"unsaid" poems
A poem falls short; I'd like, instead
to draw a single line from me to you
and watch it curl into a word
so beautiful it's still unsaid –
or press paper to the window pane
so that the day might saturate
a note that brightly warms your hands,
spills birdsong from imagined trees
and buzzes like fat bumblebees,
but I am bound by language, love; I can't.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
anxiety comes as a haywire mind
a situation in your head
worlds away from everyone
words unsaid
scared to be anyone, much less yourself
but most of all
it comes
and it never really leaves.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.
I'll take them.
All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Give them to me.
They are wanted here.
All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.
Give them to me.
And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.
Let me have them.
And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.
I will take them.
And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.
Let me have them.
And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.
Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.
Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:
*“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”
“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”
“You were all my brightest colors.”
“I wish I were more like you.”
“I wish I were less like me.”
“I am sped.”*
And we will read them at dawn like litany.
Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.
That we may take them.
And make a blanket.
A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.
I will take them.
All the parts you no longer want.
Give them to me.
Because they are what make us beautiful.
Give them to me.
That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.
That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon
There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Daydreams
Can quickly become a nightmare
There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
I didn't feel like writing today.
I was afraid I'd say the unsaid.
I dont wanna face the truth,
I dont wanna give up on us.
Why cant you come back to me,
And be the way it's supposed to be?
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
I will regret this in the morning
but I will do it anyway
my impulsivity often overpowers my conscience
yet I am almost always fully aware
of the decisions I make
and their consequences
I am not exactly mentally stable
but I am sane enough
to know right from wrong
yesterday from today
love from lust
although sometimes I mix them up
I have a tendency to lunge at any pair of arms that open for me
my mind and body often disagree
my body saying yes to eager hands
my mind saying no
constantly looking towards my heart
thinking how stupid one must be
to fall repeatedly
get hurt every single time
and still manage to do the same
over
and over
again
I wonder
how many times I will have to hit the ground
in order to learn to stop falling face first?
I often say things
that should be left unsaid
I often do things
that should not be done
sleep in beds unfamiliar
make believe love to strangers
get to know people who will not remember me tomorrow
I am gone as quickly as the hangover
I can be washed off the tongue
just as quickly as the liquor
I often believe I am capable of inciting change
I kiss temporary lips with permanence
hoping that I can train them to stay
I love temporary people with permanence
hoping that I can train them not to leave
and when they do
I claim to have seen it coming
I am incapable of forgetting
a scrapbook memory of skin and heartbeat
of touch and moments
I know not to look directly into eyes
for they can be blinding
and I still
do it anyway
I know of the risks that shouldn't be taken
well aware of their consequences
and I still
take them anyway
you could say
it is my own fault
for the way that things continue to turn out
but I can make no promise of apology
instead
I will live momentarily
**** up intentionally
love recklessly
fall unguarded
break enough times to learn how to put myself back together
crash into concrete enough times to learn how to shift a crooked smile
into something worth seeing
I have been told that a life lived in fear
is hardly a life lived at all
so I intend to live every second
like it is the last one I will have
I will write each night as it happens
narrate my own stories
and hope they turn out okay
I will regret this in the morning
but I will do it anyway.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I am lost
I love you
Who am I
Who are you
We were friends
Silent lips lie
Is this reality
Nothing got better
People aren't nice
I am hurt
I hurt you
Do you remember
We're all tired
Same routine everyday
Lost in confusion
Lost in effort
Beautifully painted skies
I've grown up
You were different
I was different
I want ***
I want love
I want pain
A year intoxicated
I didn't know
Failure to myself
Read many books
Leave pain behind
Drink your milk
She's gone now
Life's quickly fading
Words left unsaid
Lust isn't love
I barely exist
Don't forget me
Let yourself heal.
Love the word.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
I will always be your admirer
Even if, it labels me as a pretender
I might be your crazy stalker
But I'm really your secret lover
Will my dreams ever come true ?
Or will it disappear just like you?
I know that I'm not worth looking
Still, recognize me as a human being
Your smiles were only for her
But still, It's too much to bear
Everytime you come at her way
What could I do to make you stay?
I will always be your secret fan
Because you'll never be my man
The words will remain unsaid
As our love will forever be one sided
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
*Try to understand
That’s left unsaid
Pick up subtle clues
Follow your heart
Calling of the soul
Sighs of yearning
After many eons
True heart calling
Just surrender
To be forever*
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Remember all you see each day
All the things that are around you and
Keep close to all the friends you have
in the bubble that surrounds you
Simple gestures, little things
The stuff that's out of sight, most days
it flows on by without a look
in the bubble that surrounds you
Don't ever take for granted anything you have and hold
It's only through respect and love, that straw can turn to gold
You're my first though in the morning dear, up with the rising son
You're the last thing that I think about, when the moon says day is done
I never say "I love you" dear
not as much as I guess I should do
After time it is an unsaid thing
although you know I still do
A gentle kiss upon the lips as you are on your way
forgotten in the winds of time, but just enough to say
the words now left unspoken as we trundle through our life
Now, a touch, or look's "I love you for saying yes to be my wife"
Breathing, seeing, hearing things
the smell of coffee brewing
things we never think about
and vows that need renewing
There'll be a day when I wake up
And you just might not be there
If I don't treat you like I ought to now
I have to show you that I care
Don't ever take for granted anything you have and hold
It's only through respect and love, that straw can turn to gold
You're my first though in the morning dear, up with the rising son
You're the last thing that I think about, when the moon says day is done
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
We fall,
and hard,
and in the shadows,
***** ourselves on snags,
that tear our clothes;
grazed and cut,
we stagger on -
Impressions, ideas, fancies!
Of these have we been disabused.
But is this spring,
come again?
Lovely,
yesterday,
in the bright sunlight,
to see you,
felt green hat in among the photo clouds,
apple suedes on the gallery's dank floor.
Melvyn,
and I,
merrily circling with you the light cloud images,
my nostrils full of pollen spikes.
The pictures:
wisps of trailing dreams churning in ‘scapes of infinite blue;
dark clouds,
in amongst them,
too.
Photographs in two time places
caught;
at once, all:
the other and t'other.
So excitement swells,
and everything besides us quells,
because the knowing of itself,
knows,
and dares beyond the frames;
to skirt knowingly the unsaid;
to want beyond the wounded past,
to pull things,
once again,
inside out.
In whimsy’s currents flow these thoughts,
these feelings,
these drives;
swirling in eddies,
so that as you sit,
on a summer’s day,
it moves,
a mirror to everything above.
The wavelets on the surface,
hammered into shape,
burn, bite and dazzle;
the sun’s flames leaping and dancing on ripples.
In the basement,
on the concrete,
your Y proneness shifts,
releasing knees on black-clad thighs;
two pendulums swinging,
brushing;
yawing metronomes in the cool,
coolness of my desultory thoughts.
Oh, what am I saying?
Feelings like reveries walk along these silver lips straying languorously.
These myths are too soon made,
carried one to the next,
one-on-one,
until contained no longer,
become new truths.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
to live
every day
in morbid dread
sharp cold spikes
driven deep into
the chest
anxiety
conditioned,
learned, pressed
screams
in my head,
and yet
remains unsaid
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Though she may be smiling,
do not be misled.
Alone she could be crying,
with words left unsaid.
(e.i)
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
There you are again,
Standing under the rain.
Your mind filled with thoughts
That cannot be explained.
A wave of emotions flow through you,
Sadness, happiness, anger, regret.
In pain because you confessed
The things that should've remained unsaid.
Unsure how much time has passed,
As you stare blankly at the gloomy sky.
Recalling the memories you've had together,
Knowing they're precious and unlike any other.
You start to take a single step,
As you plan your next move.
Because now you have to accept the truth,
That things won't go back to the way they used to.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
As a bisexual, I fear
Few will want you to be proud.
They will bend your ear
Saying things to you out loud
That would be better left
Totally, embarrassingly unsaid
Instead of rattling around
Inside the cathedral of your head.
Too many try to make it
Seem like a kind of venal crime
To want to make love with
Someone of your own kind
And maybe with the same
Gender with which you were born.
To some it is very biblical
And subjects you to public scorn.
Finding someone ****
With the same plumbing as you
It not only delightful
It can be a dream come true.
It feels correctly natural
And works like the other way
Even though people scorn
And use words like *** and ‘gay’
Or ****** and even taco
Whatever that might end up meaning.
The important thing to me
Bisexuality is so powerfully appealing.
So, those who dislike me
And feel so righteously zealous
That bisexuality is wrong
Are very possibly just jealous.
Or maybe just uptight
Living by someone’s else’s rules;
Not what they’ve learned
And therefore are bigoted fools.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Somehow, down through the centuries,
Man discerned it was best to hide.
Conceal their grief and likewise love,
And hoard it all inside.
Emotions we should so easily share,
We choose to temper instead.
And so many things that we want to say,
We just let go...unsaid.
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
I don’t always know what you think of our love
Or if I’ll ever learn
But I picture a two wick candle
set out to burn
I don’t know the depth of the wax
Or who’s wick will be the longest to last
All I see is the flame
So untamed
The light of the two wicks look one in the very same
The scent of everything
Happy and sad
Thoughts said and unsaid
I would turn my back to the sun
Watch our candle for eternity as my new one
I don’t know about you
But as long as I see our
Wicks in your eyes
It will always be you
I come to
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
whenever word fails...
silence prevails...
listen to tis
alluring echo of
unsaid
and unspoken
not ears
but...
only heart
can feel....
this everlasting zeal..!
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Can daybreak ever
bring darkness home?
The dried kohl is witness:
*Aeons old, such a story
has been left behind,
unsaid, unsaid;*
Does spring ever bring notice
of the coming fall?
*Oh the rains sometimes
bring rumblings
of miffed skies -
Shoots that drop off stalks,
have not all
fallen for nothing,*
Was the little window of dreams
illusory?
Laying my head down,
stealing my sleep?
Aeons old, is such a story
that has been left behind,
unsaid, unsaid;
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
Every where there's secrets
some are dark, some light
Everywhere there's secrets
Some best kept out of sight
Everywhere there's secrets
Of the living and the dead
Everywhere there's secrets
Some are better left unsaid
Would you listen to what you heard
If these walls could talk
Would you be scared to hear
If these walls could talk
Sounds of when you sat and cried
If these walls could talk
Of the day that Mama up and died
If these walls could talk
Look about and you will see
A secret in disguise
Look about and you will see
Just don't look through your eyes
Look about and you will see
A secret, full of lies
Just look about and you will see
Where secrets soar and rise
Secrets buried in the walls
If these walls could talk
Of playing games in upstairs halls
If these walls could talk
Fighting behind bedroom doors
If these walls could talk
Would you listen to the open sores
If these walls could talk
Secrets hidden in plain sight
But absorbed by an old house
Secrets hidden in plain sight
Silent, quiet like a mouse
Secrets hidden in plain sight
of a hero or a louse
Secrets hidden in plain sight
Behind the walls of an old house
Scars and cuts and verbal stones
If these walls could talk
Could break our hearts and break our bones
If these walls could talk
Sounds of laughter and of moans
If these walls could talk
Would you hear the ancient, haunted tones
If these walls could talk
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
Having defied gravity
(not me personally
but by proxy
namely through
a dog, monkey and Soyuz
and fruit flies and bullfrogs
and lately through NASA)
I defy humility
I brave it, I challenge it
for there’s too much hypocrisy
in humility
For humility is such
that it never speaks its name
For when it speaks of Humility
it is Sans Humility
Take me
for example -
you hardly hear me
mention myself as Saint Humility, do you?
But that’s what I am, my other name: Humility
But people keep insisting on calling me Saint Humility
But I defy Humility
POSTSCRIPT
I also defy repetition
and over-emphasis
and contradiction, paradox
But, it must not be left unsaid -
in defying humility,
I think I’ve also
quite inadvertently
defined humility: Saint Me
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:42 AM UTC
As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.
Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game *****
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,
And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall--
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,
Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.
The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser--
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.
7.6k
A Mummers Funeral
Time slip't, a careless moment, words without thought or foment.
No smile, no glance, no touch, nor care
none of these things ever so fair,
was thought or brought to share.
I've gaps in my memory,
And holes in my shoes.
not enough time,
Too much *****
Nothing left of strength and toil.
The grapes of wrath? That wasted soil!
But for the Ghosts of Things unsaid,..
Shadows host the Deeds Undone.
Bare walls and plank't floor,
cobwebs of nothing more.
A Home empty; a house.. a shack,
a time-worn agent my soul to wrack.
Shadows flitting through
cobwebs in the corners of my mind, Have taken in my soul to bind..
I've holes in My memory,
And Gaps in my Blues.
Too much time,
And Not enough *****
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC