"unsayable" poems
The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!
Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew
Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts
Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.
Praise me, praise me.
Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?
But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?
Origins unknown
Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.
What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you
Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.
It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.
I egged you on.
I loved you back.
I’m sorry.
#MeToo
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.
Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body
5.4k
Let's talk about this jazz club
that lives in my cellphone
in 1950 something with Chet Baker
back from the dead.
Let's toast to random notes taking flight
into the city in the middle of nothing nights we've known or been familiar with.
Let's shake hands cordially with the unfamiliar as in "deal", or "peace be with you" as if in church, tipping hats at that stranger passing by at the crosswalk some late evening in spring alongside dandelions sprouting forth from the pavement. Let's read between breaks of beats Kerouac must have hit in 1950 something San Francisco in yelps into the moonlit stages of the balcony of his boxcar boxcar boxcar gone by in a mad blur with whatever graffiti'd message of hope it bore on its sides. Let's hitch into the unknowingly infinite by way of the pen's mighty point. Let's unlearn the way syllable by syllable and demolish languaged signs like hurricane force candor blowing down fact-ory made terms and political decorum as smoke from the pages of their corporate handbook joins the Chet Baker solo note pilgrmage into the holy skyline. Let's move side by side unspoken as those jazz notes he forgot to play. Let's fill in those blanks with uninformed confidence beyond our abilities and grasp the unsayable names of our dreams remmebered. Let's see in seconds passing like bums inebriated with the holy moments gone too soon. Let's talk about nothing but this sacred second at hand on this clock unseen pointing overhead to the face of the moon gone full and hungry for attention. Let this happen only now. Only then will we talk about where it's going.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:44 AM UTC
~
*"Leave the lights off and on,
I feel mysterious tonight,"
she says.
"Every time you look different,"
replies her careful ecstasy.*
Practice makes perfect,
and from chaos comes 💋 (kissing).
She floats free from
her own body's outer reaches:
The mirrorball and the mystic circle.
The mirrorball is a light
for attracting attention.
The mystic circle
is an unsustainable trance.
*"Will I dream during the process?" she asks.
"Only if you know the wild that wants you," chants the infinite unsayable yes.*
~
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 7:43 PM UTC
We all have something singularly unsayable within. Nothing can or will ever get to it, not even other souls. This is the loneliness we were all born with and this is our only salvation.
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 3:01 AM UTC
Thoughts spin softly toward the unsayable Impossible to resist like the city's dark glamour or a wicked woman's kiss
Each turn of her face an eclipse giving birth
Each cigarette a torch held high
Only to have died all gorgeous and sad
As the city and abyss stare each other down
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
I want to teach you
The language of my hands
For they can at times
Be so very much more eloquent than I
More subtle than my sometimes clumsy tongue
Less prone to stumbling or misstep.
Every touch can be a poem
There are volumes written
Upon the lines of palms
Comfort in the creases, reassurance
Love, desire, solace, all find voice
Buried in fingerprints.
All that I cannot speak
In the space where words fail
Or have not the proper definition
Let my hands tell you
By caress or grasp
Variations of pressure or attitude
In perfect, silent eloquence.
That way, even the simple
Lacing of fingers twining
In knots of flesh and bone and nerve
Can be a conversation
Between our pulse
The unsayable become known
Described perfectly
As a slight squeeze.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
I'm not always good to her
but she's always there for me
I pour my wretches into her white
and she just takes it
without flinching
I only come to her when it suits me
because sometimes it's just
so hard
sometimes there's just
too much to say
I don't know where to start
and it gets so loud
convoluting in minor keys
I leave her behind
because she knows
I can't lie
she ***** the truth
right out of me
I can't smile and nod
glaze over as disconnect severs
the feelings I'm fleeing
so I avoid the conversations
that are dying to get out of me
but it's just so hard
to say some things
even when you know
after there will be relief
and weights tied will unbind
and release
and you may yet float
and breathe
so thank you, P
for giving all the unsayable things
air and wings
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC