"unrequested" poems
~for those who will read this and weep~
*the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience
localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!*
*the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life ***** advertisement
I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs*
*summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created
so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)*
*but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early*
got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind
these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #3: Orphan
Orphan
The funeral will commence at 11:30 am.
Gives me one last review time before the
Final Exam.
Panicked, I discover a whole new chapter
for which I am wholly unprepared,
though its inevitable presence was
assuredly knowable long in advance.
Orphan
It doesn't fit, occur, imagery is of a young child to
soon abandoned, not a late-in-life curmudgeonly poet-boy,
who has been multi-times reincarnated.
I add this title to my list
of proper ways to address me,
titles earned by dint of hard work,
or just unlucky luck.
This new status, orphanhood,
bequeaths no special privileges,
other than, a semi-official
societal permission slip
to feel bereft, lost, and compose poetry.
Know a real orphan, from early, early on,
has never recovered and
never will for it is just impossible.
Just impossible.
So whom am I to make light of
my undesired, unrequested new degree?
I accept it and to my surprise,
It hurts.
7/21/13
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
The sand within this holy hourglass does record the unrequested gift.
Mankind’s mortality contained within transparent boundaries
that fool fresh minds with the fancies of freedom and yet,
like the sand, force us all towards a similar fate.
As Newton’s law prevails I contemplate:
those futures forever out of reach,
isolated by that invisible divide.
Our purpose predetermined.
We only live once,
no more.
Once:
soon to be no more.
Can I fall through the floor?
Can I ascend when tables turn?
Can I escape through fractures made?
Can I exist forever in the space in-between?
My cries are inaudible through the glass unseen.
I hear the gentle waves of home – white sandy beaches.
My younger years sink into the haunting heap of my history:
incontestable like the gravity that fuels this wholly natural process.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
the woven intercept
*the crescendo soft ascending,
commandeers our riveting,
we do not surrender, taken, nonetheless,
our deference to an elegant wand wave,
combo hopeful and all encompassing, the helplessness
both well understood
the progression higher, steady on,
a rapture going to a defined ending,
concluding voyage occluded, for now,
but the setting sun rays us a plan, a path,
teasingly, soto voce lips moving, “this way”
follow on the unsteady water
restraining resistance failing, flailing weakly,
it is both early morning and late afternoon,
the light warms, but each, a timbre different,
the pitch and intensity tho one and the same,
yet, order confused, still, we are given-in
giving in unwillingly
absolution unrequested, but awarded anyway,
shelter from the storm of safe and warm,
children begin first school day, but adults
know better, beginnings full of risks unforeseen,
the season changes, normalized, but would be refused
if we could
the waiver offered, the woven intercept read,
emotional intelligence so fragile, on and on,
sidekicks, lovers, connected by a dotted line highway,
the space between permitting anything we want,
but contradictories say, wanting everything, impossible
but the viable solution singular
how do we leave it then? we leave it thus, clarified,
separation is a kind of attachment, voidable, when,
kissing comes calling, from all around the world,
the crescendo ends, we each have read the intercept,
it concusses, interpretations differing, yet we don’t care
lying through embracing lips*
our tune is a mismatched matching,
a vision ending and yet anew hatching,
this is love, understanding, undefinable, undefeated,
a changeling definition, paths possessing multi-endings,
loving is the unceasingly, desirable imperfect struggling
unique, singular just like everyone else’s
9/4/19 9:07am
nml
(she'll know)
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
I can't....
Can't help these feeling
consuming me as
you assume about me,
presume to understand.
Listen sweetie -
I never had a choice
I wasn't right in my thinking.
In my reasonings left us both with
unrequested guilt.
Unanswered questions , doubted,
misguided- non-understanding,
abandoned- my un- abandoned disgust,
regretfully mistaken stolen moments,
regret deeply for not being there,
being not there even now....
Left a ache inside
for so long- I still cry,
I cry for myself too though.
It hurts to loose so much
to have nothing but questions,
doubt
wondering
wonderful bliss, mind erased...
blissfully -
no more thinking,
shaking crying,
blissful aint blessed when I had to forget.
don't speak or talk.. keep it in
deep inside
no one
tell no one.....
I was trapped,
taken,
thrown,
beaten & shaking.....
In my mind....
In my head- i felt no pain...
Lied to myself... lied about you.... about me.... about "it"...... about US.
******
Son-Of-A-Bitch!!!
Lying to me, lying to you,
lying lying lying
so much lying....
lying, drowning, dying, lying, crying, lying.......
PLEASE!!!!
how can they have lied- liars lying as i laid dreaming....
demons, screaming.....
I cried, screamed, dreamed & longed for this day
Fought & still fight for this day
A day where you'd know!
Where you unsheathe that sword-
Placed- deep in my heart, deep into my soul...
Did you know?
Did they tell you-
who I was?
Couldn't you of guessed?
Your eyes- my eyes
Your hand's - my hands
Your smile - my smile
Your laugh - its me!!!
I'm you
Your blood
My blood.
Didn't you notice
didn't you see
all me in you?
I knew from the moment your face
looked deep into my face
your shape
my shape
my mirror
your mirror.
Twin yet not - -
Mother╰♥•♥╮ Daughter
finally:
One - Whole
and
Together !
I Always Loved & Love You!
Dear child of mine -
╰♥•♥╮JANNELL ╰♥•♥╮
Always Me Ayeshah
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 12:41 AM UTC
The Cumaean Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony located near Naples, Italy. The word sibyl comes (via Latin) from the ancient Greek word sibylla, meaning prophetess. (Wikipedia)
Songs of prophecy on oaken leaves
Unread; unclaimed; unrequested
Fly from out either of the many entrances
To her cave chambers.
She doesn't mind. Poet or prophet, the
Wind has hands greater than human;
Words without willing ears wrestle away
Without struggle.
Only they and the wind see the beauty
Of it. She? She doesn't mind.
Guide to the Underworld, she has greater
Things to meditate on than
The Infants of the Universe
In their insignificant sandboxes.
*Here; more poetry. Come who may,
To read.*
Who may.
Apollo's twisted payment for her
Pleasures: As many years of life as grains
Of sand in her hand.
But she forgot to ask for youth.
After a thousand years, only her voice is
Left, whispering: *Children, all will
Be well. It already is.*
It already is.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Took myself through the darkest streets
Just to see who I would happen to meet
I saw the rains fall on forests unknown
While out somewhere a fat man bellowed
Two ton sisters laughed as they drank through the night
I stood on a corner starin', not looking too bright
Too far are the corners of the Earth to reach at times
As well as my thoughts which float away in abyss
But oh the mystery of life un-lived, unfullfilled
I see faces in the watered mirrors of our streets
I saw nothing before but see everything now
But nothing is nothing if you don't know how to follow
the voice of oneself and a pride withheld
Too long have these times been weighing us down
and the sounds of the vines that swing like sweet wine
the torment of a sister trapped in her disaster
a father betrayed by the sins of his dead other
Torments lost in a fire crackle spit fire manic
Tossing away a heart that was given to me at midnight
Two days passed I discovered it was mine own
Even Shakespeare was a man in the time of his prime
In these years of lust, dust, and broken egg shelled eyes
I sizzle in a world that I know not much of
And perhaps, if I'm lucky, see right above
I talk to myself in the mid-morning light
Maybe to a lover, maybe to my shelves
For the night, at times, is the only friend of mine
A friend that never once asked my soul to begin
Yes a whistle holds its tone if it has lost loved
Fallen in love
Thought or ever entrusted itself to love
A crescent call to the last careening thought of you
A lover that said they'd be and retreated in call
I talked for hours
knowing inside I knew not a thing
All the while smiling at mine own hollowness
All the broken bats I never did swing
Or all the rusted clubs that made midnight maraduer's rub
Led me to a place where I was meant to be
no longer laughing
no longer singing
no more wishin' of a living
of somewhere off in time
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:56 AM UTC
Maid you made the building shine
Like a pine burning through a fine Spring rain
Broken teeth broken shoes
What money you need to get you through?
Lay your hand to the ground
Loosen the grip to the horn which makes you proud
The blonde moves with a mystery that I can't see
Each light here makes me miss her
Heard of you through a rotted grapevine
You talked with vigor but your sheen was unseen
Tapped your heels like you had a pair
You spoke of poetry as you thought what to wear
I knew the time before you knew yourself
You packed your bags as I packed your shelves
Imagine the world without you here
That's what I did to get you outta there
The building holds words which were written
For men and women who felt that had been bitten
I saw it in the papers as I flicked away the capers
Wheezing beside me was the grim reaper weeping
Attention to the mystery privatizes the trees
To see such a thing made me question to believe
Now the concrete is trying to sneeze
But the books are clean as I guess they should be
Paint filled walls lined with 150 million dollar prizes
You got a soul? We probably got your sizes...
A shout here is not allowed so lay mellow
Cry here for the vagrants dying far down below
So strongly so hastily these triumphs spring up unrequested
All of it seems like an attempt to get bested
Come to the window to see the life not inside
Street filled wishes un-granted is the ticket to buy
Jun 27, 2011
Jun 27, 2011 at 1:02 PM UTC
Searching for a monument to build,
to my stranger nature.
A display of living purpose,
but it's paper,
A failure to surface,
when the current spills
my hopes out to the maker.
I'm breathing toxic calamity like a vapor.
I'm receding, firing soliloquies over faders,
and waiting for it to taper.
The baser instinct to sink into
to a shape conforming destiny's favor, amazing
but it's death in a manger.
A gift of unrequested breath
to levy questions of our nature
impartial but starting to loose
the fruit for us to play with
Don't play with your food
the canopy vines can't seem to stay in the mood
when amity cries
just as we bite another layer
and hope our spirit affords an existential favor.
The corporeal farce of the mortal coil
Where I'm going, what I've done,
who I am, who I have to become
Who am I to give a ****
about what has to be done
will I be actualized
if I inhabit the gun
will I be dazzled to find
that I should never have won
that all my fevers of prayer
were only threads to be spun
I am the definition of survivor's bias
clamoring for comprehension to a writer's silence
buying into lines reverberating in my mind
and all the while I soak
in revelation of the killing kindness
an absence of a unique purpose
a lavish elusiveness revealing
time as worthless, when I dig for deeper meaning
but seemingly informed by enduring
anguish in a world to test which
axiom I'll push the furthest
my reluctance to lift the curtain
My redundancy in spilling refusal
sooner empty than truly certain
My abundance of energy
filling the room
I bask in knowledge
Honoring the right to never learn it
And so I paint
I drape the walls and fall into
the sordid echoes,
calling through the mist.
Simple soothing bruising lips
They whistle darkness
move your hips
I'll leave a mark
I'm through with this.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
Unrequested,
Cloaked figures surround your little bubble,
Poking and probing your armor.
You shriek every time they attempt to penetrate
And they shriek back at you, startled and confused.
Unsolicited,
They follow you around,
Picking up your footprints just after you
Mark them on the ground.
They drop petals of dead roses behind in your place
To show that in the end, you can leave behind beauty
If you so choose.
“They’re actually quite pleasant,”
You think to yourself.
You look back at them on occasion,
And they simply mumble amongst one another in a lull murmur.
Content.
Like nomads without destination in mind;
Like dreamers without expectation to find.
“I wish I could be more like them…“ you ponder.
Finally,
You’re near.
You see the edge getting closer.
The vastness of the ocean crashes against
The stone walls beneath your feet.
You wiggle your toes aloft the sharp edge,
Just enough that you can still keep your balance.
You notice in that moment the figures are finally silent.
You turn around
And with complete composure
They bow their hooded heads in sympathy,
And you realize then that your thoughts
Are not a secret to them.
Throwing your arms in the air,
You let the breeze caress your every pore.
For the first time
This nakedness doesn’t feel defenseless.
You smile at your friends
As they wave goodbye,
And fall backwards toward the water just as you would a feather down bed.
You watch the sky expand above you,
And the figures free whatever petals they have left
into the wind like doves’ feathers.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
I don't know how we got here...
I'll be honest,
I'm sorry that we're always fighting,
That we don't see eye to eye no more,
And that twinkle in your eye is gone -
I'm sorry,
That our love is withering.
I'll be honest,
I miss when things were rosy,
When you and I just made each other blush,
And our lips were inseparable;
When my hands couldn't keep away from your soft skin,
And we were acting lovey-dovey, ignoring the unrequested attention of wandering eyes.
I'm scared, when you scream and yell,
I'm heartbroken, when you cry because of me,
I'm debilitated, when you won't let me hold you,
I'm stunned, when you don't accept my apology.
I miss,
When you and I,
Didn't care much about the label,
We were good friends that's what we said...
But soon later you wanted more:
And you got it...
Then
"We",
Started becoming an underused word,
The bonds formed by mischevious nights
Shamelessly crying on one another's shoulders,
And divulging of blackmail-worthy, jaw-dropping secrets,
Starter weakening, separating...
Is there any possibility that things will get rosy again?
That you'll stop getting mad at me and I'll stop hurting you?
Is there a chance, just a slight chance,
That the girl I fell in love with will come back...
Or, have we... Have I killed her?
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 3:43 AM UTC
I'm scared
my mind transcends my body
I'm scared
of the empty spaces left inside
Because it only takes
a few drops of unrequested pain
to make me believe I can wash my sins in the rain
I'm getting tired of burning bridges
when I can see your shadow on the other side
People give away their lives for so little
and spend the days running away from something divine
I really don't mind
having a heart of glass
that will be broken so many times
drinking my sorrows in a wine glass
So I will speak my mind
and run away so fast
then I'll leave my fears behind
while I break life's hourglass
What happens if you finally choose to stay?
I should've built higher walls to keep expectations away
A flash of images, but I don't know what to say
I had gone a long way
it gives and takes away
I really don't mind
having a heart of glass
that will be broken so many times
drinking my sorrows in a wine glass
So I will speak my mind
and run away so fast
then I'll leave my fears behind
while I break life's hourglass
I want to be judged by my mistakes
maybe there are some you can relate
you'll be aware of how it aches
to put yourself to sleep every single day
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
When the tiredness came
sad eyes regarded it as nothing new
in hindsight she’d always made space for it,
an unconscious pet bed
the lack of shock
as it crept to her was almost nice
fingers on imagined fur
she felt her edges numb
retract from the screech of daily headlines
and dumb fingered scrolling
that sparked electrocutions
pacing in slow circles
around the blue pulse of her core
it settled unrequested
and pretended a defence
while forever she reached for rest
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 5:44 AM UTC
It is a line from a prayer we learned
by rote in childhood Ireland.
I expect, our ability to recite poetry
is based on this form of mindlessness.
Hail Mary, Hail Cesar, Hail ******
Hail to thee blithe spirit! (Shelly)
If you are doing nothing different
you are doing nothing.
It is this from of repetition that keeps
us in check, unrequested surrender.
We writers of life’s observations have
an obligation to the short form readers.
Condensing is a consideration of which
we must be cautious in calculating.
Therefore, I urgently request of you, my
captivated audience, put a capital s in title!
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
<>
she raw whispered, edginess deep in her throat,
combo of delighted annoyance coated in
wary weariness of she-wanted-wonder,
what he wants that I can keep/take?
my untold secrets he knows how?
needy aches unsatisfied uncovering,
his knowings creates unfamiliar needs,
accentuates secretions of secrets discovering
did not ask for revelations without no resolution,
how dare he tense me in private places hid,
my properties aren’t his, my neck, eyes,
tonguing my senses is crazy senseless
this schema, this tracing of a figurine,
braising my body in his, its own sauces,
while perfume of mine unrequested are mined,
taken away in railway cars to his treasure houses
left utterly gagging and gasping
to hell with him, unbounded gone,
to heaven by him, I went bounding up,
giving me that everything I never desired
***but only knew him as the my-mysterious,
tales unwritten yet tensed in the familiar,
poems elucidating, all that I didn’t
write, knew, but never uttered***
*now, now! all are freely spoke aloud,
outed, foundering, highlighted and now
decomposing me, I’m honestly betrayed by
what he calls the sense, the knowing of the unknown*
Friday, March 6th, Twenty Twenty,
2:47am
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
*please make magic out of moments forgotten under footsteps of hungry giants seeking protection from the gods of tyranny and natural states of synchronicity
under the protection of benevolent forces you are free to breathe your own destiny into being
situations are suggesting that your soul families have become determined to develop and support the unfolding vision arising from the depths of your devotion to life
if you agree to receive an indeterminate amount of unrequested support and a loving increase in your creative life force you will be instantly and irrevocably infused with your solar angel’s heightened frequencies
time and space will be transformed into a breathtaking display of radiant energy released symphonically from the coronal ejection of your electromagnetic field in synchrony with eternity
having considered all possible outcomes what is likely to occur is not the most probable outcome but the path of least resistance to reframing all reality
independent of consequences unforeseen all reality is truly a dream being dreamt by an eternal being with a keen interest in preserving this dream’s integrity
having become one with the knower of the seen and the unseen knowing has become the sole means of interpreting an ever-evolving stream of continuous incongruity between the linear and the non-linear weave of interconnectivity
a tantra of inter-dimensional proportion cutting through an adamantine aversion to illusionary being is perpetually stretching my perception of infinity
letting go of a deeply ingrained resistance to the persistence of the experiences playing out their frequently repeating scenes
we are self-generating machines capable of tasting our own inner ecstasy and creating a destiny for our children’s children driven by love’s simple complexity*
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
I Phrase
A path that bears thy trace,
Thy footsteps left behind.
I Phrase
A path where
Thy love hath not settled
For me.
I Phrase
A path where thee
Devotest someone...
That is not me...
With a gentle smile,
All I can do is see thee from afar—
And chuckle.
In this lifetime,
I am the unrequested love.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 2:21 PM UTC
Innocent Bystander.
Love over takes many.
Expressions takes places.
Rejected through,
Feelings not returned.
Many agree.
Others taken,
To heart.
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 5:07 AM UTC