"unsophisticated" poems
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
*
~for Bill T. Jones~
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts
I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.
examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.
awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.
the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Surely you,
Jester.
Unduly-expressed.
Lambasted,
insulted.
Abrasive ...
au naturel?
I think...
Surely not.
Unless,
Had the aforementioned not just the will to rip through my throat,
but too the audacity to penetrate the inclement root you call heart.
Well, I had made my decision.
and lo!
I would have stood by it too;
had my own form of insecurity been given the chance to wilt.
Not further admonished on
how to think. how to act
How 'one' should primarily be.
Instead I lie bludgeoned,
berated;
and by the very thing that
antecedently spurred
a cascade of unsophisticated giddiness.
That too was far from the cry of a
Devil-may-care persona.
I would almost weep the lost opportunity,
Whereas I should simply, and most ardently
Just be.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
If thy self worth
derives from the status of others,
thou art a narcissist or a sociopath.
If thy self worth
derives from bringing others down,
thou art already lower than they are.
If thy self worth
derives from petty comparisons,
thou art a vain and unsophisticated soul.
If thy self worth
derives from thy own accomplishments,
no worldly thing can restrain thy potential.
Break free of thy Ego,
learn to let it drive thee
rather than steer thee:
thus may thou thy bliss construct.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
I am yours, always yours
For as long as I am useful
As long as you will have me.
I am a ****** idol,
A divine ***** who
May not be the classiest but
Certainly gets the job done.
You were unsophisticated,
Uneducated,
Crude.
Rude.
My mood may change but
My feelings never did.
You left me in the gutter,
Kind,
Knowing it to be my
Place of birth;
Cold,
Knowing it to be the
Place for my death.
I am yours, always yours
Until a more fit replacement may come.
It is more, is more,
Is more rain-spickle,
Spack-tackle, shoe-shit love-drunk easy
To miss my train.
You alighted onto the next platform,
Passing me by on the way
To being busy, to pretending to have a delay.
Don't carry your head so high
When everything you told me was an utter lie.
Why
Would you pretend your life could be shared with me?
Your sweet-warm friendship could
Slip through my fingers,
Keeping the arthritis of
Loneliness away.
So I tried to help you
Carry your back,
And I carried you out of
Immaturity,
But now
I'm fag-snubbed into your snow,
Snowy skin which smothers me
In spring feelings gone cold.
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 9:28 PM UTC
my bedroom carries the headiness of stale captivity. the teeth of a years old trap are gathering debris where they’ve gnashed on my leg. my loved ones come to relieve me of my suffering.
the gentle winds bring me dead leaves in layers of red, yellow, brown and the occasional purple. “look at how they’ve changed,” the winds say. “things can change for you, too.” i brush them away. indignant, the winds whip dust and pebbles that become bullets at the right speed, threatening tornadoes that will never come. i wait until their lungs tire.
the cleansing rains rinse the matted blood from my wound and refresh my hot, mangled skin. “doesn’t that feel great?” the rains say. “you can feel like this all the time if you put in a little effort.” i dry myself down. angered, the rains disease the trap with rust and drench me until my bones attempt to float away, threatening tsunamis that will never come. i wait until the water recedes.
the giving earth sprouts a flower in the corner of my bedroom. “life is still growing, waiting for you,” the earth says. “you just have to come to meet it.” it’s a beautiful reprieve for my senses, i almost go to pluck it. as i come to realize my motions, my heart drops to an unknown place away from my chest. i hesitate. furious, the earth wilts the flower until it blends in with the rest of my bedroom. it shakes the ground violently, deepening the pain of the metal in my flesh. it delivered on earthquakes but threatened no aftershocks.
the lively sun dries me of the failures of the wind and rain and earth. the sun says nothing. i make no effort to repay its warmth. it reciprocates that lack of effort.
i have exhausted the affections of the elements, and in their abandonment now rests a deep stillness that urges me to look around.
over time, i have accumulated the barest of pleasures — some unread books, some unplayed records, some small tokens of loves long gone — that mimic a home, but bring you no closer to what that is supposed to feel like.
the odor in here is disgusting. unsophisticated in my aching, i wish for a sweet-scented breeze, or a balmy rain, or a fragrant flower.
or maybe i will just order a scented candle.
Nov 11, 2022
Nov 11, 2022 at 3:03 PM UTC
Alphabetically articulated habitats
For unsophisticated acrobats
Tilt sideways to the beat of the drum
Stuck in a fine daze at the bottom of a bottle of ***
Fast crying circus barkers warn of long winded fortunes
As slant eyed on lookers BOO and gnash there teeth
"Gentle men, Gentle men", the filthy little man cries
"Let me dine with your daughters for just one night
And I promise you eternal fortune"
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
A masterful One hearing of the Tao
immediately begins to embody it.
An average One hearing of the Tao
half believes it and half doubts it.
A foolish One hearing of the Tao
laughs out loud, and yet
should fools not laugh,
it wouldn't be the Tao!
Thus t'is writ:
The path into the light seems dark,
the path forward seems to go back,
the direct path seems long,
true power seems weak,
true purity seems tarnished,
true steadfastness seems changeable,
true clarity seems obscure,
the greatest seem unsophisticated,
the greatest love seems indifferent,
the greatest wisdom seems childish.
The Tao is nowhere to be found,
yet it nourishes and completes all things.
-
--
---
- - -
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
THIS poem is number 800
Of poems I've "published" on various sites.
You might golf, play tennis or paint;
Of me they merely say, "He writes."
Eight hundred poems are a lot
Of poems if you are keeping score.
But bear in mind that poets out there
Have written hundreds or thousands more.
Writing can become a passion--
Something that grasps your innermost being,
That vibrantly exposes your heart
When you try to express what you're seeing.
My approach is sometimes light-hearted
And playful if I am in the mood;
And yet I can be quite serious
And muse on something or ponder or brood.
I often write poems that tell a story.
Call them unsophisticated
If you wish, but frankly I say
Sophistication is overrated.
After observing the world around me,
I sit down and roll up my sleeves
To write, often focusing on
Some of my most annoying pet peeves,
Hypocrisy being ONE of them.
Oh, the slimy hypocrites ooze
Flagrant chicanery, fraud, and pretense,
And every day they're in the news.
Some say, "Leave no turn unstoned."
No, wait: I mean "stone unturned."
And no, you can't please everybody;
That's an important lesson I've learned.
If you've read all 800 poems,
I've taken up a lot of your time.
I hope you've found the journey worthwhile--
This journey through my verses in rhyme.
But if poetry's NOT your thing,
Do not worry; I understand.
You'll receive no criticism,
No reproof, no reprimand.
Therefore, if you've read this far,
Celebrate along with me
This little challenge. Raise your glass
And drink a toast to poetry!
-by Bob B (12-27-18)
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
Oh this miracle of movement, the bird in flight, its bright all-seeing 180 degree eye, black brown bird against autumn’s revelatory colours, you can feel you’re outside in an October wind, but the leaves are hanging on still, and even a cobweb laces through this morning image (it can only be morning with such clarity of colour). This collaged picture lithographed full to the brim with autumnal shades and that rising up of things despite nature’s time of fall. The bird backlit by a cloud-feathered sun, circled in movement. Berries bright red against the black brown bird and such shades of green, impossible colours though they are everywhere in Bawden, Piper, Nash, those English colourists who remind us how light amplifies what our country’s weather reveals. Not a picture to live in the imagination and ponder at, but to look at, marvel at, and then go outside and look and look at those symmetries and repeats, and such colours that even on the darkest winter’s day are there in a corner of the sky, the crack in a wall, a leaf speckled with frost, a white flash of the magpie. And by all accounts this artist is one himself, magpie by nature, collecting the not properly beautiful but when surprisingly placed becoming more than its sole self could possibly be. Unsophisticated. Playing with tensions of different material. Collage. Improbable museums. Lumber rooms even. No mystery, just things collected as they are, for the sheer joy of it all.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
it’s really hard to up heave the way i feel at times
people try to cheer the environment with unsophisticated actions
you’d have to probe me to actually feel what “feelings” really are
see life is a ******* big gamble
you either risk it all to live a great life or a ****** life
then you have teen love, with the same view points and bam another what the ****
another story to tell your friends
most girls i know have neophyte like if they don’t know what to do
then they say **** when emotions kick in that’s incoherent
when love hits it’s hard to stay away, i’d rather ponder
when a door shuts be an opportunist to win things over and find the key
that’s like giving up and trying something new and ******* at it
i’ll stick to learning every instrument in an orchestra so i can make my own concerto
and i will, I’ve been waiting for 5 years to start the composing
and i am a genius, notes are colors, music is art
if Picasso would’ve been a musical genius the music would turn into colors, the sistine chapel would be a nice orchestral piece
so many what if’s in the world
like if 20 years past, and they made another bible, would i be in it?
cause i’m destined to be somebody, it’s a promise
people take insults in a very ***** way
you choose what to be offended by in other words
a girl gets called a ***** and cries
so somebody can call me a musical genius and cry
it’s really the way you take it up the ***
in some occasions words really are stronger than actions
can love get old?
does true love really wait?
understanding is vital to me, but taking time out of your day to read and examine my writing is even better to me
cause then people appreciate your intelligence and admire you in a way they can’t see
and all the moments that are bad all conclude and remind me of a small **** you
publish thoughts draw music make art creativity is everywhere find it
it is now 2014, I wrote this 17 months ago and I'm suicidal
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
the sound of my name
whispered in passion
feel of a new woman
a new world to explore
scent of ***
****** and real
these are truths
I understand
my quantum physics
exists in that woman
lounging on the mattress
confident and cruel
these realities
are tangible
I care not
for einstein
and his descendants
all ******* and spitting
trying to simplify
what is already basic
I care not for
relativities
let space
**** and shimmy
its way
into oblivion
as it
would
unwatched
and let me have my women
angry as forever
as the door opens and closes
come and go
they fight
and they ****
and they flee
and they come again
different names and
faces
but the same truths
I don't need
the higgs *****
or an explanation
of space-time
to figure out
my reality
we gild
our pile of ****
and see it as gold
no thank you
let them rot
in their lab coat
caves
and let me in mine
angry women
and blank pages
all waiting to be filled
a sick
carnal and
unsophisticated
truth
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
It should be dark.
Ethereality is brought upon by shadows
Comforting shades that beautifully waylay prancing lights
permeating mysticism to arouse the blandest of hearts.
Clustered crowns of effervescent greens scraped the sky
Their lithe fingers clasped, uneasy to divulge light
yet they do so for their trunkless kin at their feet
There should be music.
At dusk the chiming of army throats moan
the deep humming legato of elastic croak to their content
rich baritones with an orchestral blend of alluring notes.
Exoskeletal feet, an angels' choir too quick to play
Their voices, violins in concerto with hissing air
that slither in between the crevices of trees for beauty to play
I should be afraid.
A tiny mouse that shifts beneath dry leaves should scare
Rustling grass dimmed by jet skies fill you with dread
The tapping of leafless hands on rusted roof puts you under duress
Flash lightning mimics the morning in negative filter
The heavy blows of drizzling rain harmoniously mix with discordant wind
Then when it all settles, the beating of your own cardinal is unnerving.
Then I realize, all of which I stated are now in memory
That the stone road that always greeted me is now but dry and dirt
That the music I once heard met a sharp end that made everything else flat
That the movement in the brush no longer shivered my spine
That the birds and beasts will never again come to cheer
That the storms that ravaged my midsummer's night dream
is the same storm that ravaged my youth
And without these childhood memories
I am left unsophisticated, rural
Bare.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
You are an entire world, all on your own, and to state that you reside in this single world would be an unbelievably fortunate truth. You are not a drop in the ocean, but the entire ocean in a single drop. I get so caught up in the simple complexity of your face. It’s a simple road to follow, but I get distracted by the scenery and I can’t help but wish to stay forever. Your spiky blonde hair is a jumble of mayhem that i simply want to get lost in. Your eyes, these massive pools of hazel , I could swim endlessly without reaching exhaustion. Your cheeks are rolling hills that I can’t help but stare at, wishing I could touch them. The grand canyon cannot compare to the vast adventure that is your smile. And that laugh … I- I tremble. Your curves create staircases for my eyes, and I can't stop running up and down them. The sound of your voice grabs my focus when my attention is residing miles away. And yes, I am fully aware of the fact that you truly are a rather unsophisticated structure in whole, and although it goes against everything I stand for, I absolutely adore that about you and this place you create. It is drawing me in, along such an unfamiliar path. I suppose I am just here for the ride. However I must admit, I do indeed hope that this path takes me somewhere eventually, because I am certainly tired of hitting ancient brick walls that simply don’t want to be broken.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
I remember how slow
time flew in my
boyhood days
when everything was
unsophisticated, uncomplicated,
when a joke was a joke
that lasted days on end,
when a walk down the street was endless
And besides,
you felt as if an ice-cream cone
was so enormous
that it would take you
an hour to eat
And greeting a friend
became frozen in time
and somewhat endless
In fact, almost every act in life
was set in slow motion
for just like you,
we were flying through life,
at that time,
just with little propellers
But like you and so many others
we ate of the tree of knowledge
thus expanding our vision
A vision that hasten our life
and accelerated us
into adulthood as time quickened
Now greeting a friend is like eating
at a fast-food restaurant,
not quite remembering
fully what was said
and even listened to
An ice-cream cone has emotionally
dwindled to the size of a thimble
and passes our
taste buds so quickly
we can't remember when we
started and when we finished...
And like those sophisticated air jets...
for all
time
flies.. towards oblivion...
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
A being desired by ones heart, or thoughts,
A soul untouched, or unblemished by my presence,
Well now since I haven't tasted her Lips,
Hence buddies now saist that I have dread,
And now be it they say unsophisticated,
Should loving the other be being with them?
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
It was a huge closet
Fancy clothes
Ballgowns and heels
Dresses and flats
Ornamented with flowery designs
With thin fine lines
Diamonds and gems and pearls
Matches the girl with curls
A pair of blue jeans
Denim jacket
Converse and white shirt
Hidden inside the huge closet
Black unsophisticated clothes
Beanies, caps and shades
Coats and ties and bows
She cannot wear on times she want
This is for she: pink ladylike
For him is blue and manly
Straight long hair
Or a fine undercut
You cannot lover you don't
You cannot love him, he won't
If this is so wrong
Why can't this stop all along?
If you watch **** you sweat
You hide what is wrong
But when did love become unacceptable?
When the standards are so strong
That loving someone
Is now just a set of rules
It's funny how we can call this world a home
When only the chosen one inside the closet
Who can endure much
Can easily blend in
And the homeless out
Freezes with cold stares and shrugs
Disgust and homophobic thoughts
Unless we give them a chance
No, this is all wrong
How could we tolerate someone who ran away from home?
But how can you call them runaways
When from the start
The truth is naked
That in this place
For them there is no space
It is a huge closet
Where you're safe inside
Where you have clothes you SHOULD wear
Remember you are a her
But why the heck is your heart also for her?
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
I don't understand,
What's the big deal,
Why can't we just keep things chill.
It's worked so far,
Why make this weird,
I'm not looking for that kind of thrill.
Why do you persist,
And nag me so much,
I just don't want to do it.
It's not that I'm embarrassed,
Or don't like you,
It's just not the right fit.
I'm sorry that you don't get it,
That you are so confused,
But it's really not complicated.
We just keep things the same,
Don't worry at all,
And stay unsophisticated.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Toblin's carriage came to a halt.
As Princess Andulan the Silenced approached.
Holding a withered apple in one claw.
She sent her servants scattering with a violent gesture.
Moving with her dress held above the muddy path ahead.
She shed no tears for the dead.
Nor for Sharin's lost children,
Instead it was shown.
She had wed herself eternal.
To the countenance of one whose song has been silenced.
Death denied and sealed away,
Meant she hadn't aged a day,
Since her thirteenth birthday.
Spent with her loving father,
Jealous sisters, twins linked by envy,
They whispered foolishly from their bedcovers,
Colluded with one another to diminish her,
Because she couldn't wring their necks,
It went on unabated.
Spoiled by treasures of war,
Entitled by conquest and power,
She occupied herself and others plenty,
With her every need and whim.
Rob of years sorely removed,
From either crown or privilege,
Shied away from politics, a boring brother.
Non-combative and defensive.
Amidst royal battlefields,
Internal conflicts far removed from,
Outward appearances of serene stability,
To reassure the coddled and subjugated masses,
Familial affection served to maintain those welts of submission,
Bitten into common, gamey flesh once wild and unsophisticated.
We gave them purpose where none existed, put value in place.
Of lives spent surviving.
Still he was upbeat and eager to practice,
With a violin seemingly attached to his person,
Like an inseparable portion of his soul or,
Vital *****
His hands were crafted to bring music to voids,
Unseen yet made felt by all,
Once her melodies were given voice once more,
Sharin's tears melted our hearts,
Dissolved our rage, hatred, resentments,
Causing evaporation to occur,
Ousting us from internecine nonsense,
Rob took from us that goblet of poison,
Seldom parted from by choice.
He knew and accepted his call.
Retreating to it whenever royal squabbles,
Tried to drown out his song.
Rob out-shined us all.
Remember you I shall, my dear Rob...
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Too intelligent and matured
to be swayed or polluted
by the unsophisticated minds
used to the trivialities of their stations.
what person of note and decorum
conducts life in such limitations
values of the unsound juveniles
expectations of the crass and the backwards
oh, they do take themselves seriously
but unfortunately we are worlds different
and I was never able to learn their language
and avoided experiencing them at close quarters
quite honestly the narrow minded are always so so boring
values, life's view and perceptions all rather limited, you know!
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
Winter brings dry skins and cold winds
Days with dim sun and overcast sky winds
Up the tiny fingertips of memories in a mist
The caressing biting wind close them in a fist
In a remote place nights are wet with moistness
Around the fire are sitting people with warmness
A young boy amidst is roasting sweet potatoes
In the lustrous heat of the soft ash that echoes
The silence of the moon, a woman calls for the dinner
Was ready with herbs and spices, they are the winner
To spread the news of their aromatic win to invite
And sit together and share the innocence and fight
The most innocent and mischievous fight in the world
That was without the lonesomeness of the techno-world
I do not know whether it is a matter of yesterday
Or taking place now, I can feel it but cannot say
It is timeless and priceless does not require technology
To switch it on, glitters always without any strategy
Winter, a dewy bride, brings rough winds with dove
Unsophisticated she may sound, but is deeply in love!
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
to those who do not like rhymes,
it does not mean that you're uncouth
or you're unsophisticated
or a product of your youth
it may mean you don't read aloud
to hear how the words might sing,
rushing words quite unabated,
to hear joy the sounds might bring
if you dare to heed my advice
and hear angels start to sob,
fascinated, captivated,
orchestrated, consecrated,
the poetess has done her job
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
Being a rhapsodic (intensely emotional)creature, both gullus(bold and daring)and habil(deft and skillful).You strive for dehydropiandrosterone (achievement of full potential)in your movements,and not expressing with coprolatia's (swear words). You refine yourself to be punurgic(able and ready to do anything)in your actions. You listen for euphonious(pleasing soft words),hopping always to not divigate(stray or digress)to what you are to become, a biblioclasm(spiritual creature) in your spirit. You are never gasconade (extravagantly boosting)in your words. But alas your neogenesis(production of knowledge )is you're falter point (stumbling point). Your forehanded(prudent or thrifty)with your language and badot(silly) in feeling, but blive(right away)in your movements. Your actions are never abscitious(additional) but the pother (fuss) you give life can be an apple knocker)ignorant or unsophisticated) and it comes to you very padsticks(very easy). Hold your kenspeck(view of one's self)to heart. Be a adroaphile (man lover)in life ,and you're always ensorcell(fascinated by someone)in man kind. Take care you might become accismus(into the opposite). Hold aponia(bodily pain at bay),and always be self mindful to never Express your arcasia (lack of self control). Becase with this will be your downfall, and but as well never be forgetful of the past for this for to previse the pain(look into the future). Blively (write away) in the intermediate and live life with an abstract vision of truth. Always remember you will never achieve a pedocock( a valve to reduce pressure) ever if you don't go to your favorite ways, being an vagarious( unpredictable behavior) rhapsodic in you motions. Remember they can watch you with their argus eye(hawks eyes)and leave you natation(swimming)in your Beoetian (dull) life. Always live life with a logomachy(a discussion of words)going,for with this comes success.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:50 AM UTC