"unsown" poems
The young seeds unsown
buried beneath
long forgotten granite reasons
a waste of stone
and otherwise arable soil
which now lies fallow and barren
like the ancient womb
from which they were given way
unsafely into the world
of parks and laughter
of tears and monumental alibis
for another's selfish desire
to raise a flag upon a distant hill
and bury beneath it
like supporting struts
the very bones of our future.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
474
They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified “These see”—
They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
“I see Thee” each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—
With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—
They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—
Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—
Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other’s Face—was all the Disc
Each other’s setting—saw—
5.5k
Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
4.4k
It is over. What is over?
Nay, how much is over truly!--
Harvest days we toiled to sow for;
Now the sheaves are gathered newly,
Now the wheat is garnered duly.
It is finished. What is finished?
Much is finished known or unknown:
Lives are finished; time diminished;
Was the fallow field left unsown?
Will these buds be always unblown?
It suffices. What suffices?
All suffices reckoned rightly:
Spring shall bloom where now the ice is,
Roses make the bramble sightly,
And the quickening sun shine brightly,
And the latter wind blow lightly,
And my garden teem with spices.
4.3k
Days are dark, nights lay long,
Burning bridges keep us warm.
Wearily walking this road again
We bare the weight of the tinder,
The whispers and the flame.
What was once,
Shall never be the same.
The past floats as ash
Shadows cast on fallen rain.
While the willows weep in vain
The canopies confer in koans
The wind is passing wisdom,
Through leaves and seeds unsown.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
Even were he to explain,
he’d much rather show
to you his scars. He bears
them like medals now,
knowing well they are
made of clad, like nickels,
like cheap bullets.
If he could, he’d chuck
all of them into the deep,
the sparkle, of a wishing well.
He knows that these scars
have not only unsown himself,
but made trenches between
him and possibilities of love.
If he could, he’d place
each scar into the chamber
of a rifle, aim the .22
he never owned at a flock
of starlings. He might miss
every time, but at least
the ravens would scatter.
He knows what he’d wish for,
were each scar dropped,
at 5 cents a wish. He has enough
of them so that they jangle
on him when you embrace.
If he could, he’d stop collecting
them, and wish them away
on you. He’d put away the rifle.
His carving of a smile would fade
into a grin. You had always been
the loveliness of a needle,
of thread and steady hands.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
8
She likes video games, reading books
and watching movies with family
She always day dreams
and plays outside alone, imagining.
She looks up to her big sister,
and likes to sing together in her car
Her little sister is annoying
She's always the shining star.
But together all three will walk to the park.
11
She likes to color, play guitar and sing
She dances in her room without worrying
One wall is covered with a teen pop sensation,
Others hold her poems and art that reveal her struggles and wishes.
She liked the attention singing got her
It made her feel like she was worthy.
She did her best to live up to
The things said by her family
13
She was sad often and preferred to be alone
She still played guitar but played games the most,
She liked writing poems and songs,
They let her express herself in any tone
She had plans to go far away one day,
with her best friend she would escape.
There'd be hello kitty tunnels
and fun had every day.
She fell victim to infatuation
which lead to many hearts being broke,
Forced to play outside,
she'd swing away her trauma while grasping ropes.
16
She's quiet, she stays in her room alone, she feels unwanted.
The internet is where she felt she belonged
Most people would hear her out
and wouldn't ask her to play them a song.
She was forced to go somewhere she was needed
She got an education out of it and an identity crisis.
25
She is independent, but still feels scared
She is working to understand her life
and is moving forward with care.
So don't call me Becca,
It reminds me of those years-
the times I was saddest and living in fear.
Becca had a mask that Rebecca has out grown.
The mask is smaller now and is becoming unsown.
It's been a painful process, the mask really hurt
This is where I'm at now, trying to unlearn.
Jan 17, 2024
Jan 17, 2024 at 10:09 AM UTC
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
For sorrow now knocks,
and racks upon you
its thousand woes
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
As the mourning dew,
adorns your withered rose
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
For the thorny nest,
now covets.
That blackened heart
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
As from this bed,
you’ll never come to wrest;
Ever-nested in ****** vines.
You’ll writhe, each ****** day.
So forgo any and all hopes of rest
And—
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
Whilst the furrows deepen,
and the time for tears, comes down weepin’,
to dole over joys no more leapin’,
joys that strain, under sadness, now seepin’,
As unsown fruits ripen;
and become the unworthy’s reapin’
Truly,
heartbreak’s come
and taken all—
worth keepin’
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
Not for the people’s pay,
no—
for the fool that you are,
swayed as you were,
like child’s play.
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
The people restless;
clamour, bicker and fight.
In wait for their beloved Pagliaccio;
the clown with wit and humour rife.
So adorn your mug with that ghastly white,
and let them gaze.
Upon the clown of wit and humour rife;
not a man suffering under muted plight,
nor one vengeful;
of horrors, in spite.
For you, by fate have been chosen,
to carry,
this chip and blight.
Now, heavy heart, make light
and brave these jagged waters,
that ill-humour has tasked you smite
Go now!
Caper in. To the jester’s tent.
But beware;
be not seen under the searing light.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 6:00 PM UTC
Single hair left in my bed
Remind me how the rain is shed;
When in old age, do cloudy tufts
Surrender from the skyey head?
"No, no; the drops like rice are stuck
Upright into the paddies' muck
And being pulled from one hillbrow
Are in another gardenbed tucked."
I disagree; when clouds are blown,
They hold their weight as seeds unsown.
It's when we let them lie with us,
The clouds, the locks of love are grown.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
The herd enjoys it when tongues whack in rhyme
The master’s clap beats on not far behind
Mine and my lady try not to resign
To politics that bloat and tar the mind
While not far from here a tyre whines
The traffic crawls to break its broken spines
The plates and doors drag you in for more
And they’ll pay you the minimum, Son, to suffer their clack and roar
You’ll see the ghost of tenderness
Hidden underneath
The rolling iron hail
Calling out for peace
You’ll hear the labyrinth engine crack
And groan and freeze
And throw smoke in the face of the King
As he falls on blunted knees
But you can find solitude and ***
In your humble lover’s nest
And boy you best let beauty and grace
Into your bones
It’s okay to feel undone
Not quite at home
But reconcile yourself to know
Your soul has seeds unsown
You’ll see the star-tossed lake at ease
The nimble breathing trees
And the dew-drops dance from branch to branch
And shake the leaves
You’ll hear the gentle whisper of dawn
The robin’s hallowed song
And see yourself for the man you’ve always been
All along
The one with no regrets
No promised safety nets
No promised anything beyond the stage
And an ink-soaked hand
No compromise or hate
No gift of heaven’s gate
No way to know
But just the will, the will, the will
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
the gardener ventured
across the country
till he found
the perfect plot
young, unsown
fertile
and ready to be
used
he did as any gardener
would do
he planted his seed
knowing
his flower would grow
he planted his seed
and waited
he watered the ground
and waited
a young sprout
broke through the soil
and the gardener beamed
his flower was growing
and it grew
and it grew
he watered his flower
and gave her food
he thought she needed
and he plucked away
what she didn't
his flower was small
and delicate
he needed to protect her
protect her from others
she was his flower
and his alone
if she grew astray
he pulled her back
into her place
and all she was
was just his flower
and his alone
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 7:54 PM UTC
I have done it,
brought myself to pass over.
I bleed farewell to my lover,
she has hated seeing signs,
but best she begin benign
and untold untruth undone,
her life relieved and vows unsown,
I reset,
I have done it,
ended the line of my inherited sin,
the trials and trips my parents did begin,
the one and only son they did depend,
my blood spills forth funneled as the pen,
bad blood bleeds first from within,
not to forget.
I have done it,
grip on your world is fading,
I say farewell to my home to trappings
of this past and mortal beating,
I smile at my release of things,
of being unleashed from the peelings,
do not fret.
I have done it,
my fiendish brain is shot
on the blue starry wall and blots
on this read and written page,
let go of ego and thoughts
and again forever not
spin the vile traitorous plots,
nor burn fires of lecher’s knavish fraught,
no regrets.
I have done it,
new eyes cast over the old shell
rise from the ashes of a living hell,
blood dries whence did well,
winds scatter bones to sail,
I feel the light call my fast reveille,
my fire is set.
I have done it,
our world before me set right,
torch within me shines the light
new fire, new blood burns with might
of death’s refresh that hath smite
the depressed, and risen the phoenix bright,
to reincarnate.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Sudden arrest of a newbies last beat The heaven of angels in unsown retreat the build the divide the sorters last query folds under the
tongue of liars defeat as the way of our walking retreads it's own view the catalysts cataclysm renders me new
And the whole quake of emptiness battles my head asthe muse with her wander to the fiery edge does cast out intrusions beyond what we're fed
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
They say a father helps you see
The kind of person you should be.
A role model, strong and true,
But that's not what I learned from you.
The path you walk, I cannot take,
For my own future's, my own sake.
As husband, father, brother too,
My way must be different from you.
You worked hard, yes, the bills were paid,
You kept your promises, duty-made.
You gave us shelter, provided food,
But missed the heart's essential good.
You failed to build that bridge inside,
Where loving feelings can reside.
Emotionally, we were left dry,
Beneath a cold and empty sky.
So much affection has just flown,
The seeds of caring, left unsown.
The feelings now are hard to find,
Leaving a quiet, weary mind.
An emptiness has taken hold,
A story sadly left untold.
Living together in this place,
It’s hard to find my own space.
The air is thick with disagreement,
Constant arguments, sharp dissent.
I can't change things to feel like mine,
Just toe the ordinary line.
This house is where I live, it's true,
But "home" feels somewhere else, anew.
So anger simmers, soft and low,
And sadness watches, ebb and flow.
Disappointment, a heavy guest,
Puts heart and hope both to the test.
To share a roof, yet be so far,
Beneath a dim and distant star,
Leaves just a hollow sort of ache
For the connection you didn't make.
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 2:29 PM UTC
Into a new world I came
brimming with energy
clear of my shame
yet, it rises again
as the sickness sets in
the bile of reason
still clinging to my throat
I spit out my choices
that burn as I choke
I'm no more a man
than the million I hate
My old condemning voice
laughing in my face
The rotten stench
of judgemental purity
haunting my senses
with hell's fiery fury
And stand, I must
and full-on face
the horror of selfish choices
that pull me into my grave
But why stop there?
On my back with heaven open
the stars cry deep
to fill my tomb
but it would not be justice
to die in the womb
Mother embraces, as she births,
nurtures, and finally claims
every life is equal
every death the same
It is those who destroy
that do not belong
there are too many tears
and too few songs
My circular path of destruction
has isolated me alone
beneath the charred remains
the seed of life lay unsown.
081103~7p
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
The outline of a figure too true to know
takes seat 'cross the matchstick table we share.
The moment ceases, all time sits unsown;
deepness gathers in her blossoming stare.
Your eyes, two pools of jewel encrusted light
sat amidst shim'ring crystalline jungle,
speak of hours lost divinating slight
changes, amazing observer of sigil.
To lose all time, a feat not hard done,
when lost in space of thing so absolute
in being, seeing beauty so weaves stun,
lost for words or thoughts this poet "astute".
To be honest, your looks shattered Troy's great walls,
But your intellect? wheeeew That gave God blue *****
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC