"unshaded" poems
443
I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl—
Life’s little duties do—precisely—
As the very least
Were infinite—to me—
I put new Blossoms in the Glass—
And throw the old—away—
I push a petal from my gown
That anchored there—I weigh
The time ’twill be till six o’clock
I have so much to do—
And yet—Existence—some way back—
Stopped—struck—my tickling—through—
We cannot put Ourself away
As a completed Man
Or Woman—When the Errand’s done
We came to Flesh—upon—
There may be—Miles on Miles of Nought—
Of Action—sicker far—
To simulate—is stinging work—
To cover what we are
From Science—and from Surgery—
Too Telescopic Eyes
To bear on us unshaded—
For their—sake—not for Ours—
’Twould start them—
We—could tremble—
But since we got a Bomb—
And held it in our *****
Nay—Hold it—it is calm—
Therefore—we do life’s labor—
Though life’s Reward—be done—
With scrupulous exactness—
To hold our Senses—on—
3k
umulan man at umaraw (rain or shine)
sa gutom man at uhaw (in hunger and thirst)
gaano man kababaw (no matter how insignificant)
itong ating abot-tanaw (our gather horizon)
sa panahon ng tag-lagas (during the autumn)
sasanga ang puno ng wagas (the tree gotta branch full of pure)
dahon at dagta magbabawas (leaves and resin currently reduce)
may mag-aanyong maangas (then a form of the only you takes its amazing column)
sa punong walang lilim (in chief unshaded)
walang aninong maililihim (no shadow would hide)
magbubunga ang ugat (root shall yields)
lingid sa ating pamulat (lurking at our naked eye)
mula sa pagsilip ng bukang-liwayway (From dawn preview)
hanggang sa init ng tanghaling tapat (until mid-noon heat)
maging sa pagsapit ng dapit-hapon (even at the approach of dusk)
pagtatakpan ako, mula sa simula muli ng takip silim (shielding the blue one, i started again on the twilight)
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
Don't ever get down at Remount Road
on the train's brief pause.
Once I couldn't resist
when through the window
I can't say what beckoned me.
The sky after a drizzle was awashed blue
and its miniature carvings on the puddles
sprung from my steps like thousand dreams.
There on the unshaded platform
were faces as puzzled as mine.
I didn't intend to detrain here, I spoke,
we didn't too, the voices echoed
but it felt so like the place
we wanted to be but missed.
Walk me barefoot on the sodden earth,
a girl offered her hand,
recount to me the unfinished stories,
make me a home.
I won't miss this time,
I was crying.
I have recounted the story to many
but they all have eyed me
like I am mad.
They only repeat there's no Remount Road
on this route.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Soft, loud, loud.
What am I?
Not music, just the lines on a page. Yet depicting the pitterpatter of moonlight, music, lines, dreaming, all the same.
Soft loud soft
Gently in little strokes a delicate face emerges
Loud loud
The night sings through my hand, darkening until no line is left unshaded, no place left
unworked.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
rain or shine
in hunger and thirst
no matter how insignificant
our gather horizon
during the autumn
the tree gotta branch full of pure
leaves and resin currently reduce
then a form of the only you takes its amazing column
in chief unshaded
no shadow would hide
root shall yields
lurking at our naked eye
From dawn preview
until mid-noon heat
even at the approach of dusk
shielding the blue one, i started again on the twilight
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
In his final moments
He clutched his sheet in fear
Staring at the wallpaper
He knows his time is near
The unshaded lightbulb
The dust around the room
Black mould in the windowsill
Adding to the gloom
Loved ones stand around him
For their tearful last goodbyes
Forever shall be without him
But he cannot reason why
His thoughts now are desperate
And nothing shall they gain
But to toy with logic, reason
Might help to ease the pain
The universe for him
Is not beyond the sky
For when his time expires
His universe will die
He recalls a varnished box
And now his fears somehow subside
It was stored in an upstairs cupboard
Where he sometimes used to hide
The distinctive smell of varnish
The rusty broken locks
Tins of enamel paint
Occupy the box
Time seems at a standstill
As he revisits his past
A time once thought forgotten
He prays this time to last
He opens up the fusty box
To take a look inside
His father's name inside the lid
Consumed is he with pride
His loved ones weep with sorrow
As he walks his final mile
His body still and lifeless
He exits with a smile
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
It was a time of mad irreverence, of lawless bedlam
When the shackles which bound our restless souls
To the tiny wooden cells
where we worked on the arithmetic chain gang
watched by the warden of words and numbers,
she who ruled that house of order with an iron fist and a wooden ruler
were stuck off, and lost all hold on us
It was freedom, and it burnt hot and wild in our veins,
the heat perhaps intensified
by the sweltering oven the sun made of every inch of unshaded ground
In the feverish, mad world of summer, we were kings
We ruled, and laughed at those who would rule us
Foolish, reckless dangerous, unstoppable, crazy, free,
Young
Untamed, shameless, we ran in droves
And the clamoring, thunderous roar of laden pickups
Music and laughter spilling out of the windows
Seats stuffed full of hormones and hedonism
Dominated every lonesome dirt road in all of Arizona
We drank and smoked and swam in a sea of uninhibited adolescence
And then it was over, and we went back to our chains.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
*
Whenever you try to do a
"Cut and Paste"
of your faces in life;
It deletes the originals,
Giving all imitations;
It limits to your
Shadow faces
To be unshared faces;
To be unshaped faces;
To be unshaded faces;
It is your mirror
facing
one towards the ugly;
the other, as the elegant.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
and here I stand
a stone
beside an unshaded lamp
4 walls and a door
I've tried to chase
your ghost
out that door
many times
and the unfathomable echo
of your footsteps lingers
forever fading down the hallway
the unshaded lamp
the mirror above the sink
a dangerous animal
the broken heart is
in the unforgiving light
of a windowless room.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 2:34 PM UTC
when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,
fall slow,
so I m falling slow
like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.
the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.
I roll to face the wall
and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.
the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.
how many dreams forgotten?
I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words
floating through clouds like roses,
I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 9:10 PM UTC
winter sky
the passing road, unshaded--up
lids falling
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 11:54 PM UTC
It could be the long time of waitung
The difference of Ignorance from being Ignored
The hopes on blaze, that seem in Vain.
I see pain uneroded, but let rain shower it off
No cries attached- courage of giving up by bits
What do i call ..........
Words unshaded, no face likes just miggled thoughts
Broken attention for loose memories to chase
Travel to your likes and leave not your eyes behind
Your taken by bygones and new inflows forgetting what held you strong
Let the wind blow past the seasons, let new life flow of hope come, you that fears not to loose curve thy own coffin
Trending not for life rather Providence from Above.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
Underneath a sun baked deck in San Jose
A flower was born.
Sun dappled, it unfurled its small green hands toward the lawn where
Globes of water still sat on the shoulders
Of green grasses to catch a glimpse of the sky,
who's cool breath had so recently whispered them into being.
Every day, as the sun peeked through the
Slats of gray wooden decay, the focus of it's impeccably golden eye would enevitably fall upon the delicate petals of a small blue flower.
Where had it come from, such a flower? Fallen out of its sleeve on the way to the garden? Had it been blown astray in one big gust? Where were the other flowers then?
They are gone. The Partridges disbanded long ago and left in their place a corpse
of tortured cedar, concrete, and angry hot metal. All now home to one small blue flower, who dances whenever given the chance in the spotlight of it all.
I only tell you this because because I watched that flower die this summer. After a gaggle of men pealed back the carcass-home, a flood of light came tumbling down upon all that had unknowingly benefitted from its protection, mostly weeds.
I should say, the lawn was the first to fall, well before the house itself, though it fought valiantly.
Hoisting its mystical morning globes skyward, like an offering. Golden death still spread like a flood across the lawn, catching every unshaded corner until all was bleached and unremarkable to look upon.
I remember how odd it must've looked, one blue flower shooting up from the grey mounds and yellowed grasses. How excited I was to see something so small and beautiful set free. How long I lingered there waiting for it to die.
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 8:25 PM UTC