"unspoiled" poems
Just a dew drop, let alone the sea,
and a handful of earth, not the Planet Ge.
Not a shade of blue, save the rose for bee
Purely a clear drop didn’t spill in the core,
because the whole sphere feels the pinch.
Singing chorus rains down, bouncing back
to earth the only open-through planet.
No black hole is as deep as the sun jumps,
dives in the dew on every flower they wet.
Every bird in the trees sings and tweets,
yet one is stone quiet, shouldn’t even hiss.
Shh! shh, the sleeping beauty is sleeping!
Cut above the rest, the unique earth
brimming with the infinite finishing line
by design pans out to the transcended pi.
Pure spring, the waterfront by the Moon,
untouched, unspoiled is her swimming pool.
How she goes by, wetting her ****** toe
Only to bubble high up the transcended circle
If only the sun could rise high in that pole,
for the rest of species could sneak a peek.
She’s there with the capstone of the pyramid!
Shots beyond the fixed circle, netting the eyeballs.
The stars, the Moon on the move for pure freedom.
The thrilled earth did come out, smelling of roses
Off the golden cut pi-decimal-abyss digital spring.
With a handful of earth and a drop of water dew
This is a pure mirroring thanks to the original, you!
At the end of the string apt you lovely took her by hand
and she took it in emptying her heart and soul.
Earth is now too thin on stock, she is no more
Just a shadow, a 360-degree hollow flute!
Oh light at the end of the tunnel shine and show
Play in like in the Night of Ascension once more!
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
(contains references to sensitive issues)
She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in
but leave no mark
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged
no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame
the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’
nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed
from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’
so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all
and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
-
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die
archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge
and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts
you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 6:11 AM UTC
Here you are -
frozen in time.
Here i have captured
The warmth of your smile
Lines speak experience,
Framing ageless eyes.
Your infectious radiance
Tells me no lies.
No joy is contained,
No emotion forced.
There is no need for restraint -
No need for remorse.
This moment will survive,
Unspoiled by time and wear.
Even after death arrives,
You'll always be there.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 7:56 PM UTC
Green eyes.
Green, yellowish in
the center.
Sunflowers in
the center, and
white skin and
freckles and
everything else is
red
Old myths dying under
the new sun
rising, spilling over
grassy fields dotted
with poppies
The day is unspoiled.
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
“Put pressure on it, it needs more pressure”
Holding your wounds shut
That senseless force is what took you away
Pressure- to be... whilst not desiring to be
You saw the clouds moving in greyscale
I saw the hills below scattered in shades of green,
Cavernous, shadowed, cryptic, familiar-
We were advised to go as the crow flies
I cried to a nameless God that your crow’s feet
Were from insurmountable happiness, not the pressures endured
I’ve forgotten much since the storm some-178 weeks ago
Though my body remembers yours over and over again
My skin has yours imprinted, correlated
Forged into one point on the axis between here and there
You the X, I the Y
The Earth crept between the crevices, curling
Through the distance between the Right radius and ulna
Elbows breaking knuckles, blood remains to be spilt
Blood doesn’t connect, if anything it merely separates
Scarecrows don’t help much when the crops won’t grow this year
Ants crawled out of the barrel of a shotgun
Observing the process of cleaning bones after tragedy
Follow the moss to find your way North with no direction-
Sometimes on the other side it’s not greener,
It’s more terrifying than ever before
Terrain untouched, unspoiled, sacred-
Climb up the trees with me, find your quiet
We won’t carve our names but we’ll find our niche
You’ll have quills and I’ll have armor
Not even the thought of stolen arrows,
Lost time through distance,
Or perhaps a slew of chemical imbalances
Can reach us up here
I chose to glue your pieces back together with mud and straw
Taken from the fallen, the loved and now distant memories
You may be an abandoned military base offshore
What was once used by many-
Witnesses life again, life of a different kind
The vegetation will ease its way into the cracks
Constructed when the foundation began to decay
It has a beauty of its own, one of self-sustainment
An everlasting beauty that connects itself
To the surrounding extravagance, often times ignored,
Death isn’t the only way to be forged into nature, remembered
Fear doesn’t always win, nor death do us part so soon
I hope your skin and bones remember before the end
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.
i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic
no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.
at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.
for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.
the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.
this is my spring love,
this is bliss.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
I'm excited now
An unspoiled weekend, mine,
Tomorrow begins.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Sweet was the ancient tale once told,
Of star-born realms and skies above,
When primal hearts, though proud and bold,
Still held the thread of love.
From rose-hued lands where dreamers grew,
No scorn arose, nor warlike word.
‘Twixt cultures old, the wise and true
A gentle peace was heard.
The sea lay calm, the waves moved slow,
While birds sang high on salted air.
The stars, the moon, and myths below
Drew hearts with gentle care.
When Orpheus, with lyre in hand,
Could charm the trees and still the shore,
He sang not just of death’s dim land,
But love that dared for more.
And songs poured out, both wide and bright,
Unbound by ticking clocks or schemes.
A joy unspoiled by neon light
Still stirs in silent dreams.
No noise, no screen, no hollow glow,
Just fireside tales and open skies
A world less fast, yet rich to know,
Where wonder met the eyes.
But now, a broken engine hums,
Where whispers clash and meanings blur.
Though minds are fed, the heart succumbs
In dreamy shadows stir.
This modern sprawl, in steel-clad guise,
Sees freedom drown and ruins swell.
While gilded dame with cunning eyes,
Buys silence, sells the shell.
Sweet childhood homes that most recall,
Still mourn the loss of treasured views.
While elders chase the siren’s call,
The Futures drown in hues.
O bitter jest, this march of mind,
That trades the soul for hastened days.
Where hearts and minds are redesigned
By profit’s clever maze.
Progress cloaked where truths are wrung
May blind the heart and charm the tongue;
But in the hush, old songs are sung
Still bold, still clear, still young.
Naturae consors esto
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 10:02 PM UTC
She kisses like the reading of an ancient poem
With lips clouded by their own sighs,
So too with all her mock moons, paraselenae,
Obnubilations over her luminous mind,
Her last desperate pulchritude of night,
Chaste labors of assembling unspoiled dew:
Just crumbs of breath at the Greek feast of wind,
New sun pouring in to the clay flowers of our lungs.
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 11:22 PM UTC
Between the two
is an eye
and the blue sky.
Still an unspoiled world
the butterfly
wings away.
The moonlit
starry sky
scrolls down the other eye!
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 3:10 PM UTC
I reference this not as the flower just of nature but in this case for the fact it is our anniversary this is an
Oleander of my heart yes the heart is a house all of my feelings and emotions are housed there the
Flower I choose to write about is my sister my wife’s sister Liz it’s kind of appropriate since she was the
Only one in our wedding party as we were married before a judge I guess she was a witness a witness to
The crime as it were to describe her I can use Roy Orbison’s song pretty woman a blonde cutie with
Southern roots in Tennessee now she is a near Chicago northerner take southern nights and northern
Bright lights infuse them with grace and charm you have begun to see the Oleander that lies beyond my
Door yard along my walk and borders the yard of my heart the glistening in the spring rain if you get real
Still you can hear tiny sounds of laughter among the joy filled faces the scented bloom fills my living
Room where ever I am eye catching satisfying delightful spring and summer what a wonder the spilling
Forth of fruitful life she matches the rose in pose an attitude of significance tinged with just enough
Brashness to hold your attention until you become beholden to the inner life that shows character
Wisdom authority a driven wind that lays down in the most beautiful fashion only to arise and make the
Trees sing the glass to shake in the most enjoyable way all in unison they dance the eye stormed by this
Profusion of elegance and color truly a best friend to the wayward wind carried near and far secrets rest
Within the heart that the Oleander knows and claims in darkness unflappable a sweet ghostliness an
Arbor found sweetly remembered but never forgotten unspoiled withstanding the day’s heat showing
Resilience a buoyancy of sprit uncommon the thrill that runs with deep rootedness when the sharp wind
Does blow she through power of will brings calm a flourish of maturity so lovely that is outstanding in all
these gifts she provides the greatest is she calls me friend thanks sis
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
Ole to the beautiful flower hidden underneath
a shadow- a beautiful flower in bloom, alongside
a naked truth. Sensual images, picturing gentle
moves to drive love so pure and never felt;
its eyes a flower garden of unspoiled- felt so heavenly.
Permit me to kiss you evenly by heaven’s sweet entry;
flowing in sync; we’ll rest in a lily field of complete
serenity.
_And she replied to him:_
Our first meeting of first feelings- never felt before,
as I waited in the shadows; longing for the needs
within us, for one another. Aroused in my inner core
to touch and explore love in treasured completeness
and wholeness. Share your life with me and within me;
darling fall into my arms, and allow me to feel my inner
spirit for you within- burning endlessly from my soul’s
aflame.
__Shall we burn together.__
Jul 1, 2024
Jul 1, 2024 at 3:27 PM UTC
(After a seven day hike in Pacific Rim National Park, British Columbia)
The wilderness is a beauty
Unforgiving,
She’ll take your breath
You glance deeply
Through the forest
Hear the waves
Crash through and crest
This land has not been conquered
It barely has been tamed
There’s many a spot unspoiled
And many a place unnamed
And life is all around you
The way it’s always been
It’s as if the world’s forgiven
Just this once, all of man’s sins
So you tread carefully on the footpath
You pay attention to each step
Cross canyons and each precipice
Scale the granite cliffs
This place, it is rewarding
For those who are aware
You see life teeming in the ocean
And eagles in the air
You live in the present
Your senses re-attuned
Whatever else is happening
Is suddenly consumed
You get up with the sunrise
Build fires when darkness calls
You pay attention to the tides
And sleep by waterfalls
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC
-on a mummy whisperer encouraging an ancient,
dedicated servant to worship his mistress once again
Come, rise, out of your bandages.
Do not fear her reptile grin,
those dead, cold, killing eyes,
that lacerating tongue.
Watch that glimmer of hope:
the naivety of her simple feet,
those loose phalanges calling for bonds.
Come, kneel, kiss them tender!
Those harmless toes,
that innocence, clumsy and unspoiled.
Now love, hope and fear can make you
find yourself in bandages, again.
Look upward, eyes shut...
Loose yourself in cosmic lights:
her toe tips brightly guide you through the night.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter
Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns
Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the
Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to
The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea
Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still
Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that
Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it
Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy
Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to
Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders
Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of
Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at
The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the
Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments
That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts
Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but
Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even
Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side
Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself
seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from
Coronado
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
#*Should a primitive tribe be civilized?
Are we civilized or savage?*
Leave them the aborigines to their home
in peace
their abode in the depth of forest.
But where's their abode?
we cut the jungle and made road
where would their babies be born?
in the smoke of engines blaring of horns
so hard for them to birth
on the dwindling patch of their earth
our Paleolithic ancestors' living fossils
who with iron will
fought bullets with bows and arrows
now falling by the bullies of progress
begging for last living space.
Leave them the way they lived so long
unspoiled with their own education and culture
let them retain their own way of life
and not make them civilized the way we are.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
their warm arterial embrace was ripped
the day you tore your heart from mine, it died
alone, its beating stopped where once it skipped,
it withered in its solitude and dried,
now pluck this deadened fruit from out its vine,
and crush it into powder fine and white,
from purity of love it is refined,
a remnant of my love unspoiled, zinc bright,
freebase it and inject it in your veins,
or mix with water, drink it as an ale,
or snort it yet don't leave a single grain,
or nebulize it, deeply do inhale,
my essence seeks to once more be a part
in some way with your unforgiving heart
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC
O Hair, o Hair, wherefore art thou dear Hair?
You stuck with me since I can remember
How come you’re leaving? Why do you not care?
Why haven’t you grown since last November?
What did I do to make you love me less?
I’ve always given you the best shampoos,
Conditioners, hair cream- why are you distressed?
I wish you could talk- for I have no clue.
‘Stress’- the doctor says that you can’t bear it
It hurts you, it makes you sad, angry, weak
How I miss your happy, active spirit
You lit up my days when the world was bleak
You were obedient, made me look good
Introduced styles of your own I didn’t know
Growing fast into a shiny mane you would
Falling tantalisingly to my brow.
You used to cooperate with the stylist
So I tried new things, innovatively
Fashionable styles I never could resist
But you danced brightly, never plaintively!
Alas! I can’t possibly understand
Why you fall away to the cold hard ground
As I brush you, in the shower, strand by strand
The sight just shocks me as you make no sound.
You don’t respond to new-fangled oils
Bought online for you in desperate attempts
To make you grow again, healthy, unspoiled
But you stare up at me with harsh contempt!
Do not desert me yet, my darling friend!
I will change myself for you, make it right
Ensuring your precious life doesn’t end
I will put up a victorious, mighty fight.
I’ll meditate to reduce stress on you
I’ll stop shampoos to use homemade products
I’ll take the required medicines, oils too
Baby, for me, increase your good conduct!
I’m so sorry for all that I did wrong
All the things that then made you want to die
I’ll take care of you now, you will be strong
Work with me now, sweetheart, don’t ever cry!
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
Idyllic sensations of fingertips gliding across unspoiled flesh
Kisses fill in the gaps left by words unspoken
Bright eyes meet and exchange heavy glances of infatuation
Souls clinging to the inexperienced adoration, praying it stays fresh
The luxury of hearts yet to be broken
Blooming lust like budding carnations
Petals flittering about in cold springtime sun
Flippant and apathetic about what the future holds
Never expecting to be crushed under the boot of a world-weary passerby
Despite pressure to crumble apart, the petals cling together until their lives together are done
The heavy feeling of eyes cast upon young lovers, bystanders recanting the most terrible scolds
Are no match for star-crossed lovers, too entangled in emotions to be pulled apart by outside forces, and too far gone to say goodbye.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
GOD grant a blessing on this tower and cottage
And on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled,
No table or chair or stool not simple enough
For shepherd lads in Galilee; and grant
That I myself for portions of the year
May handle nothing and set eyes on nothing
But what the great and passionate have used
Throughout so many varying centuries
We take it for the norm; yet should I dream
Sinbad the sailor's brought a painted chest,
Or image, from beyond the Loadstone Mountain,
That dream is a norm; and should some limb of the Devil
Destroy the view by cutting down an ash
That shades the road, or setting up a cottage
Planned in a government office, shorten his life,
Manacle his soul upon the Red Sea bottom.
1.4k
Six lovely red, unspoiled apples
lay atop a heap of typical American trash,
call me with a snake-like hiss,
feast on us, feast on us, feast on us.
Come on, Adam; it’s why we exist.
But you’re in a dumpster, I reply,
mingled with garbage, waste, refuse.
What about germs, sanitation, hygiene?
What about my middle-class American pride?
Alongside the apples, a blood-stained newspaper
speaks headlines of disaster—
starving children in Myanmar, Dharfur,
the refugee camps in Syria and Uganda.
I think the sin, not that original in this land of plenty,
would be to let these apples rot, so I pluck them
from the trash, take them home, devour them,
their sweet juice running down my throat
as I write a check to a local food shelf
to assuage the guilt only the full-bellied feel.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
**See, wide open the gates are in welcome,
I am the city of tranquility
that appeared in your thoughts from nowhere,
you may choose to live for now,
perhaps for ever or never.
having crossed many toll gates
in your long drive to reach here,
don't you wait, drive straight,
the capitol looms above bright,
occupy the citadel most secure
in which a few like you stayed for a while
till they figured out what they seek,
when they resumed their journey
with heartful of joy
keep at bay the angst that chases you
from a wrong turn once you took,
experience the weather, peaceful atmosphere,
till it dawns to you, the magic of this ambience,
air, water and land unspoiled, like old times,
don't you miss the birds that
never forget to sing, be it
a harsh summer or a frozen winter.
they all make your soul
listen to the beating heart, the city has
A free bird you are, be aware,
do whatever freedom demands,
if you choose to come back
this city sky is all yours.**
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
I've learned you're good at poker, but you're no player,
this, the second time I've seen you; sizing you up, I like you.
Competent, aware, smart, unassuming. You're fit, tanned; obvious you take care of yourself.
Don't spend too long in these smoky sunless rooms fishing for money,
sitting for hours with pale coughing gamblers and their deceptively friendly banter.
There is only one other woman, her arm inked with a script tattoo Bad Jamie
One guy asks just how bad are you?
She replies, I'm so bad I drink milk straight from the carton, and the table chuckles.
But all joking aside, you're the chip leader and I'm only interested in you.
I raised from the Big Blind, I'm serious with pocket Aces, and everyone else folded.
You on the little blind stayed in; you could have anything, with a practically free ante.
I don't know why you've stayed even this long;
something tells me you want to see what I have.
The flop comes and the table tries to contain a collective gasp, three 8 s roll out.
All the potential of infinity between us,
and I'm holding Wild Bill Hickock's dead man's hand, black with bad luck.
Wow, how to manage this.
I've had no success of anyone staying with me before.
If I slow play it, hiding my cards close to my chest and check it down to the river,
he would fold at any hint of what I have,
and I’d be left just wishing with nothing in the ***
If I come on strong, and he thinks he didn't catch anything or he's not even drawn to the river;
he would fold,
and I’d be left just wishing with nothing in the ***
I study you, ascertaining me
with a look on your face like you just may have found something good.
So I do something totally unexpected, just say the truth outright
I've got a house full of dealbreakers.
You're looking at me as if no one else is in the room, and with a smile in your eyes you say
Lets not call them Deal Breakers, lets call them Deal Makers.
...... and I'm All In,
You call, but then ask *chop the *** be equals?* revealing
once-in-my-life quad eights, all that infinity in your hands, and the Queen of Hearts.
You say, hey, lets go... and as we're walking out into unspoiled sunshine,
you reach into your pocket, show me a few sparkling diamonds in your palm and ask,
you want these?
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
If I am not beautiful,
Am I not bountiful?
...........The problem with beauty is
that it gets old
after that, it can not be sold
it is a fleeting commodity
it will never, never last
If I am not successful
am I not relevant?
If I am not rich,
am I not important?
does money really talk?
and can fame
equal true , unspoiled
happiness
or peace of mind?
If I am not powerful
am I merely anonymous?
do I contribute anything at all
and do I matter?
We are living in a world
that does not tolerate mediocrity
it dwells in mores of hypocrisy
and so it breeds profanity
it encourages deception
and if you want to have your
name remembered,
take a few lives in your
gun powdered hands
they will splash your face
all over the papers
and you can hide behind
the curtains of insanity
how sad to be lonely
but these are the
scenes that we condone
plastic caricatures we are
living in lies and
false smiles
we have died while
we are still alive
inhaling the polluted air
that we so happily create
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC