"unspectacular" poems
Derived from the remnants of sacrificed thought
fragmented reminders of lessons taught
**** the device used to rose tint our sins
and shatter mirrors that sustain fake grins.
With self painted visions, we are pacified
Convinced...
Horrors inflicted have been indemnified.
Tied to past convictions we cannot shed
commitments that exist solely in our head.
Painstaking attempts to make justified
the pain that we've caused that cannot be denied.
Who are the victims of decisions we've made?
If given the chance...
Our suffering for theirs, could we bear to trade?
Whispered snickers hint at retribution
offer redemption but no solution.
Mistakes which drizzled in unspectacular drops
collected in pools and drowned cultivated crops.
Prisms of pain inflicted by selfish choices
Cut deeper...
When we ignored the pleas in our victim's voices.
Pointed fingers say all that needs to be said
our peers may believe us better off dead.
But the harder we try to fix our mistakes
the more ground we lose, that we cannot retake.
With guns to our heads, and a knife in our back
No weapons...
Us against the world, and we're under attack.
Weight of responsibility burdens our souls
sapping our strength and confusing our goals.
Stripped of our artillery, naked and exposed
inside we're screaming but appear composed.
The enemy looms larger with each of our errors
Weakened by defeat...
Realization strikes, We are the true terrors
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Turn out the lights
catch the night’s bequest
Train your eyes on the horizon
sunrise is approaching
Notice how blue is shading
from deep to pale
There are no shadows
Cast by the moon
Hiding behind the clouds
Sounds reverberate from
an airplane drifting
to a landing
Morning’s quiet
regains the stage
Until a Robin chirps
a wake-up call
Sunrise is approaching
advancing from east to west
lighting the sky
Rocks whiten to become obvious
against the pallid grass of winter
robbed of nutrition by the cold of January
No orb announces today
the sun is rising, although hidden
behind dense condensation
The orange orb of the sun
will not flood the skyline
The fever of night
has become the pale of the day
May 3, 2025
May 3, 2025 at 1:57 PM UTC
Turn out the lights
catch the night’s bequest
Train your eyes on the horizon
sunrise is approaching
Notice how blue is shading
from deep to pale
There are no shadows
Cast by the moon
Hiding behind the clouds
Sounds reverberate from
an airplane drifting
to a landing
Morning’s quiet
regains the stage
Until a Robin chirps
a wake-up call
Sunrise is approaching
advancing from east to west
lighting the sky
Rocks whiten to become obvious
against the pallid grass of winter
robbed of nutrition by the cold of January
No orb announces today
the sun is rising although hidden
behind dense condensation
The orange orb of the sun
will not flood the skyline
The fever of night
has become the pale of the day
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 11:23 AM UTC
i'm afraid of the dullness
the unspectacular scares me more than any cancer
more than any mortal wound
that thouest couldest ever inflict upon thine flesh
because it's telling me that i am not doing something to live life to the fullest.
it means that at some point, I made a decision that lead me to experience the dullness
the dark side of experience
and I don't know what to do in those moments
in those dreadful
never ending
frictionally enhanced
time stand still stanced
moments
i can choose to do something else where I'm truly "living"
or i can wallow in the mellow and live dangerously in imaginations sleeping quarters.
i'm such a rebel.
but there's no room for resting in the dormant ticks
that's the time for the treadmill
or rather the spinning wheel
for this hamster of a brain
to start running in circles
always leading me to think the same things
"i should be doing something more productive"
at which point lack of discipline
motivation
and my love for self loathing all barge in
wielding several large knives
and hold the poor little creature hostage
if only I could afford better locks...
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
Recklessly I cruise a plateaued plane
One I call memory lane
Which in hindsight was kind of insane
I'm not sure what I was looking to gain
There's not much other than pain in the ones I retain
I know this, it's beyond first hand eyewitness obvious,
Even prior to being forced to meticulously explain
Becoming increasingly familiar with that ruthless domain
Thankfully some truly cherished living snapshots remain
However, most have broken free from their neglected, rusty chain
And I'm left cursing the bane of my existence,
While, in plain sight, the flashbacks that cause my eyes to drain
Swerve in and out of my lane
Joy ridin' my misery or being metaphysically driven to the torture of the mind and soul,
Instigated by a fraction of a fractured brain
That to this day isn't clear on what's it's actually sayin'
Can not seem to refrain from immersing myself in self inflicted pain
Forgotten or slain?
What's it matter if the outcome will be the same;
Me, laying motionless in front of a raging train,
Leaving only a crime scene stain
One that'll go as unnoticed as it did when it flowed through a main artery vein
'Till any and all evidence of my unspectacular,
Super localized reign
Washes away in the rain
And I become nothing more than a name
©2024
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 12:25 PM UTC
The tiny pebble swam along the path of the river,
Floating above the bed of colossal rocks,
Unsure of where the path might end.
The girl silently watched,
She felt like the pebble,
Not knowing where the river of life was taking her,
The only thing she was sure of was
Someday,
She would find another pebble.
As unspectacular as she,
To share the path with her.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
This Week, and Next Week Too
Heroes come and go,
Some enshrined but really entombed,
Famed for momentary action,
Bronzed and interred, sentenced to life imprisonment
In "this was history" books.
Others simply a one night stand,
Newspaper front page today,
A homeless man's shoe stuffing, the next.
I like heroes plenty too,
My favorite kind are those who are heroic
Every day, in the small ways,
Plain vanilla, unspectacular, yet is not
*Vanilla always first,
Above all?*
I lean toward toward those heroes
Who in every child a leaf do see,
Gently moving it along for just an instant,
A wind, a covering breeze,
Nourishing it briefly then sending it,
Floating, strengthened, onward bound.
I lean toward those heroes,
Who see a tree, a school,
Knowing that so many leaves need be apprehended,
Knowing that to all, one hero man, cannot attend.
Yet in his waking hours,
The despair of enormity
That limits most, with its peculiar powers,
The tired thoughts that would have us say,
Let some else be a hero today,
Clouds not his sight on which
We now rely,
A daily hero has a greater vision
That does not succumb,
This week or the next.
The man that seeks no glory,
But our world does glorify
By raising up the children
One dance step daily,
Is our hero, this week,
And the next, and the next...
June 23rd 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
I am what no one writes about-
I am pink lipstick and elbows
I am neither delicate nor passionate
I am clean socks and the lack of smell that television has, when compared to books
I am what no one writes about-
I am shirts which hang rather than draping over supple skin
I am walks on the beach cut short abruptly
I am the itch at the back of your neck
I am what no one writes about.
I am what no one writes about-
I am unrebellious but unsuccessful daughters
I am unpeculiar unspectacular and uninspiring
I am underappreciated when underdressed
I am unthought of and unspoken.
I am who no one writes about.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
You need to watch
your mouth today
You need to
Wash yours
I never cuss ever!
Except you called me
the b word
Now I know you're
thinking of someone else
I was lying
hoping
you would
just agree
Don't you have anything
better to do than lie
about me
Nope
Cause you're all i think about
You just keep em coming
Don't ya
haha
Unfortunately for you,
Yes I do
You'll run out
someday
Eh, only when my passion for you
fades
Ohh it will fade
very soon
I'm sure
mmm you don't know
me too well
But
I know me
and once you realize
I'm not that special
you'll move right along
You can be the most
unspectacular person ever
but I obviously find
something
special about you
It's ok
everyone makes mistakes
I think you just want
it to be one
Getting a little deep
over there
dontcha think
Yeah that happens a lot,
But what would you expect
From a person who writes
and studies poetry?
Ohh so you write poetry too,
I wanna hear something
No...
Well why not
I'm not that good and
two that's letting you
into a part of me that
you probably don't really
want or need to know
I respect that
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
And the Prophet stood before the people
(in his polo shirt and straight slim jeans)
And spoke, (and laughed, and sang)
and shared some of their Father’s dreams
“Step out and be unspectacular
Leave the weird behind
God selects right royal mess-ups
And then renews their minds
“Think God-thoughts, glimpse your destiny
But be willing to get it wrong
Father rewards the risk takers
Not those wanting perfection
“The Spirit searches all things
Even the deep thoughts of God
And we can grasp what God is saying
Because we have the Spirit of God”
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
She had a pair of shoes for every purpose and every surface.
There were her converse sneakers,
mottled black and white, unspectacular but loved,
worn away by city sidewalks and the kitchen floors of friends' houses.
There were her high top hiking boots,
their treads locked onto ***** ridges and pebbles,
pulling her up the hills and mountains.
There were her high heels,
lifting her off of office carpets and escalators,
elevating her to a higher place in the world.
There were a dozen others,
all of them still lined up in her closet,
except the tennis shoes she was wearing
when the accident happened.
The funeral home called twice asking for shoes,
but she had none that matched her casket's grey silk.
“Let her go barefoot,” we replied.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
One cold morning, I decided to go on a walk. Left technology and knowledge behind. All I took, was my gracious self.
I felt the wind on the skin of my bare arms, the hairs on my back stood up straight. The wind grew denser and denser until the fog spread all over.
As I strode along, I saw a vague image approaching my direction. Without noticing until I grew closer, I met a familiar face. One that I knew so long and well.
The distance continued to shrink further, until an inch was left between us. I looked up into his fiery eyes. He had the same golden tan, he had a year ago.
A sudden rush of hope, of joy, of pain, of life encircled me. I felt the flow of current between us. A heat half the sun could contain. I knew what was coming next. Oh yes I did!
He would hug me so tight, tell me he missed me. He still loves me. He needs me. He wouldn't leave me. He would fight for me. And he would still be hugging me. I would say I am sorry. I would say forgive me. I would say take me with you.
He stood there. He stepped back. He looked away. He sighed. He said he's sorry. I put my arm forward, and I said I am sorry too. He looked into my eyes. They mirrored mine. Eyes defeated. Touch most needed. Hearts shattered. Nothing mattered.
He said bye. I said bye. He reached home And so did I. He begged for one more meeting. For the one last time, he wished he could've fixed it. He grew the guts even after causing the breakage of my heart. He prepared to come over the next day. To ask for a lifetime of repentance with me by his side.
It was the next cold morning. All armoured for the glorious day. He drove off the merry lonesome streets, faster than the rays of beams. He arrived at my gateway. Astonished to see a grand decoration. He walked out of the car. Speeded over to the entrance. What he saw after that, was unspectacular.
I was seen as the prettiest lady in the hall. Next to a man, of medium built who stood up tall. I shot straight up, immediately I caught sight of him. I knew he was just in time, to make me whole.
He walked with a plastered smile across his face, right up to me. Handed me over the bouquet, asked for my hand, and put it into his. He congratulated me and watched me wed. Till this day, I've been ever so dead.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC