"unsatiated" poems
My words, becoming literal.
I'm losing grip on deeper thoughts,
I wish I could find something more
But darkness fills my deepest caves.
I cannot mask my blunt remorse,
Unsatiated hungry thoughts.
I try so hard but I am weak,
My dusty bones can't hold my weight.
I am a force to all I love,
A burden they cannot hold up.
I'm sorry I am much too frail,
But you don't have to keep me safe.
There's something wrong inside my head,
I keep on wishing I was dead
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
I find myself looking for words.
Combinations of feeling
I did not know existed.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle for them
& make myself a fool.
The world was so big before I met you
& now I'm grasping for it,
unable to recall it's delusion
as I am pulled into your orbit.
Out of drifting dreams.
My mind goes blank
& all I can see
is the dark galaxy that is you.
Alien, beautiful & natural.
You haunt me.
I nearly never believed so big,
& you infiltrated this complex defense
to show me what's been missing.
Half crazed by the loneliness of space
I cannot articulate.
Another form of art I hesitate to express.
I do not trust myself
that it will not be perfect,
fluid,
each stroke of the tongue
like the brush fear failure.
I want to show you all I see
beneath the stars.
Let the brilliance of the moon shine through.
But she is stuck.
In the cloud of curious awareness,
my eloquence cripples me.
How many things can I say
before I lose my grace?
& I dread
the company of simple minds
who cannot love stories.
So eager,
your patience holds the hand of the clock.
I want to watch your eyes glow
lit up by the music from my lips,
& I want to be carried off
by all you reminisce.
I can't believe in chance
when a soul like yours comes to court.
Thrice even.
I am challenged by the core of you.
Inquiry.
Things I cannot see
& stopped looking for.
If I take no notice,
I will not be seen.
Drawn into someone else's dreams,
Abandoning me.
I forgot how to identify
with my kind
so that I did not lose me.
Then I rusted over.
The great machine locked away
while the shows went on
in Technicolor.
Introspective
losing passion & luster inside this shell.
How you found me,
only body in forum.
You took me out to play.
Engaged, stalled, oiled & sparked
Life.
I am reminded of a better me.
An affirmation,
of my Dominant heart.
His voice,
the coaxing in my womb to Be.
Away with closed up, dying to shine.
You wanted to show me off,
pretty girl.
I remember being a Goddess
& shattering the abyss around me
with heart & raw warmth.
The fire of honesty.
Unsatiated wander bred in me
& I held nothing back.
Now the world is clay
& my garden to build upon.
Train me to grow.
I am inspired to be stardust.
Permeate every corner of this heavenly body.
I find myself the eager student of Aquarius.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress
desecrating the sacred.
Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.
Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.
Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.
In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.
Lurking behind aches
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.
Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.
Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.
Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
You are a guardian of the law
Your duty is to keep crime at bay
And bring the criminals to justice
But, as I watch you,
Wearing a khaki uniform
And swinging your baton around
As you go about on your daily rounds
I am filled with such a rage
That I hold my hand up in prayer
And desperately wish that thoughts could ****
Because you would then be dead
Before anyone could even say "police"
You are a guardian of the law
Your duty is to keep crime at bay
And bring the criminals to justice
But instead, you abuse the immense power
That you wield in your iron fist
As people come out in hordes
To protest on various issues
You swing your baton around
As wood clashes against flesh
Democracy dies a thousand deaths
However, your lust is unsatiated
A pistol replaces the baton
As it rains bullets
Bundles of cash change hands
As you quietly pocket them
You yell to the world
That justice has been served
Even as the bodies pile up
And Humanity waves a white flag
As she bows to your iron fist
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
He knew the ache could not be recompensed
they knew it too the moment echoes fell silent
There was already not enough love
in a world grown dark as darkest past
It wasn't the color of his skin nor dialect
or the journey of a thousand miles
Not the place that he'd come from
back when ― left behind
nor a heart of gold,
that never became a home
The colour of unwritten silence
had eclipsed the waning light
On the run from who he'd become;
ashamed for all he was,
couldn't erase a lifetime that felt a waste ―
trying to untie a Gordian knot
He saw his body as an entombing barbwire cage
imprisoning a wellspring of love writhing deep therein
Immured at arms length from the outside world
where the soul of a teardrop abides within
its insignificance
Shielding the inherent maelstrom
from the innocent passersby
Buried thoughtfully for the greater good of all ―
for the unsatiated dream boundless love betides
Written artifacts exhumed like ***** secrets
a lifetime of stigma's stain swept under the rug;
just whispered words written from an unfinished life
few ever really looked deeply between the twisted lines
arising from the soul of just another passing stranger
The long road begets a suffocating silence
choking out, extinguished love inhumed
Ashes of what once had been life aglow of light
forevermore shrouded
like the dark side of the moon
rivers
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
The sensuous drool from the luscious lips
Dripping on your chin, and confluence
At the ***** where, eternal love resides
The glistening stream of consciousness
Only the two conscious souls are waiting for
To take a leap of faith, and drenching the souls
With the crystal clear consciousness of love
Where passion resides at the bottomless bed
Entwined like the eel, slithering to further depths
Exploring the pearls of sensuality, cocooned in shells
Hidden away from the worlds, only for the One to
Take away all the spoil, the bandit of the heart
Who uses the sword, with not the intent to ****
But he uses it deftly to rip open more passion
Leaving the mermaid wanting for more
She is still unsatiated, and the game has just begun
Gasping for breath, underwater,
In synchronization like the ballet, they both emerge
For a while, oblivious of the world
Concerned only about the treasures, deep down
And together they dive down, again,
The bandit is always eyeing the treasure to be exploited
Ready to drown, along with treasures of the heart
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Whether storms are all numbered, counted, and expelled from heaven's manufacture as sensational, furious strands of wind and rain, who can say? As they arrive, however, it is nonetheless clear that they arrive as effects to sets of circumstances.
I sat up straight as an arrow, freshly awakened from a stirring dream of madness as the latest one arrived, watching the black clouds like mighty arms, struggling and arguing against the trees outside my bedroom window. I had been torn by an invisible hand clutching me by the throat, snatching me from the murk of an ephemeral bedroom.
Engulfed in unsatiated fear, powerless to convulse even the tiniest flesh patch or creak a bone, my body was wrapped in only a gray silken **** cloth. As I lay awake, speechless, thunderbolts cracked.
As I was rendered helpless to petrification, I was surrounded by strike after strike, a confounding series of white bolts striking seven times in each place, following a path of concentric circles around my small bed.
I struggled to move, feeling a moving static across my body like jellyfish stings from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, as I felt the cold chill from each bolt setting my face into a freezing strangulation.
I was pulled away. I faded away from the smoking holes surrounding the bed, the sub-zero chill outside and the torturous heat of fear and arrhythmia pumping spews and spurts through my arteries inside, and I was left to wander in my own fantasia as I stared up to the ceiling above me in my real bed, daydreaming of its meaning in epistomological fashion.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
The silent screams of forgotten souls
The poor things tethered to their worldly regrets
Are what haunt me in the dead of night
Pale ghosts glide before my eyes
Their images distorted by the veil between our worlds
They gather where their lives have ended
Pining for the times when they were alive
Or filled with a need for vengeance
Just the same, unsatiated
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
April 2, 2012.
The only thing I am capable of drawing
is a city skyline.
Anonymous configurations
buildings I've never actually seen before.
Everytime I was handed a writing utensil
and a smooth wriing surface
my hand would flow into the careful rhythm
of drawing parallel lines
some buildings were topped off with triangular party hats
others remained flat
a place for the horizion to rest upon
This started at a young age.
Somewhere between eight and twelve.
My body began to itch for a city
that was overcrowded with the heat
of dream driven bodies
A constant ticking of an alarm clock
that would never understand
the word snooze
Tonight, I am reminded of this feeling.
The worn out, drugged feeling
unsatiated with drawing the familiar pattern
A feeling I've constantly felt
but a skyline I've never seen
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
.
*In an anthem of doubt
the wind song resonates
passionately through
natures’ cocooned embrace ,
heart’s echoes manifest
thrive and bear fruit.
unspoken hearts enflamed
in poetic supplications ,
soul rejuvenation ,
a flake of love sown
a spark of hope evident
a burning bonfire
metamorphosed ,
wildfire fanned by the muse
a shameless passion
insatiated thirst
unsatiated taste buds
a hungry heart craving ,
an unsatisfied desire
to be spellbound
the moment of love
at long last ,
imbibed in deepest
heart subsisting coddle ,
held like life sustaining breath
take me to your secret throne
lead me down
your garden pathway moans ,
where all your secrets will be known ,
let me taste the beauty
of your naked sacred stone ―
please don’t make me wait forever
longing to be warm
in the frigid cold aloneness
curling my back
to a fading memory
where you used to lie at dawn* ...
wild is the wind 11. 27. 2016
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
Malicious destruction
In childlike confusion.
A twisted affair
Left both so unaware.
Their bodies met without a care.
A mindless lust
Crushed into abyss...
I tried to scratch the poison out
All those years ago.
Thought I had bled you out,
All of this, everything about you, go.
You and I: a poison
Toxic
Rabid chaos
A deadly end.
Toxic
Unsatiated desire
Neither of us could quench
Toxic.
To my surprise
And our sweet demise,
Each other, once again we found.
Indescribable pleasure,
A rekindled fire.
Our bodies met without a care.
Mindless lust
Crashed to the ground.
You and I: a poison.
Toxic.... Till the end.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
**** You, Evangeline
I hated you in the seventh grade
When you were pushed on me at school
And broke my rib,
As I badmouthed you on the monkeyswings.
But quickly I learned
Not from mom or sister
That to be a man is different than
Hollywood and Disneyland
Nothing Loves, Actually; Forever calls—
Very quickly
It seems
That I go from adorable to expendable
Serendipitously,
With a bit of mandated mail
And affairs with Eros’ bureaus of State
Back then I played with chitinous bugs
Baiting them fluffy placentas
of budding trees
And stalked them back to their cave
Before I knew my felonies
But I was a baby,
A child—I never could have known what it means.
But of course I do,
I’ve seen
the running of the bulls
The utterance of men
They are angry and gouge *******
with cold vicegrips around their ******
And are kicked
Mercilessly
Spurned to wrathful affectation
To be murdered in the evening
With rapturous spectation
“But they are bulls!”
Of course they are
"These feelings are only natural!"
No man can equate
With the pleasurable temptations of the state
Not bird or bug or steer or doe
The only Hierarchy permissible
Is of the animals
And of that we hate
I don’t see you woeing
About that steak on your plate.
Or the Glue in the soles of your shoes.
Stroll a bit
Sniff the trees
Whiff the ********
When it’s in the feed
He runs in circles shouting, chanting
“Oye, Oye, Aye Piche Cabrone!”
As the solo mothers cut his lengua
for the starving Ninos
In an apartment complex
off Oxenhoof Lane
Where
Papi got iced
By I.C.E or the like
And the kiddies will never know what it means.
You’ll never know what it means
To be a bull
Muster your might for this—demand with laughter you die
I am an ant in the ever-washed hive
Of sterile kin who have no lives
They give for their queen or infectious despot with wings
Despite all the kindness they've given me,
I am not ready to be meat for the feet.
In every blade of grass I've faith
That no bird or sin will ****** me from my place
And into the sky or the unsatiated mouth of the various
Disunified highs
For now I share the toil and vitriolic
Callous
Jowls of those who hate themselves
More than me
And try to smile and bring food for the queen
But deep inside
I am an ant
And that is all you will ever see.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 1:46 PM UTC
And he sleeps
Amongst the fisherman,
And the cab drivers,
And he's with me at midnight
Where the devil's hour draws
Closer to the lone sidewalk
And we are all ghosts
And I'm on the edge
Of a proverbial cliff and he's
There with me.
And he is no longer
Jesus of the Chapel
But of the slum dwellers,
Of the motocycle bikers,
Of the sodomites mentioned in
Howl and thought to
Roam the nights unsatiated.
That God.
The one I'm looking for.
The savior with an armsling
And an extensive knowledge
Of ***********
Every position every crack
Every twist and turn.
That God
Who baptized needles pinned
Freshly to tattoos
And made theologians
Out of tax collectors
And Jesus
Whose nails
Were used to tattoo
The words "King" grisly
On his forehead
And he was chiseled
On a cross,
Not hung.
Spurs on his feet licked
Like lapdogs by tongues
Hungry still for love,
Laying at the foot of the
Memory Jesus,
Crying,
All adulterers and profaners
And cheaters and liars all,
Who laugh
And sneer and snipe
In disbelief at his memory.
Ours.
At his clean, pierced hand
Slowly turning to ash
At the weight of our
Ink, face turning to bulletholes
As the chests decay
Into some kind of
Gang war amalgamation,
Tongues swollen,
Organs numb,
***** pierced with rose thorns
And rubbed with alcohol
And lubricant and
Sharp fingernails.
And we weep
As we are transfigured in return,
Each wound a closing scar.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
When vague
Unsatiated
Lusts
Float across
Flush pink eyelids
Closed
Against harsh
November sun
I open to note
A burnt orange leaf
Leaving its branch
In flight unknowing
Where
When
To land
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 5:12 AM UTC
Sudden chance of rain, she says
And things come pouring back
To this echoing cavern
Flooded from clouds of black
And here we are again, I think
A drowning man inside
With the unrequited unsatiated
A love that's undefined
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
only among poetry do you feel so
guilty having written much and read so little;
then come the chances to appreciate other genres,
and having appreciated such genres, become
all too willing to change
the genre of your expression
into something worth attention
when none was required;
such is poetry, an art of beatified
speech where there was none
to begin with;
and where adequate reading was enjoyed,
no other arithmetic of adequacy
was expressed, given the tongue's
complications of usage, i.e.
no beauty ***** joining him
for a scene at the opera, blah ha;
no tsar that met him ever left talking
about him with a feeling of jealousy -
the concert of concubines
and the nagging of the tsarina to keep up
appearances:
now watch the nagging darwin in me
with a monkey's face doing the juggling act
of ooh ooh oh ooh for the mouth's
shaping into a protruding of lips awaiting a trumpet!
blows a desire of the many sires, and hence the shipwreck
of the aristocratic hearts gathered into a populace
of a little city without silverware and serf hands
providing the chess moves of moveable silverware
for entrée, main and dessert of edibles macaroons: ah those
feasting eyes and corsets... how eager the scythe in hands
that sweated for the eyes to be so tearful and yet unsatiated
at a table of candlelight and ahem aha manners of using napkins;
i'll concern myself with courtesy when i'm able
to express myself in saxon or bavarian:
burping after a carbonated drink at the table drank...
and indeed i'll ease out a **** on my way out from
the splendour to an applause: without a necessary crescendo
of my own undoing!
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
let be the breath that none see.
but only though feel it that makes life, even in most wee.
cause so scarcely is that thick stuff; but always believe it.
the bright of the shy hope will roof the summit.
is now your cause of senselessness.
so sorrow life can show you the realness.
rise your glaring face and decide the truth.
so rare is so the real proof.
in my hole life ,
so proudly shows so much rife.
this is my hall mark ,
i believe the blind can have a dear silk.
its so cool and sorrow heart the way you treated me so hard.
but now difficult do any soul as its so sad
now believe there are lawless ****** things.
but only though move forwards never look backwards.
im the bluff of the gumption of the blue sky.
no the blame of the taste of unsatiated motion of love.
so dainty the way the blue sky conveys sensation.
so grand when the wind grow so sensitiveness .
call the haysee of your vision the season.
but so gloomy many times the air blow the sermon.
i have heard the tide saying most time bye bye .
but i can feel the well pouring down the heaven .
so heaven feeling that turned out to sorrowfulness.
the most suffering from my heart but willing dearness.
launch today your glance to my face to see the right .
and you will notice there is more space space its no t a lie.
i have seen the sea gotten into fire .
that stirred up my life desire .
you are the taste of the daring romance .
and no living no way under heaven can equal your performance .
let you move in the trinity of the fire of the beginning.
now becoming the right of the false singing .
shave the steam of flawless union .
if i can have the dream of far region.
in my hole life ,
so proudly shows so much rife.
this is my hall mark ,
i believe the blind can have a dear silk.
its so cool and sorrow heart the way you treated me so hard.
but now difficult do any soul as its so sad
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
That black hole
The one that ***** everything in
But still remains empty
Unsatiated.
The one which remains hollow,
Doesn't break, doesn't crack.
It takes everything in,
And waits.
For the perfect time.
Yes, that's the one I harbour.
~Moniba.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
*of you I see the soldiers. all alike all abreast keeping time
streets; they hear it, the old gates shake, and the leisurely patter
of frame houses, they have leapt the green tide towards the gardens
them detaching sweat smells from underclothes making muscles itch
a tremulous pale fleet over gleaming ripples to the
o you strong bells of castile, can it be that you
a dormir. beetred faces of men. the shadows make strange streaks and
brass beat. run run to see the flushed sunlight, the
blowing with bearded lips on a brave high bed; the golden light of
panting unsatiated breath that heaves under the golden crown has slipped*
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
I had to leave,
I had nothing left to give.
Your lust,
Had become your must.
Your unsatiated desires,
Became quagmires.
Your continued demands,
Hollering reprimands,
Had left me hollow ,
Empty with nothing but sorrow.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
For seven months I drank my tea at the window and allowed the sun to cast its rays over my resolution.
I gazed at the space between but never directly into my neighbours house
for I knew the indifference that awaited me in her window of enmity.
During the seventh month my love swelled and pooled at my fingertips, restless with those un-penned words of indignation,
And so I gazed into her window.
Bleeding from my freshest wound,
just rage unfurled into bitter poems,
reruns of us,
of when you offered the belly of my dignity to feed your enemies, revealed a vengeance owed to me,
not of retribution
but of justice.
During the eighth month I wrestled love and grief, rage and memory,
to save you,
to save you from the recklessness my pain threatened to uncage.
I allowed the waves of your betrayal to break over me and pull me back into the sea of childlike grace within myself.
I did not emerge cleansed, pure, or resolved.
Victorious over my animal lust for vengeance,
yet unsatiated in surrendering my desire to deliver you to the same gallows where you made a pariah of me.
And conflicted with answerless questions.
Is vengeance the natural harbinger of karma and therefore my gentleness; justice interrupted?
Is my enduring love my weakness or my courage?
.
Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 2:49 AM UTC
Upstairs,
There was a pause.
"Is this just about ***
you asked.
Instinctually I was offended.
Is this just about our bodies, you mean?
That my warm rub against yours
is just skin, just flesh on flesh
as we share the space inside one
and around the other.
I permit you
to taste the spit that comes
from the inside,
and gently you give it back,
And I swallow.
This is our exchange
of space and juice and breath
And yes,
with most persons
I watch from the inside, alone;
But I know you
Have tasted your tide
Pressed against your push and
Felt you
Share the space -
really Share the Space -
with me.
More
I want to know you more,
feel you more
that I am driven to this potent nook of intimacy
and hope that this time I will
yet again, be unsatiated.
So we do it again and again
to get deeper
to try to force through out figures
and be more together than
The mutual space inside one
and around the other.
Maybe I am alone.
Maybe this depth is unrequited.
But that is the necessary risk of Life
because in order to create
in order to continue
We all must make love.
I evolve past offense
and look into the eyes that
have seen through me:
"Isn't it?" I respond.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
I am a collector.
Really?
What now?
People, Places, Things?
Hmmm... Yes and No.
Of Desires. Dreams. Memories.
Desires,
For unsatiated sense of longing.
So People.
Dreams,
Floating images, emotions, fantasies.
So Places.
Memories.
That's all which is left.
So, Things.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC
patience demanded now
it couldve been worse but i wasnt sure -
looking, and my thoughts are not current
and im sorry and im scared and is it worth it
unsatiated crown
cutting off, its all i know
the only thing i can control
and i worry and i falter
because all thats in my palms are stones
Jul 31, 2023
Jul 31, 2023 at 1:28 AM UTC