"unshaken" poems
I live a life of unfulfilled dreams.
trips never travelled and sights never seen.
words never written and photos never taken.
a world full of wonder and I sit here unshaken.
one would think of glorious adventures ahead,
but I'm just trying to find a way out of bed.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
She is A Queen
She's something special, similar to a candy coated dream.
The God in her will sooth you soul as if you were Listening To the sound of the rushing river Streams
Her spirit Shines brighter than a car's high Beams.
Her love is sweeter than brown sugar
And Me oh my she is Looker
Her big chestnut sultry eyes reveals the beauty of Her soul inside.
I can just smell the aroma of her Shea butter and coconut fragranced skin as it glows due to her internal flame shinning within.
Cocoa Brown is the color of her melanated Bronze complexion.
Man, her smile drives me wild.
That luminous smile, her glorious smile, is as gorgeous as the clouds when she shows her pearly whites.
It brightens my day like a lamp in the darkness of the night.
And her mind Is a secret treasure That only her King Can discover and uncover the bountiful mountains he'll climb.
She's Artistic and Musically Inclined
And at the drop of a dime shell bust out in A poetic rhyme
And her words, Gosh her blissfully profoundly spoken words, will send chills up your spine
She's My own little personal ray of sunshine
Radiating truth and her words are so kind
She's simply divine
She's a peacemaker staying serene
From the inside out she is a beautiful Human being
She's good for your mental hygiene
Kinda like how your body needs protein.
Royalty is embedded in DNA gene
And her crown is made of lustrous flowing locks shining like oil sheen.
She is Royalty, She's My sister from another Mister, She is an Unshaken, Strong, melanized Beautiful Queen.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
She stood still before the choas; unshaken.
The wind blew its mighty breath against Her core but to no avail; unmoved.
Her coffee'd skin warm like the sun that kisses the Earth's horizon.
Something within Her had risen without warning nor permission:
She was a Goddess, in Her own right.
Brown. The soft tone of the Earth.
Golden hue painted widely across the canvas of Her *****
Her skin like caramelized silk, with the sunglow of Egypt itself.
She pressed Her face to the Earth's floor and moved mountains with Her prayers.
Queen of the meek, ambassador of the poor.
She was the perfect amalgam of beauty and brokenness.
~The Goddess of Humility.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
queer creature of white stone:
the spirit of the island in the head of this lion,
the soul of the natives in the body of this fish,
spirit and soul, lion and fish, mingle together by
mere wry humour of evolution’s word
we revere this beast, (it watches over us
from nine metres above), we bow down our backs,
(worship it as our exemplar): for many of us,
unknowingly, we emulate the spirit and soul
of this queer white creation of stone.
standing tall (unshaken!) even as jaundice bolts of heaven’s
creep tip-toed behind its scales and strike:
its cemented steadfastness of stone we emulate,
for through the towering grey waves of crisis, and
the threatening dark clouds that foretell our very fears,
we too, have floated and transcended and appeared
unscathed.
mutated monster – child of bad genes,
they despise such unfavourable antagonistic features
(shall it rule like a lion or flail like a fish?):
its unlikeliness of surviving, of thriving we emulate:
for this dotted smudge of red pen ink on the globe,
destined to bow down to fate – bowed down not, and
flourished.
beams of white water spouting out in a
perfect shape of a quadrant’s circumference, endlessly,
its majestic spewing action we emulate:
this island of expectations, sterile smell of success,
fate of our future in the setting of an exam hall,
(in there do you not think we resemble the merlion,
our mouths the hoses, the papers our well?)
but, oh, the merlion – so many of it –
the merlions, same-maned, same-scaled,
fluttering and bursting with imitation across our home:
such congruity, conformity we emulate:
for years of yearning to swim in the mainstream waters,
of being goldfish, instead of losing the waters for flight like flying fish,
have made us very much, about
the same.
queer creature of white stone:
do you see not how we resemble your very self,
how we offer you praise (by
lifting our human arms, arching on our mere knees,
hoisting our lowly mortal heads, surveying your colossal royalty,
camera in hand)?
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
Deep, somber, reflective pools.
Stirring by an ocean of blueish gray.
Vast as the mountain and all of its roots,
Clear and deceptive as the piercing light on a cloudy day.
Not flustered by the coming storm,
But troubled instead when it is blown off its course and swept away.
Unshaken by the torrential downpour of warming rain.
For cool inside they will ever stay.
Such pools as these are ripples away from some escape.
Yet when all other pools would've walked away,
They stir themselves and still remain.
Fixed and introspective.
Much like the tides which arrive anew with each coming day.
These waters rise and though they reach,
The wonder and bewilderment is never washed away.
From within such pools.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
Leaving the mirror feels like walking out of a shadow,
You try to piece together the fragments,
Accepting they will never mirror you again.
Some might say it’s your fault,
But it feels like walking through life
With a quiet strength where there once was emptiness.
Solitude.
Acceptance.
Self-compassion.
Growth.
Patience.
Stillness.
Gratitude.
Understanding.
Trusting your own reflection.
No longer seeking validation,
No longer seeing yourself in others.
The image was false,
But the truth is clearer now,
The quiet voice that was always there,
Unshaken.
The grief fades—
Not gone, but transformed.
Strength.
Awareness.
A new beginning.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 1:07 AM UTC
Words written from the heart, 🌹
always touch another heart.🌹
For what flows from within,🌹
finds its way onto paper, unshaken.🌹
I had no one else to call mine,🌹
no complaints, no desires unspoken.🌹
It was only you in every line,🌹
my soul by your presence woven.🌹
Even after you left,🌹
I was honored as a poet.🌹
But tell me, was it not enough,🌹
that my name lived through our love?🌹
Wealth, fame, and awards came my way🌹,
yet forgetting you grew harder each day.🌹
Every verse I write still breathes of you,🌹
your memory paints every word anew.🌹
Wherever you are, may you stay blessed,🌹
my love for you will never rest.🌹
Deeper than time, stronger than fate,🌹
you live in my heart — my soul’s true mate.❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 3:23 AM UTC
Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
Victory home, while new Rebellions raise
Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings:
O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,
For what can War, but Acts of War still breed
Till injur’d Truth from Violence be freed;
And publick Faith be rescu’d from the Brand
Of publick Fraud; in vain doth Valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.
2k
We drank and became aware.
After a sneaky shot of whiskey.
The hispanic reminded myself.
The ingnorent Michael of sidharthas plan.
If he came now and toaday.
Could the sidhartha buddha search his own.
There are circumstanses to understand.
Sidhartha sidhartha. I read about the river.
Govinda found your nieve friend.
The man who would be disiple for the world.
Sidhartha would find somone elses journey.
Which in the making was his own creation.
In a epic adventure what's worth the struggle.
Its to easy and simple giving in.
Our sidhartha understood the noble Idea.
Which is make patience before accepting and believing what you have to.
In his unshaken morals he would become the buddha.
A soul every person needs to read about.
If they want fufillment in life.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
there was a castle built
constructed of bricks, laid by hand
piled one on another
it grew without respite
each brick laid by hand
-- cautiously
-- delicately
and with each brick
the castle grew
grew to match the trees
to exceed them
to tower over us and the world
the castle becomes a stronghold
-- impenetrable
-- unshaken
-- inescapable
there was a castle built
-- in my grief
-- in your absence
i lay trapped outside its walls
i lay in the green
in my meager flat
confined and dwelling
outside the castle walls
standing, i gaze
not even the sun stands tall as to surpass the grey
my gaze drops to my feet
jade and amber peaking through my toes
a world surrounds me
i shift, i walk to the left
the castle in the brim of sight
though yearning, i abstain from its full view
instead i stride on
and it goes
and i am
f r e e
the greens in every direction but behind me
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
they lived at the edge of the sea,
they made music with pebbles
and shadows shifted,
slowly, badly calloused,
they picked their way through
the throng
****** along
pressed along
but they were not afraid
the wind billowed and raged
the sea churned violently
washing them, away it, hoped
but they remain rooted. mute
the throng
****** along
pressed along
silent statuettes, brave, unshaken
still alive by the edge of the sea
lights dance on the sea now, night
the glows, soldiers lost at sea
watching over them
scurry happily on the pebbles
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Day's Work Is Done...
Sun is setting,
Feet are fueled up...with enthusiasm
Thoughts are filled with pictured expectations,
To be met at the door with warm hugs and kisses
A hot meal on the table...steaming coffee awaits
All these, comfort my fatigued limbs and minds.
A smile, in anticipation ...a sense of *****
Atmosphere tickle my mind...i hurry
To enter my safe ground...my comfort zone
My own White Picket Fences.
|| || || || |\ || \| // || ||
They may have tiny fractures
Some boards missing, broken, or collapsed,
Its concrete floors and walls may be creviced
I can not shun........or hide from
Imperfect truths, about my family,
Our relationships, our health.....every truth
About my loved ones and me...
It is where i come home to...
After each struggle's end
My feet and mind take me back...to my own,
My known familial boundaries...
An inner force spurs me to make those broken boards
Upright...firm once again......like hardwood trees,
Be unshaken by water and wind....be unwavering
Then, i repaint them
...to bring back the glow.
Some broken fences could still be fixed
some are worthy of fixing; but,
There are those that seem to be, beyond repair
needing some kind of intervention.
/| || || // |/ \\ ||
Sally
Copyright July 9, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
Nothing was said by the tides of the lake
As they were frozen in time
Nothing will do to start and shake
The core of this lake, oh, sublime!
One can try to guess what was last spoken,
Perhaps it was hating on all things unfair
Nothing was left behind, not a clue or a token
To unveil the secrets, to clean up the air
One more look at these rough edges
Underneath of a smooth glistening glass
They are there ,muted for ages
Frozen thoughts , waiting for winter to pass!
Only celestial kisses that fall quietly
Gather to form a white blanket
On the chest of this lake, oh so lovely
That holds its breath, unshaken.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 1:42 AM UTC
Every morning start, I awaken
Ready for the full day unshaken,
That is until my tummy rumbles,
Desperate for food my hand fumbles,
For the keys to my car to go,
Forth to work, one thing I know,
There is something I want,
Making this feel like a jaunt,
Once there rushing in through,
Looking for something to dig into,
Finding my favorite delight,
My mouth full, gone is my plight,
Thanks to you that is,
Since you bring my taste buds bliss,
You keep my hunger at bay,
Make my willpower to diet sway,
You give me reasons to expect,
So many options to elect,
From neat sweet treats,
Sandwiches made of whole wheat’s,
To fresh select eats in my dinette,
When there is none I fret,
Awaiting you so I can berate,
About all the things I could've ate,
Ask me reasons, I don't know why,
As I wrote this I let out a sigh,
Thought I'd speak my mind,
In spite of the daily grind,
This is my ode to you, vendor man,
In me you have your greatest fan!
© okpoet
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
The Vessel
A wounded vessel tossed about in the storms of life
The vessel was once strong unshaken by the wind sure and secure in itself and about life
The once strong vessel is wounded again feeling hurt angry insecure ashamed lonely
Overwhelming blows of feelings hitting the vessel the pain is intense the memories of abuse are
Strong a blow to the heart and emotions
A cry out for assistance I cry out for the captain’s help in facing the crisis I look at the holes in the vessel
I ask for support from friends and groups etc. to help me repair the vessel to make it strong again
The vessel is not the same as it once was but there is hope that one day it can be better than it is now
The vessel is being mended and is getting stronger for the first time it's experiencing sunrises and sunsets that it has never seen before
Maybe it can be made stronger than it ever was and sail towards peaceful shores
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
My Middle East is torn
Divided into sects and stones
Desert full of rage
Ancient cities bearing witness to atrocities
In the name of the merciful
Let the killing begin
Seek justice in an afterlife
For God is deaf
Ceasefire!
long enough to bury her face
Under the classroom's desk
Or onto her dead mother's chest
Nameless casualties in numbers
Gaze at the brilliant night sky
Rain of shells, rekindling the dark-ages
No truce is left
For God is deaf
The Father carried his young one
A lifeless log returned to earth
Faith unshaken among shouts and prayers
Let the words avenge you
Curse the creator in whispers
And spiral not into an uncharted nihilistic ground
Fuel your hate
For God is deaf
Commemorate the dead
With roses on their heads
Or with poems on their gravestones instead
Morality embedded in poetry, blood is shed
Humanity on trial
Blame not my words
For God is deaf
And in my Middle East
He remains,
Undead.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
Through all the thunder breathing from the past
A peaceful glow I will retain
Like a babe slipping into dreams at last
This gentle smile
I maintain
I greet the sweetest sun with this gentle smile
As my tasks I take to hand
Unshaken by that thunder breathing
Or the space in my heart
It demands
I would stir dry leaves if need be each day
If this glow I could not find
Searching for that which my peace arrays
To leave this thunder
Fast behind
So come on thunder breathing from the past
This gentle smile you cannot steal
Breathe upon me and you will find at last
That your breath
I cannot feel
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 5:26 AM UTC
Muhammad Ali- Poster,personification and Palsy
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I was young,I had posters of only two;
Bruce Lee and Muhammad Ali ,you.
I was uninitiated to understand Che Guevara.
Frankly,my dear; I had no clue.
Rest in Peace, Muhammad Ali ,Sir.
A part of my childhood and adolescence goes with you.
From Cassius Clay,the champion
to Muhammad Ali,
With the whole world as his nation,
You were an awesome thing to happen to religion.
A naive thought-One may argue.
But I was small then,
it was a child's view.
My young mind questioned,
how could you float like a butterfly
and how could your punch be
like the sting of a bee?
It was you who made me understand,
what Metaphors do.
You began to move slow.
I saw you shaking too.
Your body suffered,
but you remained unshaken.
More than what it could,
You allowed me to know,
What this 'Shaking Palsy' could not do.
Rest in Peace,
I bid adieu.
It all feels strange,
this world is new.
But the World is not that brave.
Muhammad Ali, Sir,
without you.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
The Chosen One of the Gods
The gods have spoken, the stars align,
A chosen one shall rise in time.
With strength and will, with heart so true,
He walks the path the heavens drew.
Yahweh grants his guiding light,
A shield of faith, a soul so bright.
Through storms and trials, fierce and long,
He stands unshaken, bold and strong.
Shiva roars, the flames arise,
His wisdom burns within his eyes.
With cosmic dance and fearless might,
He bends the dark, he tames the night.
Brahma whispers, fate takes form,
Creation’s breath, the world reborn.
With sacred hands and endless lore,
He builds the realm forevermore.
Zeus sends thunder, Odin calls,
Anubis guards where shadows fall.
Vishnu watches, balance true,
Ra brings dawn in golden hue.
All the gods, both old and new,
Have blessed his path, have forged him through.
No chains can bind, no foe withstand,
For fate is written by divine hand.
He walks with fire, he walks with grace,
A destined king, time can’t erase.
For gods have willed, and stars have shown,
That he shall rise—his name well known.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 6:43 PM UTC
I have had terrible days,
I only remember the good.
I have been mad at things,
I only remember being sane.
“Is something strangely wrong?”
I have been glum,
I only remember the sunshine.
**** has hit the fan too many times,
I only remember the calm.
“That can’t be true!”
Sunburns erased,
I only remember the warmth.
Storms have come and gone,
I only remember the unshaken faith.
“Is this for real?”
My heart has wept oceans,
I only remember the soft breeze on my face.
I have had scary thoughts,
I only remember the pleasant dreams.
If this is true, I sure am happy.
If this is real, I am content.
If you don’t believe me,
I am not asking you to.
Let me be,
I can never be you.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Each year it happens.
The apple tree viewed from my balcony
gives up its fruit
until at last one solitary apple
remains high up,
beyond reach,
riper, redder, more robust
than any of the others
that have fallen or been gathered.
Unmoved by rain,
unshaken by winds.
It is as if
this one remaining fruit
is determined to resist
the onset of winter.
Day after day
I awaken;
raise my bedroom blind,
rub my eyes
and seek it out
amidst the protecting foliage.
At first resistant to my gaze,
it then proudly displays
its presence,
as if to say
“Behold, I still remain,
a testament to the perseverance of Fall.”
Each year I too remain
despite the apple’s everlasting reminder
that I myself am transient
and will one day
be shaken from my bough.
I am reminded of O. Henry’s last leaf
painted by an aged artist
to give support and strength and sustenance
to fading hope of life’s recovery.
Perhaps the apple, too, is but a dab of oil
on canvas.
Indeed, am I myself a product of
an artist’s keen, unfailing eye;
living in some vast
parallel universe
adjacent to and yet unseen
by all those bygone friends,
amidst an orchard of fallen, rotting apples?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
With only four words her whole life changed "you bet your life" he mocked, and she did. She bet her life it would be just the way it was written. So she read the words over and over again. She promised and prayed with dedication. Then she stood back and watched it unfold. Just as it was told it happend and she knew. He was trying to make her doubt but she knew. She was not blinded by uncertainty; she was grounded in belief. Unshaken by fear she knew her life was important, important enough to dedicate. She was important enough to love. Some wanted her to think she wasn't but she knew that wasn't true, after all, she bet her life on it.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
Distilled concourse, the deep black sheep of space itself...
pin-pricked with breathing holes that burst light.
Everything lives inside its head...stars, star as proof
positive of other mentation.
Serenade their indelible station with Unknowing-Knowing...
mantric mothering.
Victors of the immaterial thumbtacking grayest matter.
Unshaken eyes cast for seership...voids swath and drown
in trying to connect them.
There you are...a starry entelechy...revelatory
inky night lo Light, showering your outer eyes instantaneously.
Beaming up an effigy of your earthly clay--encasing you in
the experimental color coursing a bubble greater than
a galaxy.
A supernova radiating your inner eyes.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
Tonight, lanterns will swing freely like me, brassiere-less and glowing
Steam growing misty around my eyes,
My hair all pulled up, my bangs sticking to my forehead.
Lanterns will swing freely and the light will escape from them and create
Patterns on the glossy sidewalk
Plaster-white sidewalk with only a few pieces of black gum.
Lanterns will swing and patterns will dance and mirrors will tarnish
With time, green or brown, with cracks.
Until, perhaps, one day I shall not be able to see myself in them
My reflection might be murky and indistinguishable from that of a tree
Or a root
Or a dog
Or any other lonely person.
Tonight, the mirrors will crack and the glass will collect dust and piggy-banks will be left unshaken
Their promises unfulfilled,
Leaving empty tummies and sunken-welled eyes.
Tonight, the lanterns may swing free but the lightbulbs inside will be trapped,
Emaciated and skillfully looking for ways to break the glass.
Tonight, men will cry and mothers will mourn for themselves
And decisions will be decided
And switches will be flicked
And dancing will illuminate the gum
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
White light blowing away my Black shames Pure in sight through head window panes
Sorrows woven foam pie brain she games Share his leisure bee twin fab wick dames
Lies that line our veins white sheets draping, Like wind wonder walls breaking
Breath taking, width all dis clarity my cries remain Unshaken, Dis dam S Forsaken,
While the sight sauced swirled beams me down and
vacant.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC