"unshackled" poems
The Insecurities are flourishing,
A gorgeous garden is my mind—
But the weeds keep growing in.
Media like kryptonite—weakening my self esteem.
—Thoughts of a young child never knowing what to believe.
I lie awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling.
If only the notion could suffice in finding the words—
For the void I'm feeling in my life,
But it isn't simple.
Pure corruption of my mind,
Perfect pictures,
Flawless figures,
The images I can't erase.
Uncomfortable in my own skin—
What do I do to feel safe?
Do I drown myself in ink—to cover up the imperfections?
Instead of talking—walk and let my skin scream the self-expression?
Or do I return to the blank stare in the mirror?
The words are on repeat.
Who am I to think I’m beautiful—when I myself can’t see?
Who am I to think I'm valuable—when there is no self-confidence there?
Who am I to think I'm worthy—when I myself don't feel?
The insecurities keep flourishing.
A gorgeous garden was my mind,
But the weeds kept growing in.
Media like kryptonite—weakening my self esteem.
Thoughts of a young child,
--Never knowing what to believe.
One night as I lie awake—I hear my subconscious scream out to me.
The most attractive people do the ugliest of things,
The true beauty you want is what’s imprisoned within.
Why stop your happiness to return to a place—
—A place where you feel so alone?
Why do the tears flow?
You're killing yourself—
And you fail to realize
Your own self-doubt is the knife!
Pessimism,
The negative thoughts building inside—
They’re just as bad as the razorblade that kisses your skin as you sit in silence...
Why are you hurting yourself?
Temporary pain is only a distraction,
You were blessed and shaped by the hands of God.
What more could you possibly ask for?
Appearance is not everything.—
Stop the self-consciousness and live your life.
—acknowledge that you —are your worst —enemy...
I open my eyes.
The cries have ceased,
I return to the blank stare in the mirror.
The words are on repeat.
Who am I to think I’m beautiful—when I myself can’t see?
Who am I to think I'm valuable—when there is no self-confidence there?
Who am I to think I'm worthy—when I myself don't feel?
But it’s different this time,
My reflection speaks.
Saying no—
Who are you not to?
Your imperfections are beautiful.
Beautiful enough for the heart that is meant to love you,
Believe in yourself.
No more self doubt,
No more lost soul.
—No more insecurities flourishing,
A gorgeous garden is my mind.
No more weeds keep growing in,
Media is not my kryptonite,
No more weakening of my self esteem,
Thoughts of a young child finally unshackled —and free.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A ****** bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:15 AM UTC
Shackled imprisoned in an oval office
Called Robben island Transformed
Unshackled twenty seven years later
Freed a nation from an apartheid regime
Inspired the world from the Grand parade
A Universal Icon Humanitarian *** laude
Now honoured in the halls of Valhalla
Glorifying God...Looks upon us
With Love from the heavenly realm
INKULULEKO AHLULA
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…
May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:
JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
☻
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Fold you up like unwanted fat
cook you into a rocky stew
placed beneath a mantle of ice
far enough away to be misconstrued
You are old laminated time
And pillowed rock of incomprehensible
Earlier than any lime
Or sand, or sediment, or any kind
You are the grandfather rock
of mine
When I step with my inconsequential feet
living but transiently
I cannot help but be erased
that even you hath but one resting place
All the plants
and sands
and ever since the very first
we have always been ******
to this earth
walking upon your bones
I am sorry we cannot do more
but you know your creator
Speak in the same language
in amalgamators
of which we have forgot
and for that I can say
we are envious; are we naught?
Build softly, and carry us upon your thick
crust like pizza dough, cooking
and you let it sit
Let us win, set us up
drift us apart, leave us crushed
build us,
make us,
break us,
fill us
I want to be restored into your
stony belt and be redeemed
I want to become my own atomic fossil
to connect with the universe through long-lost
plotholes
and once again
hear the story
as a young lad
the way it was meant to be told
I want to eat dinner with my grandfather again
my real sweet stony-chiseled cheeked
father again
to be loved a boy
and a girl
and the whole world
a soul touched back into the deep
left unshackled
by a ***** or a queen
please,
take me back soon
rather than let me turn into
Laurentia
or Baltica
or Gondwana
alack
smacked into new rock to form
Urals
and Tetons
and Moher
back
Carbonate or Silicate,
and the end its the same
It won't be the end
for that fate rearranged
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
Hear ye, hear ye
hearken from the medieval times of old
where knights in the round once roamed
jousting with deeds fought in truth and honor
to protect the weak, the helpless, the oppressed
with an ideology lurking since the dawn of time
that all are born free, unshackled from contrived ordeals
only to soar high with the eagles to become one with the heavens
and bask in the glory of serving the frailty and holiness of mankind
Hear ye, hear ye
it’s Merlin conjuring a magical spell for the spirit
to behold, to marvel, new stages of self-enlightenment
where the essence of the King invades sleeping visions
possibly foretelling ominous events awaiting new missions
or predestined journeys one must endure to become so bold
in knowledge and wisdom offered, living in this world’s mold
not necessarily realized, instead shrouded with unimpeded urges
akin to the signs found in youth, immaturity, the close-minded
Hear ye, hear ye
the quest to sip from the Carpenter’s silver chalice
and taste charitable love for family, friends, and foes
where reckless pride and hatred are speared with the arrow
forged in devotion of a noble belief, tempered with selfless feats
where the sun rises and sets on the wicked actions of human nature
slaughtering the divine lights prematurely, locked within many souls
yet crusades against evil continues, no retreat, no regrets, no surrender
price to uphold the spirit of Camelot, payment in full, services rendered.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Promenade of Colors
reality ought to fade
watermarks on evening lake
the Lad idling was awake
Torments of Agony
the fear of ambiguity
a broidery of epitaph
toiling the stars up the top
Free of Delusions
impassive feelings strut
to the unknown that fogs
and hems over the mutt
Dashes of Silver
passing vessels of desolate
coxswain sighting out for love
moon bobs from the lake
Willows of Empathy
humming of Mississippi
-a friend that greets
the lake gave its peace
Signs of Eve
the breeze whispered
a wisp of eyes uncluttered
the Lad unshackled
Artistry of Sky
as spirits begins to fly
I was full astound
my purpose, now I found
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.
My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads
painting all in lavender hue
and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse
You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry,
words wound together in strange nightly meter
that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled
and petals cast down the stream
To bathe in the rippling water
and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind
let the stones become smooth
and mind like bowstrings, taughtened.
But the crowds protest in collective indignation
all members chained together by common trepidation
lest altars crack under the weight of strange words
and the diety's light grows dim
they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth
into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled
The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter
but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies
and perish ten thousand times.
Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away.
But the one who, in nighttime, sings
and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part
words and strange poems spoken blaspheme
will live but once and one day rest
by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream
and not by chain's clanking arrest.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
*Lying in the ground, entangled,
lost in a thoughtless trance-
there is no need to hide,
I shut my eyes.
Seduced by the sight of color,
persuasive in its attempt to bridge us together.
We are lured in,
there are no promises,
no spectre of thought.
Remind me its today.
The cold ground beneath,
carrying the weight of my tender heart,
unshackled by the grip of your starving hands; touch me.
Your hand slowly slip under my skirt,
pulling down my sweet intimate.
A sensational rapture,
—loud as the clouds,
a maddening sound.
Envelop the day like a tension film
--desperate to penetrate the savage sun,
Foolish, undoubtedly foolish.
serenade me under the shade, my little fire.
I could hardly breathe.
I suffer sweetly in your hands,
helpless, glued to the ground, frustrated,
annihilated by the movement of your hand,
those fumbling fingers tracing my delicate skin...
I weep your name, my darling !
I hear the world’s lust,
clandestine eyes watching us,
Ignorant of the world were in.
Ignorant of the world I’m in,
drowning in your gaze-
I witness the world’s miracle-
Its electric than the pinnacle.
my sweet teeth.
what a sentimental thrill to be close to you this way-
gnarling, exposed for the taking.
You go deeper,
reach higher,
my toes curling,
body reluctantly surrender,
hands crawl,
knees start to shudder,
eyes start to water, I cant move.
do you hear me my lover?
I'm begging, whispering,
but this time for more.
blind me again, and again, and again.
I kiss you gently, roughly, then all at once.
The sun boiling at the palm of my hands,
holding me down in prayer,
my screams start to clutter,
body start to simmer,
lights start to flicker,
I keep my eyes shut.
I no longer need reminding.
Keep me alive in this place.*
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 12:01 PM UTC
Don't worry,
When they'll be burning me to the stakes
For the true witch that I am,
When the smoke gets in my eyes,
And clouds over my judgment,
I'll tell you.
I'll tell you of who I killed-
My hopes and dreams
That I thought I unshackled for what it seems,
But didn't.
I'll tell you of who I am,
Of who I used to be,
Of who I want to be,
And who I need to be,
But what I am now,
Is none of those things.
What I am now,
Is dying.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
There would be no way
To determine it's course
Unshackled
Love, be it called
Screaming without a motive
Dripping in tears
Unrivaled in fear
Underfoot lies hate
Decaying in self deprecating
Beauty
A book
So misjudged
By it's cover
Glorious, and oh
So glorious love
To be set upon
By flights of fancy
Gold, lace and all
To be a spectacle
A beacon of the triumph
Of good over evil
Light over dark
Yin over Yang
Yang over Yin?
Silly ponderous mind
Queer that one
Would meander
Outside the box
Do not forget that poetry
Is only here to
Accommodate your
Flair
Perhaps I
Am the box
To think
Of boxes
Perfect little squares
Perfect exhibits
Of a mistrial
To wander
Look away
To see
To think of subjection
To think...
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
Sitting, restless
In this changeling
Sensation
Of freshness and renewal.
Running
Rat on a wheel.
Each passing day
A different way
Of feeling,
An altered state of mind.
Seeking
To find
A man within the boy.
Hoping to see
The real me.
Alive and kicking.
Hot flushed, this post determined puberty
And the desperate need to feel.
An urgent angst to Be.
Short fuse and temper flare.
I’m not really there
Yet still somehow
Everywhere and
Everything;
Else breathing.
Dysmorphic chest
Heaving
Exigency
In this
Juncture
Soul puncture,
And bloodied bandaids
Cast off
My heart
Once worn on my sleeve.
I am finger skin,
Flesh and nail
Torn
And jagged edges
Peeling.
Perplexity kneeling,
I am deeply lost inside of me.
Begging to be found.
Compund; unbound.
They say that beggars can’t be choosers
Only losers left to dreaming.
They also say
That I may be a dreamer
But I’m not the only one.
I will come undone in this undoing.
Eschewing
A life lived unalive.
Slow unravel
To once again
Begin
To belong in this
Skin
Stitched bleeding riches
To my bare and brittle bone
He is not alone
I feel him
Running
Waiting
Sating disquietude
With an attitude
Unshackled
He is not running
Rather feet flying
A rat inside
A wheel.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
i.
I'm unrestricted with her
Meaning free;
I'm her, she is I, we art one
A king and his queen.
ii.
Unbounded, unshackled
Sentient in comprehension unknown to mortal creature;
We hath wing's, with moonlight ring's
A ceremony shalt be soon, with stellar feature's.
iii.
No doctor's, nor teacher's
We art ourn own healer's;
We art different than the rest
We shalt overcometh devil's, and demonic test's.
iv.
For tis I am blessed
To knoweth such an empress to mine throne;
She reside's in every space of this poetic mind
She maketh me seeith when I'm blind, speaketh when I'm mute
For tis
She's mine home.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Peace
Will there ever be peace?
Or are we all headed for doom
When it comes to my life
I truly think there's no such thing
Peace has never been apart of it
Are you out of your minds?
There is no peace!
How can my people have peace
When we have nothing
There's no childhoods anymore
This is a wasteland
This is a place filled with injustice
There can be no peace
When there's war on our streets
As long as we're living in this hell
Peace will never come around
Until you clean this mess you made
The only peace I have..
Is my peace of mind
This is why I keep my weaponry
As I walk these streets
Because there will never be peace
Once again, how can we have it
When abortions are carried out
Children are thrown off buildings
When suicide is the new norm
Drugs turning neighborhoods out
Racism is still a common actuality
Young girls are ***** each night
Peace will only come
When this turmoil comes to a halt
When we are finally unshackled
When everything is back to normal
But of course we truly know
That it will get worst before better
So no need count on it
For it will never come to pass
The norm is now a storm
More like a F-5 Earthquake
Rumbling the days of our lives away
I pray constantly still..
The somehow peace can be met
Until then, I worry of me and mine
I want what the clowns on top have.
Peace! Peace! Peace!
Don't brag about us needing peace
When you're not aiding any for us
Share that peace with us
Or should I strategically say,
Provide a piece of peace...
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
A world
beyond.
Dreamland
unbounded.
A vision of
grander
vistas.
Vistas
unshackled by
the senses.
Senses that
limit our
vision, our
reach.
The senses
tell us
this is
all there is.
Five senses
dictates!
Dictates
reality.
Dictates
all that
is seen and
known.
Dreamland shows
otherwise.
Dreamland
takes us to
other realms,
other times.
No limits!
No limits
to a
richer
reality.
A reality
beyond the
senses.
Dreamland,
a sixth
sense,
a window
to infinity!
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
Unchained I hear the melody
Unshackled I can dance again
Unbound I am breaking free
from the cocoon that held me
down
Free to be the Butterfly
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
birthed into a golden birdcage
safe behind upstanding spindles
endless nectars and suet at your beckon
knowing only the showcase of your plumage
and the sound of your tunes
layers remain
between you and the grackles
painted a nuisance
yet they stay unshackled
only poisoned and disregarded.
still they know the freedoms
not found atop
swings and perches
dig deeper
until you find what lurches.
the gate can be opened
when you realize yourself
to be the gatekeeper
yielding what's mine
using wings of more than feathers
making up for lost time.
looking back at the captivity
you couldn't see from inside.
entering a new world
with the grackle as my guide.
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 4:29 PM UTC
Some recite distant waves of their time lines in a scatter
Repressed memories that come and go and fluculate with chaos
Mine are in order, like a precise file cabinet of a New York court house A through Z
1 to a million plus more filed in rigid manor
The room they lie in remains untouched on most occasions
It’s rare for me to make a visit,
But the grey cast of pulverous dust keeps people away
Including myself
Oddly enough, I wish I had the time to extinguish those files,
And completely erase everything that exists
And co-exists together within label
To revive and produce anew set of secrets
That bask in a solar energy structured room
With windows of 8 feet in height or more
So that the sun can give off a plentiful suppelment of vitamins
To keep the energy alive
To have nothing to hide
And showcase my pieces elegantly
For everyday shoppers to stop and glance,
A few applauds here and there as well
To jazz the setting up a tad
But unlike like most
I place the past so far back
It’s like the Rossetta Stone
Before she was found
All over again
When it’s finally discovered, I warn,
It will be rickety and impassible for any eyes,
News papers,
Or media to surpass
Almost as if a high ranked prison
Has just unshackled it’s most dangerous inmate
Set free on good behavior
How unfair the system can be, let alone unnerving
For now my files stay clouded and sunk
Farther than the Marianas Trench
With thousands of species undiscovered
Inaccessible to even think about attaining
So don’t worry about my inner demon being unleashed
Good behavior on good,
It's always on it’s worst.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:41 PM UTC
The irony of a life unshackled -
seemingly an advocate for freedom.
But only to find its beats forlorn,
as it serviced payments for past follies’
ransom.
Dec 15, 2021
Dec 15, 2021 at 10:08 AM UTC
It was my birthday.
And the first thing i could say to my coworkers when I saw them after was
“I didn’t cry”
And it’s true.
For the first time in 25 years
I can genuinely say I’m happy
And I had an amazing day.
I didn’t cry,
I smiled and laughed,
Had fun
And felt like myself.
Free, happy, unshackled.
I’m happy.
It took a while,
It took some tears,
It took pain,
It took blood,
But I am happy.
So extremely me
And so god **** happy.
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 9:06 AM UTC
It was classic,
just like Delphi said it would be.
Bright lights
(I mean bright),
yellow walls
(shades of *****
a low hum
(in the bass range).
Mister Suit
sporting a razor-thin mustache
sat stoic at a long black table
carrying a wry grin,
his eyes shades of pitch.
They unshackled me,
hands pushed me down
into a chrome chair
with a firm red leather cushion.
Screams came through the wall
from the room next to us.
I sat there just as stoic
across from him
with a wry smile
of my own.
It felt like a scene
from a stereotypical sci-fi flic,
it wasn't though.
This was as real as it gets,
these guys meant business.
Guys like me were trouble
for the Control Boys.
They'd find out soon
I wasn't a pushover.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC