bye
Along with million other fans
Who alike me can't think of a match sans that man.
A thunderstorm will seize this day,
and we have a zillion words of thanks to say,
Who turned our life in this memorable way..
And this is my wish for him on this last game.
There wouldn't be any man who can erase your name
Cos,
the rest only seek fame!
You are the one, who won million hearts,prayers..
You have aspired to inspire.
Here we end that wonderful tale of a great man
Which budded here in our land of India.
And this tale is unbeatable and unrepeatable
Cos there's none who has set their sail as he did. :)
(C)SharonThomas
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
On the bus, on the plane,
a child kicks the seat,
Loudly sings a half-song
on repeat.
Watch the adults wince,
the parents hiss under their breath,
their patience thinned to wire.
They stare harder at their safety cards,
at crossword clues,
at the blue glow of movies
they won’t remember.
This is the invitation-
Not the kind printed on cardstock,
but the kind that comes with grape jelly fingerprints,
with questions about the clouds,
with shoelaces that won’t stay tied.
Tell me more about that dragon.
That’s not a shadow, it’s a mountain.
What would you name the ocean
“ocean” was taken?
When they cry,
que the jokes,
make a peanut packet talk-
and the aisle is lighter for it.
How could this not be better
than folding yourself into a seat,
guarding your stiff silence?
Soon they’re gone,
dragging backpacks like spare limbs,
wet-cheeked or grinning.
I sit in the quiet,
watching the passengers
already back to their closed faces.
The question stays:
how could that human response
not be better
when the world hands us
small, loud,
unrepeatable gifts-
and we hand them back unopened?
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 10:12 AM UTC
Old photos,
frozen
dripping with nostalgia.
Memories
gilded with gold
from the passage of time.
Moments
romanticized in afterthought,
idealized until unrivaled with the present.
Unreachable.
Unrepeatable.
She remembered,
recollected,
reminisced,
overcome with homesickness for times
filed away in her memory.
She felt her heart
bubbling up,
constricting her throat,
and she quietly
swallowed her spirit
back down
before it
could snake up higher
and mount a pulse of pressure
behind her blurry eyes.
It tasted like
cotton candy dripping with twinkling sugar,
like the smoky air of a campfire,
like blown out birthday candles and dripping wax.
A shattering explosion of memories in her mouth,
leaving her with
drained wishes.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
At this age you should be fine
You have a job and some friends and a lover
don't mention the classes your taking this semester
Its been at least 10 years since it ended
you can't quite remember the details of when
You've been trying to forget for so long
its like forgetting a pop song
but this isnt some cheerful
or happy up beat
this isnt lryics you'd like to repeat
See a little boy thought you were a toy
doctor and marriage his
script to ensure you took the
part in his play
You took the bait and obeyed
as long as you were quiet
You could play with his games
You never knew quite the problem with the
noise
until you grew older and your throat grew
a boulder
your lungs filled half way permanently hindered
You began to wonder what you had done wrong
If you had taught him the unrepeatable song
the one your tongue tied can't sputter
mixed up words
to a horrible song you remember
on repeat in the back of
A brain so set on forgetting
but the radio only plays your unrepeatable
songs
so many versions you cant possibly
escape any longer
the words bubble up your half filled throat
threatening to explode
the words that won't sing
and maybe it happened and maybe you broke
and maybe the melody won't ever be known
but you're still on surviving
so let it be known:
you aren't what you've been through,
but what you become.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
it's that little voice inside your head that screams anything is possible ****** go shave your head go kiss that human that looks so beautiful tonight. It doesn't matter who you are today if you want to be someone new tomorrow. i find glowing and growing with this unattainable energy each time I visit the big apple seeing one thousand faces today I'll never see again past this moment.
we are so ******* little in the bigger scheme of life, in the most beautiful, unique, unrepeatable way.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
While I press my palm to hers,
I want to complete the world
our fingers folding into the fabric of skin
Aching to taste the tongue of my lover
To wash away the flavor of mango,
So that I’ll never seek a sweeter fruit again
As I close my eyes, in the blackening
I want to hear her raining
star drops into my night.
Imagining my last jar of breath taken,
Its lid twisted off, emptied into providence,
Then she filling the slack sails within me
All that I need for my humility
Is to be placed gently
in the vessel of her beauty…
then pushed softly from the dunes
into a stock-still ocean sans a single ripple
saffron petals, long leaves, moon softened
To love her in unrepeatable ways
and never miss a moment,
of our ever having done so
Her pulse, the only sound imagined
when nightingales go silent…
when winds wisps are somnolent
From the mystery of my heart as I sleep
My muse glides through the darkness
Into the morning of the madrugada.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
That enormous power
It has on your body and mind
Something so simple
And yet sophisticated
That you just can't stop
Your mind is focused on just one thing
To the rhythm your heart is beating
It's so fast
The mind isn't thinking
Your body on it's own is moving
This unrepeatable feeling
That overhelms your soul
Like a heat of thousand a stars
Which will never fizzle out
Will be forever written down
In your endless space of mind
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
There’s God in this rain.
And he’s washing out the colors.
There’s a Greyness, worth noting,
That steals your spirit through your eyes.
There are cigarettes in the amp.
I’m home.
There’s a blur, surrounding the line
Between the edges of him,
And where they meet everything else.
His arms flailing, brain on fire,
Jamming to the song,
With just the drums around him.
She’s broken, but a non-believer.
The bane of her existence being that
She’s bearing existence, but she’s still
Smoking union butts
She had no intention of
Signing up to receive.
I find myself longing for
Fall’s warmer whispers.
Too dried out, I’m
Sweating through all my
Summer shirts.
We stood stateside to ******
Saddened and somber but still
Awake, tailed by cops that were
Bored, and our parents. I remember
He wore red a lot that year.
It was all that would hide the blood stains, on his sleeves,
From where he’d stitched his heart.
Looking through cabinets to
Find old winter hats,
And auburn-stained reminders,
Of past seasons
You’d loved and lost.
And the drives to
Second states, for
Finding friends in unfamiliar
Circumstances, when the air
In your face is cold enough to chill,
But bitterly addicting.
And divines have prepped their
Snowy canvas, blowing the
Corpses of the crops
To the floor of their woody settings.
A fresh start for all of us God-likes,
To crunch leaves under our
Brand new boots.
And he’s got his records, and
Some books to go with them,
And a drawing from a bus ride that
Took longer than he’d planned for.
And he can’t wait to show it to everyone, and
Embellish the story it told him.
She’s got her thumb out, somewhere.
Praying for a chance to write the Bible down
On the inside of a Buick.
She hasn’t loved her mother in weeks.
She and I don’t talk much anymore.
But I’m praying too, to the
Gods I keep. And spending each Sunday
Still, all-set for snow.
So bask in the glow of your cell phone light.
Dance to the unrepeatable beat in your head.
Tread lightly where the ice is thinner,
But fear not for lack of hands
To pull you back up should you fall through.
The Greyness shall not claim us all.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
The Real Rejection and The Real Betrayal
Is not When they are rejecting you or Betray you
But when you Betray and Reject your Souls Dreams and Wisdom.
When you externalize your power
that has been given to you as a birth gift
to celebrate The divine gift of your UniQue and unrepeatable
incarnation!
Don't Be their Mirror..
Your value is still Remains Gold
realize it
Now.
BORN FREE
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
To write,
to write it down?
All words
were taken,
in lines of
unrepeatable,
irreproachable
wholeness.
Then,
that sudden whirl.
Words popping,
flooding it all.
To accept:
expression is a drawing
and the self an esquisse
to built upon.
Flaws are expected.
Because it all
comes down to a need.
And that is okay.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
The love is gone, right? There's no chance we'll ever get back together? Because I can't be here halfway. I can't look at you and not see the boy I fell in love with -the boy who's hands shake constantly, the boy who pulled me closer in bed, the boy who whispered unrepeatable things in my ears. I can't look at you and forget that -I can't see you as just another person. How could you look at me knowing that what was once yours isn't anymore; that the body you once ran your hands all over is off limits, that the words 'i love you' will no longer spill out of my mouth for you. How can you be okay with that? Because I'm not, and I wish I was, but I'm not. Because I ******* love you more than I have ever loved anybody, and I can't flip a switch and bring back only the part of you that was my best-friend. Even though I miss that part of you too. I wish I could be satisfied with part of you, but I can't forget that I had all of you at one time. I can't be satisfied with half of you when once I had all of you. And it hurts, and it ***** because I want you in my life but it hurts. Sometimes I wish we never fell in love because I would have my best friend right now. Maybe that's all we ever should've been, and we ruined it. And I can't forgive myself. Because here I am caught between two extremes of having to let you go and not being able to, and knowing whatever choice I make is going to send me screaming to the sky, clutching my chest, and curled on the floor in a pain that will never fully heal.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Every instant comes before us in a rush
Every moment is a spark in the sky
The possibilities, so vastly infinite
I no longer can ignore that your life
Is tied to mine
A small red string connects us
Weaving through time and windows
Across streets and stars
To loop around our wrists
Always tugging
A destiny neither can deny
A moment, unrepeatable and endless
To forever echo in my mind
A temporary magic
Our existences collide
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC
Take my soul,
crushed in your palms you quiver with enjoyment,
as you feel it slip through in between your fingers
Unworthy of my smile I laugh instead,
praying deep down within that things would return the same.
The anger flares and swells through my veins,
memory by memory my pulse reaches closer to its ******
Your voice whispers untold lies, but all I hear is screaming.
Are we all meant to be empty handed?
Now I’m not coming back,
I’m just chasing,
what I can't reach.
Clenching to a unrepeatable memory,
the grasp gets more difficult to keep intact
I thought this died so long ago,
but reoccurring shame eats me.
Wounds unseal,
bleeding so much more then ever.
Hold me as it flows.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
She is a caregiver.
She who gives complete care is she whose care is completely given -
So much care to give yet none remains for herself.
Built 6 ft. tall she carries:
A Rolleiflex 3.5T,
A phony french accent
And an enigmatical past.
Ms Mayer.
As her lens soaks up the quintessence of normality in
A diluted Chicago suburb or
The emphatic streets of Manhattan;
She was wired to observe.
Her nature, craving to sustain unrepeatable moments.
Instances so human,
A simple photograph just isn’t quite enough
To capture them.
V. Meyer.
She relies unwaveringly on an object whose sole purpose is to
Look through,
To surpass.
But to her it acts contradictorily as
A barrier,
A rationalized blindness.
An outside eye peering into the lives of others
But never within herself.
She is the lady who would rather look through a lens than into a mirror
Because her refracted self is slightly easier confronted than that reflected.
Vivian Maier.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
I struggle to say what hasn’t been said
I could go on about her for hours
My sanity was hanging by a thread
And she got inside my minds locked towers
She is more unique than the galaxy
She is more than the name she was given
Her compassion defies all gravity
this beauty, I don’t know where to begin
There are 228 recorded spellings of the name “Unique”
Each is desperate to be unrepeatable, individual, non-conformist, idiosyncratic, original, other.
She didn’t have to try: she was born to be unique.
She is as unique as the name she was given, and the one she has made for herself.
She is beautiful as the words she writes and the ideas she shares with the world
She can make you laugh so hard that you get a weeks worth of 8-minute abs and your face is crimson
She can sing so you forget the world around you as every cell in your body begs to listen to more
When you have lost your way, she will be your tether, keeping you true to yourself
She will remind you every day why out of 7 billion people you will choose her over everyone else because she.
is something else
She will love.
She will love and love and love and love and love and love and she will spread joy with her restless soul because it is too wonderful not to share
She will be herself, and that is more than enough.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel
We're trying to recreate something that can't be
We are a one hit wonder that died out
We are a masterpiece lost in a fire, too intricate and one of a kind to replicate
We are a burnt out light that needs new bulbs
We are a your grandmothers pearls that broke, scattered across your bedroom floor
We are a lost puppy that can't be found
We are that irreplaceable coffee mug you dropped
We are that love note left on the train
We are a time and place that can't be repeated
Everyone knows you can't repeat the past
But with you,
I'm willing to try
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
Like a trembling bouquet of flames, leaning on the edge
of Nothing trembles at wise,
knowable facts!
I try the cunning plans of my imagined death like desperate suicides!
In my soul, an unspeakable horror and ingrained Fear of Death strains,
and the unrepeatable desire of the Universe cuts into me
like suddenly hooked lightning teeth:
"You should not be destroyed yet!"
- If one is still breathing and counting Being may be eternal!
The monolith remains even as the tale has shaped itself!
The essential Infinite spirit energies are in wandering order
and become one with their external influences;
perhaps two opposing effects could still
give birth to the solid essence!
It is always surrounded by the dizziness of Nothing;
there is a harmonious symmetry in it: True s
False as Being s the recurring Deficiency!
- The change shows only the Finite;
live throbbing can sprout from continuous germination!
“I get a sore flame-burning in me and a whitewashed ghost
provides a waterfall if I can still break out in my bitter loneliness!
As a purple tongue of flame, everything is enveloped
and filled with envy and evil jealousy; save God to be in me!
I’m more of a squeaky human spark in the expelled darkness!
Among the artificial paradises of Eden in the world,
kittens with artificial liver, glue-smile and gorilla-brain muscle sprouts
abound in coastal ****** while also oiling each other!
The illuminating and eternal lanterns of cultures could
only be invented by the watchmen;
as they get past their meat tunnels,
sooner or later everyone is overwhelmed
by the uncertainty rooted in uncertainty for sure
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 2:22 AM UTC
Days of accepting the unacceptable, of awakening, of walking without returning to see, to go making stories, arming bridges, arming new ways of being, being the same, to change some incongruencies in life, to have others; return to begin, with out believing in destiny, rewriting each situation in a different way, being conscious of change, but without interpreting it, and only leaving oneself to be, unrepeatable, inconsistent, unrenouncable, ambiguously new, cool and clear, without fear, days of living my way.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
Sebastian quivered as he made his report.
Science - We did quiz. I 102 percent
History - We did read chapter. I finish first and wrote answers to questions. All correct.
English - We did grammar lesson. Adjectives. Describe words. No grading.
Sebastian hesitated, just slightly, and his father exploded.
Mathematics! Report Mathematics! Show Me!
Tears streaming. Hands trembling.
Sebastian removed the math papers from his tiny Hello Kitty backpack.
97 percent. Not perfect. Not the best in class.
The rest is unrepeatable.
Humiliation is much worse in Mandarin.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
when every last bit of you has been severed from me
and the world disintegrates,
i'll be left with nothing but my poems;
nothing but carefully-worded phrases spinning about my skull,
reminding me of past sadness and unrepeatable, infinite moments,
but my poems are not my friends
friends don't make me feel a sickening nostalgia
paired with isolation
no, my poems are like gum on the bottom of a shoe
scrape them off and move on,
but one can never completely remove the residue
one day, a pebble will become bound,
and each following step will wear on me;
the pain of something so miniscule will tear at me
until i write another poem,
another clingy friend-seeker to use me up,
but they'll never render me empty
my next bout of word ***** has already begun disgorging
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
It is as if, as a intended intention, it was constantly going on, and even the stupidity of the free-thought minds is to be held; Now, beyond the world of tabloid media, the so-called. In the world of cheap, diluent-smelling influencers, which have been abandoned to pop culture, there could be a growing ruthless, almost intentionally brutal-hard competition for the sacred favor of followers and lyrics. Because now it seems as if all and everyone is a cheap, bribing, pathetic Jibs' sensation not only from the wide Cyber network of mass-information digital channels and networks, but also from the increasing decade its rather heating and determines it.
Now they can't dare to listen alone to the reasons of the already completely left -handed, which can be made, to be logically built -in clichés, because they are better off telling others what, where, where, and especially how to do it.
Personality as a temporary or if you like; an intermediate individual, no longer satisfied with the unrepeatable magic and perhaps specialty of the individuality of the individual. Cheap, dilute, reduced simplified sentences are grinding many cheap celebrity presenters on TV just like on the digital wavelength of commercially secured radios, and of course no one guesses, and knows that if pseudo-hazug news and rumors replace a poem, Perhaps the average brainwashed, hazelnuts of wild juggle men would be able to re-discover the small micro-capabilities of their thinking using autodidact methods.
It is as if this current vulnerable life seemed to be a pathetic, complex tangle, from which a safe panic-free release from a safe manifestation on asylum routes, as well as a fled mailer!
Jan 25, 2025
Jan 25, 2025 at 9:50 PM UTC
Once upon a time
In a distant land
Lived a king.
He was a bloodthirsty tyrant,
A lover of massacres,
Excited by war,
With a lust for fight.
Every day the axe fell
Upon the head of some dissenter,
Every night the body
Of some enemy
Dangled on the castle's walls.
He showed no mercy,
He felt no pain
In witnessing the horrors
Of his ****** rule.
War was his entertainment,
****** his joy.
He had no friends.
He knew
Only enemies and servants.
So this king
Once went to war,
With his knights
and his horsemen,
Aiming at a merciless victory.
His horse was the on of champions,
His sword the masterpiece of blades.
His shield was shiny and strong.
But he lost the war.
And then the enemy captured him
And put him in jail,
Almost naked, wound and fragile.
The tower he was in was cold,
The chains were tight,
His fate unsure.
Nothing was left of his glory.
The first day he cursed
The enemy and all his ancestry,
The second he promised
All the money
He could give
To the prison's watchmen.
The third he just yelled
Unrepeatable slurs
And unspeakable atrocities.
But the fourth day
Something happened.
The king started to feel.
All the pain he inflicted upon others
Was now his pain,
Their suffering was now
The same he was feeling,
Their moaning was now
The only sound he could utter.
His was the head cut by the axe,
His the feet dangling from the walls.
His the wounds and the mutilations
Of every veteran of war.
He felt all of that
And he cried.
And so he cried,
And he cried, he cried
For hours and then for days.
He asked no mercy,
For him never granted it
For his victims.
He begged no forgiveness,
Because he was aware of his nature.
But he was forgiven.
The winning king
Had mercy of the tyrant,
Hearing his crying
In the middle of the night.
He set the ****** enemy free
And all of his army
Was able to follow him
Back to his kingdom
Knowing that something changed
In the tyrant's heart.
And so it was.
The king was amazed
By an act of kindness
He could not even conceive.
He felt so strange.
Suddenly he has become
Permeable to the pain of others.
Suddenly he gained empathy
For all the suffering
He could never feel before.
He felt so human.
All his life he wanted to
Distinguish himself
From the common men.
Now he just felt
Like he could live
In the heart of every man.
When the king died,
Many years after that fatal battle,
Everyone remembered him
As a wise, tender man,
A lover of peace,
Moved by compassion,
Delighted by love.
No one knew what happened,
But everyone
In that lucky kingdom
Knew that it was something
Unspeakably beautiful.
This happens to many men:
They're cruel when they're sheltered
By power and glory
Validated by honors and praise.
But none of them can stand
The power of an heart screaming,
When the discover this ancient truth:
Money and power
Make people different,
But common pain make us all equal.
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
The lasting change is now even better to avoid; It is now an increasingly naughty, stagnant, miserable, vocal promise speeches, and how superfluous, self-denying sermons. Anyone who thinks that obsessions that are persistent have a baby's face, is a long-term fool; The soul seemed to become a dark pyramid, which, if no one speaks to him, would absorb his victims as a gaping gap.
It is as if brain-washed people were now so impressive, texting the heavenly mantra that starts with the "sausage from the sausage" that "some people" are more aware of the petty lies. -As if it could not be easily, to say, loose-and-leaning, neither the unbearable color changes of the seasons, nor the meaningful treasures of the human life that look like dust, which are always unique and unrepeatable among the expanding tissues of time.
In the coated city, even the diplomas are now resting; Permanent disillusionment has long been ahead of the noble feelings. Like the occasional, stumbling drunken, hesitated, hesitant steps are marching with the disturbed, dilapidated Calvary of the century, and the Yorick-Mountains of Yorick.
Slowly, the rich people will be invited to the moon region of the wealthy Skafander collection V.I.P.- partying and shopping, as the ozone layer on the planet seemed to be destroyed early, and only those who have a separate permission can only be breathed.
Perhaps it would be better to continue everything with new pages and from the front if we saw the red-dark moles-tunnels in the depths of gloomy moles ...
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 9:51 PM UTC