"unsated" poems
#there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
overwhelms unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge
A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace
Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed
The naked truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind
An emotionally enslaved heart
tarries, marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless
Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate; vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake
It's getting harder and harder
for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree
Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp
A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil
Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas
Jesse Stillwater
June 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
The belated summer sky is alive
with a D r a g o n f l y ballet
Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal
A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath
Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
just this side the
softening sunset backdrop
A synthesis of fluid motion
– darting kinesis –
swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
another summer's
imminent curtain call;
reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
of passing seasons
Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
coming to know
we cannot stop
how life unfolds
The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...
— hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch
and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
in the treetops
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018 .
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
consider O
woman this
my body.
for it has
lain
with empty arms
upon the giddy hills
to dream of you,
approve these
firm unsated
eyes
which have beheld
night’s speechless carnival
the painting
of the dark
with meteors
streaming from playful
immortal hands
the bursting
of the wafted stars
(in time to come you shall
remember of this night amazing
ecstasies slowly,
in the glutted
heart fleet
flowerterrible
memories
shall
rise,slowly
return upon the
red elected lips
scaleless visions)
10k
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave
A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam
Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide
Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky
There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo
Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held
Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger
harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
To say the darkness
Does indeed
Dwell inside of me
Becomes the pride of me
Would underscore
The fact
That the madman’s eyes
Loosens my lunatic tongue
The scowling beast
His drooling jowls
The anguished cries
How he howls
The hunger
Left unsated
The feast
For which he waited
The beast will have his
Ways with
Life and all of her bounties
And then what lies within
Will settle once again
The foaming mouth will pass
The hunger is not meant to last
And I will be me
Once more
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
Marooned land-locked
on island earth
Born with an orphan’s
unknowable ache
Born with an empath heart
– always feeling too much –
mystic receptors wide awake
in a highly sensitive soul
It’s as if I've walked along
forever alone,
one step at a time,
lost in a restless nebula
from the earth to the moon
Consciously dreaming
to steal away,
bearing the weight of the sky,
upwards over the mountain,
away from these chains
that bind
The maelstroms echo
behind silenced, probing eyes
with an unsated thirst
to be wanted
dead or otherwise:
Never understanding
the reasons why,
spinning around in my head;
where "once upon a time"
was hidden,
buried alive
A lifetime spent trying
to unlearn the things
I wish I’d never
sought to know,
clinging to the love
I've touched in my life
evermore enwombed
in my heart
Passing milestones:
walking another barefoot mile
passing so many locked doors
without keyholes
– way outside the lines –
Choking on all
the latent words
lay fallow,
left unsaid
Always looking for
something dreamt
but seldom manifest
Growing so tired and weary
with no one standing by my side;
no one to lay down beside me
to take a rest for awhile
Just another chapter
in a timeless same old story;
another dark star
burned – out
– vanished –
into the utter obscurity
of a sky so close and yet
so far away...
Jesse Stillwater ... August 22, 2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
Her irises darting, probing.
Her tastes floated and churned behind mine.
Brushed, warm, wet
lips and tongues.
We kissed until it burned,
numbed but unsated.
Fear, passion, pheromones blended
flammabley
and ignited on a fire of psychotic teen heartbreak.
Stalking, trembling, steering my soul
past it
(but always dragging it behind)
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
You followed down through the gathered pages
to the labyrinth that leads back through the changes
A long and twisted line of unmapped rivers,
*** holed low-roads and tattered mileposts
glancing homeless back-alleys as dark as lonely crossroads
Past the broken wings that fell from skyward treetops
scattered feathers amongst rose petals wilted
at the hand of tear stained faded photos
of frozen black and white faces;
hidden ghosts in the closet that fell from grace
The pathway narrows where the traces dissipate
passing under burning bridges, beneath locked stairwells
A fickle feather floating upon rivers ragging
like the hubris disconnectedness of time rolling out to sea ―
Shadows growing darkest as you reach the blackest silence
and you kept the answers to all the questions at arms length
hidden in the darkness ― where you saw love disfigure me
It was then and there I knew I'd dreamed of someone like you
looking for someone more than I could ever be
Just an unsated curiosity, trying to see beyond
your own misunderstanding, to feel and touch
an unknown depth beyond reach
As sunset pales the distantness, the night is yours alone
when tomorrow's morning rain
hangs on the falling leaves ― I’ll be gone
Just a wayfaring loner in a lonely world
Where rivers are only water
and love was once a flowing river
I thirst to swallow ―
to wash away these tracks of my tears ...
rivers ... 2017
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
Whatever happened to the happiness,
from all those early childhood days.
Where laughter. joy and sunshine,
filled all of imaginations endless plays?
What became of the joyous music,
giving beat and harmony to the world.
When dream and hope could exist,
and all possibilities could be unfurled?
When did all this darkness fall,
to lay shadow so dark upon the lands,
as a dense foreboding that has been
summoned by greeds unsated demands?
When did dream and hope become,
just mere folly and wasted thought.
What happened to the morals and the ethics,
that as kids we valued and were taught?
When and where did all this go,
for everywhere I look such is just not there.
All has been replaced by a selfish world
of greed, hatred and down-trodden despair.
I know that in the course of time,
I am meant to see an old man's view.
But what worth and value of a world,
where hate and lies are sold as true?
Death and hatred fill this world,
in every rank corner that I see,
and in silent, desperate fear I wonder,
why we stood-by and let it come to be?
Feb 25, 2022
Feb 25, 2022 at 11:22 AM UTC
.
*The sensual caress
twilight mist impearled flesh
alighting a feral desire
within blossoming spring petals
The newness of uncovered skin
a sweetness on unsated lips ,
the taste of passion and salty *******
with hastened breath
sighs do brush with warm ****** breeze
across my naked chest
wild feathers sweeten
tender touch
... emanating
sensual awakenings
Arousing buried desires
unable to hold back
constant cravings
the inevitable currents
pummeling shameless floodgates
with arising untamed springtides swell
Fleshly enslaved yen --
energy sprouts tingling sensations
nascent buds blossoming deeply
flourishing exploding flames
bursting flush
... deliciously white hot
In an unstoppable carnal moment
passion betides
like the surging sea ;
Rising and falling crescendos
unleashed waves crashing ,
drowning in the rhythmic undertow
interlaced bodies heaving adrift in the moment
like entangled seaweeds
in a riptide
as the rolling thunder storm
dances across invigorated tides
with a surging cadence of cresting waves bloom
caught in the Rhythm and the Sea*
✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
I pull out your picture
Smooth skin and hazel eyes
Even in photographs they hypnotize
Calling my name in whispers
Pounding at my *****
Electric shocks to the groin
Waking the senses
Feeling revived
Revitalized, alive
There, ever unchanged
Your gaze upon mine
Motionless, emotionless
Frozen, in time
When you realized I was she
Perfection
Unwavering
An alternate reality
Returning affection
A two way street of romantic love
Unseen. Unnoticed. Unrealized
Yet real just the same
Innocent, unthinking
With no one to blame
Knowing you want me
That you always did
Nothing but glimpses
Of an awkward kid
Turned man
Turned desire
Lascivious by design
Liquifying resistance
Wasting no time
A bit of shy
A hint of coy
Vanish all remnants
Of that innocent boy
By the light of the screen
I lay here
Alone
Feeling the heat of you
Making me moan
Desire unabated
I finish unsated
Abusing your picture
In ways you condone
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Nightfall, through the door,
Bedsprawl, a ritualistic bore. Movements, they're oppressive. Actions, they're aggressive but his eyes, they're depressive.
Our synthetic connection and self-hatred is created with projection and misplaced indignation. There is no love in our heads, no lust in our beds. The fear of emasculation and eternal damnation hides all self-loathing with boasting and congruent clothing.
My Y was castrated. I'm a ****** from the womb. I'm Female, for unsated gloom my X is berated. I'm named a disgusting mutation as he projects his deveation onto the population.
When his shameful "pride" has diminished, I know our joyless formality has finished. He doesn't sit in the pew, yet he stands in the aisle, locked in a prison of denial. Tough and brisant, trying to be what he isn't. He walks out like a ragdoll, his steps aneurysmal with alcohol.
Beside myself, salty tears act as an anaesthetic, the antonym of emotion. An apathetic ocean.
I clutch my centre, the daunting tormentor. Impregnation is a STD, an infection, an infestation. Glue for our miseries to undo our joys. Merriment induced torment, fidelity induced gaiety
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
some of us walk insistently,
instinctively, and instantly to
and upon the edged path,
this physical nexus & abstract mental locus,
a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail,
drawn of men, by men, for men
(yes, men are people too, still)
enthralling views,
down to the riverside,
where eyes intuit the
beauteous aroma of
precious precocious
precarious precipices
and the near-stench of
mortality
amidst
wafting scents of inane undesirable need,
hints of destruction, or,
alternating eager relief,
like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness,
making weakness in the knees, all too real,
trembling with a delicious accented edge of
a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread,
an all enveloping consumption need now!
to
crave what we fear,
to fear what we crave
our cravings are craven,
this twisted sense, annuls
our common sensibility, yet,
titillates our pleasured imagined relief,
releases, our unsated, even better,
our insatiable curiosity to tremble,
an entire body enjoined by vibrato~
enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred,
this danger choice releases something primordial,
escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed,
it has its very own designation…death wish
multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses,
and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby,
I travel the esplanade près de the East River,
where even if calm is the sole visiblilty,
undercurrents and the unpredictable passage
of container wakes and the larger freighters
will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel
to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts
but even more tempting, the balcony,
a hop, skip and a jump unlocked,
mere ten steps, no need for a running start
why it’s the “height of convenience,”
he ruefully winces, and not even any
TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences”
Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable,
Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even
feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream
“Why just men?
*I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.*”
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC
The blustery east wind
gathers the fragrant
Warm Springs
high desert
mountain sage,
cascading
downhill
through
Dry Creek pass
surging downward
from above
the Hood River valley,
with breath of sky's bouquet
of billowing
aromatic avalanche,
gushing
of heaven's zephyr
The poignant
sudden starkness
of fiery autumn leaves
letting go
whirling ― falling
helter skelter,
pushed urgently
flying westbound,
beckoned franticly
by
distant whispered
ocean bellows
blowin' in the winds
of change ―
Adrift across
Parkdale
mountain meadows,
Coyote bent,
paw trodden
ripe sweet grasses,
pungent with
waft of mountain sage
and fermenting apples fallen ―
the waxing silence
of the marvelous moon
echoes just beyond
the Lost Lake of the Woods,
its golden orange crescent
dances on clear lake ripples,
high perched
sky reflection lapping
the moon kissed shoreline
― alone ―
The Sliver of the Moon,
skinny lithe
unripened youth
arching
as unsated
summer love ―
sage memories
waxing and waning,
whiffs of honeyed Jasmine
writhing witherings,
coalescent
time drifts onward ―
unstoppable changes
never turning around
looking back
to see
their fading reflection
recurring ―
august rivers 2017
*note to self:
September 15, 16 east wind
Breathing Waft of lingering Mountain Sage
another Autumn soon comes*
... and I'm getting older too
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
them Tennessee mountains
live in his marrow's core
them Tennessee mountains
are the place he'll always adore
it's time for that Tennessee boy
to get on back to feel its welcoming air
he so wants be amid
the mountain's wilderness of peachy fair
there his roots do belong
grounded in every splendid furlong
he's been away from this homely hearth
roaming an unsated path
Adaline his sweet gal
waits in Tennessee
she'll greeting him with a kiss
under the crab apple tree
in her arms is where
he'll ever stay
cause she's the darling
who abides in his heart's cay
he's been dreaming of returning
to hear a blue jay's refrain
that calls in the mountains
with a sunlit twain
them Tennessee mountains
beat in his bosom's emotion
their soulful essence
so blissful of devotion
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
Do you remember when love was uncomplicated
Hand-holding, lonely fingers grasping,
Longingly, perfecting their grip?
And do you remember the honeymoon
Highs, up and up, dizzily clambering up,
Exploring new horizons?
And do you remember, precisely, when love emerged,
From clouds of chalked up experiences,
Foreboding as a mountain,
Where lonely fingers grasped,
Longingly, for fresh hand-holds?
The quest for loves summit rises,
Peak to higher peak,
Each conquered height unveiling a new vista,
Revealing loves perilous truth,
That each peak is surpassed by two more
And the summit remains elusive.
The fool will climb up and up,
Leaving a devastated trail of overlooks,
Ever unsated,
Ever yearning,
Ever lonely.
The sage will make camp behind a large rock,
Still aware of the mountains hidden presence,
But settled with a lightness of heart,
To enjoy just one wonderful view.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
I taste sweet nectar
each night I sleep without you
clawing at the fabric of my dreams
seeding my subconscious with self-doubt
Mr Resentment and Mrs Regret
my erstwhile lovers
one, cajoling and seductive
the other, spooning and insistent
together, sleep-deprived and unsated
we made for a corrupt ménage à trois
I taste sweet nectar
every night I spend with you
my new bedfellow
Ms Forgiveness
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
She saw..
The greed for peace, unsated forever,
The need for love, unabated however,
Emptying vast emptiness,
She saw in me..
I write, you paint, they sing,
She..
She cried,
Sat there, with me in her eyes,
She cries..
She told..
Tol' me of the hollow hollows,
She had to tell..
A piece of my heart,
She had to take..
To make it right,
she took the left..
Kissed my fingertips,
she cried and left;
Left a hole in me, where her tears fell..
She left.. and..
The Greed for Peace, abated forever,
The Need for Love, unsated.. still... however..
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
When doors were crushed
With fires breath
and 30,000
marched to their death
When screams rang bright
And hate rang true
And souls ran black
as midnight's hue
When books were burned
And shelves were bare
And broken glass glittered
Through winter's air
And cries rang out
despair and fear
unsated hate
unending tears
then chants resound
And rooms are bared
And dried blood glitters
In street lamps' glare
And cries ring out
both loud and true
When rockets flew
And silence blared
and bombs blew
Through autumn air
Yet all is fair
Yet all is fine
For hate
is war is love
Is just
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
Whence comes thy ill? Thy brooding bitter pill
Ploughed deep in fertile soil, sprouting to seed
Snake-like tendrils crawling to sprawl and spill,
Choking lush verdant fields with poisoned ****
Wilted young peaches, withered pears dying,
Irises blinded, red chrysanthemums
Faded to white, strewn petals borne on sighing
Dark fitful clouds rend'ring the landscape numb;
Oh bitter pill, thy loathsome poisoned thrill
Afflicts one tainted by unsated need
To wilt and wither, blinded, faded, ill
Craving for thee with hollowed hateful greed;
Sweet bitter pill, thou will be coveted
Till once ripe lush and verdant fields lay dead.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
ironies usurp courage
adventure scowls unsated
Times New Roman ****
pixels unconsummated
similes sin-taxed for hits
stale nefarious negging
all heros on the page
reality waits begging
- - - - - -
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an ********
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate ******** symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained *** urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.
Oct 14, 2023
Oct 14, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
sweet decay
everything is
rotting away
slowly
as we sway
sedated
seduced
ever unsated
life and death
eternally mated
time wished away
is oxygen wasted
Oct 8, 2009
Oct 8, 2009 at 2:32 AM UTC
You want to fight
But I, my angry darling,
I only want to write.
I'll spew out wrathful words and find redemption on the page.
And what will you do?
Where will you go?
Denied a receiver at which to bellow,
Will the bullish screams die within your throat
Before they reach your lips?
Does it bewilder you, how your rage remains unsated?
My reluctance, my refusal to join you in anger games?
Don't you wonder where I go?
I've told you, but you dismissed my refuge with a shrug,
So live with it, find a punchbag or a stressball,
Or better still a friend
On which to offload.
I only want to write
I won't fight you, not tonight.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
It is a sad, sad story
for the successes of the past do not fare to serve us in the present
the logic of the bully is a nationalist sigh of relief
and the arc of our world is divided by invisible lines that cross borders
but across which only poverty **** recorded and scored, shall pass
when the successful liar is preferred to the lonely sage
are we not prepared to accept that which we serve
are we not prepared to eat from the plate we have earned
to sup on anarchistic attitudes, imbibe narcoleptic morality
then purge our selective brutality on the servers
for we have earned this, that which fell into our laps
a modern life made tolerable by the indictments of demagogues
for freedom’s a blight in the nightmares of demagogues
shopkeepers made frightful by the incitement of demagogues
we don’t need rights when we’ve the rightness of demagogues
we know they are liars, but are they successful liars?
we know they start fires so they can be better seen
presiding over the funereal pyre of our former freedom
some bishop of hate and self-interest raised up by our fear
to a pulpit of nations drawn low by wage slavery
to a podium impatient for their arrogant knavery
to a rostrum of hatred unsated by gross economic products
to a minbar frustrated by allegations and false prophets
It is a sad, sad story
for our past failures, our careless disregard will not serve us in the present
the logic of the bully is the demagogues rise to belief
we are weakest only when we are weak
and no backs will lift this burden but our own
A sad story indeed
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC