"unstated" poems
My hijab is a piece of imagination
a symbol of Islamic populism,
yet I get carried away by racists
misjudging my outer belief, only
for the sake of white extremists,
I cry and wet my birth certificate!
why am I a Muslim? Is it my choice?
I see a minute third-piece frame
down the lane-a sorrow to share,
it chokes my individuality- an insult
to my devotion for god, for life ;
yet, people have the time to call
us terrorists when they roam naked,
some pretending to be feminists
and lovers! Reality is a bitter piece
of chocolate melting away as time fades,
as it erodes the values we held before,
20th century is still marred by those
who wish to keep their history books
unfolded, un-kept and unstated;
a wish down the memory lane is needed
for it will awaken the senses of my fellow
brothers and sisters fighting over a shawl
covering my head!
I am curious and this curiosity is not a mere
joke, its the curiosity weaved into a cloth
hiding my sensitive and strong brain
from those “all-seeing” eyes around me,
pretending to expose my hair as if it was
something of utmost importance and value,
but friends, it’s nothing, it’s a trick
by those who seek to humiliate me and
my faith for god, and I am sure that this
will echo for the decades to come,
for me, a hijab is – “ a piece of head
covering worn by women of the world”;
and I am sure that our fight for the right
to wear something will reprimand
and will be carried out by my fellow
successors and those who shed light
to our cries and woes in this big world
of ours!
[AMEN]
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
She said:
I am neither witty nor a beauty,
nor illustrious nor an actress
so if u take me u must be either
a ****** or reckless.
He said:
Well, you see i have met countless sleeping beauties
all of which utterly enchanting and bighearted
but not one such a dauntless daredevil
that she leaves a spartan fainthearted.
Never described as prejudiced or foolhardy
she would faster swim the English channel naked
,and she will do so sublimely,
than see a crime or sin go unstated.
If all you have to offer,
is what you are now
then let me tell you that is no bother,
and only say Wow.
Cause you are totally original
nothing short of awe-inspiring,
absolutely phenomenal
and so worthy of this ring.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 7:03 AM UTC
Once more I'll be your lycanthrope
dripping blood from fang and claw
we'll scourge the night and the dark
breaking supernatural law
No one the wiser still
by day we'll hide and plan
taking our pride and thrills
killing as we can
The pack roving streets and roads
a trek of monthly needs
yes it's ol hallow's eve
tonight we hunt, we feed
No guilt upon our souls
even though, it's unnatural
preying feeding at the moon
unstated sins
in bloom
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
He felt that he did not look in mirrors enough, so he looked now. This is what he did not see: that he was on his third wife and fifth mistress. Nor did he see that both were strong -- stronger than he had kept before -- but not so strong that they could last much longer. He saw a face crashing slowly into tomorrow, but the cause of its crumpling was another. The cause was his wife: shrewish and callous, constantly turning tears into anger and grinding their shrill shards of glass into his skin to cut wrinkles. He did not see his hypocrisy, the fact that he had lain on his mistress' lap and cried the same tears last night. All because of being misunderstood, neglected, and -- this one unstated -- unable to find a still-younger woman for a new affair. After picking something from his teeth he inspected his hairline. "Not so grey."
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
I want to know I made you smile.
If I could cause such beauty,
life would mean more for a moment.
Why don't smiles last?
Why does the heartbeat slow, eventually?
And can't two people simply enjoy one another's company--
be be here for once, for now, together, right here and just be warm?
Without expectation, just happy.
No hopes, no unstated desires, just togetherness,
and those conversations one has lying on roofs, looking into the stars, on the hood of your car,
looking out on the moonlight stretched in shadows over a lake's rippling surface,
you know in the movies,
but when you actually do it it's better than any movie no matter who you're with or what temperature it is outside, or how many mosquitos are swarming, or what the radio is playing.
And notes written in pencil.
Pens run out of ink.
But why did we...
Why have we...
Why are we not writing anymore?
Can we drag the dry pen down the pages, forever, until paper rips under the pressure?
The story is etched into me.
Let's never stop telling the story.
Anyway, like I said, I want to know I made you smile
so we need to speak of many things.
So that if you want to know you made me smile,
we can know exactly where those smiles came from,
what it meant...
what it means for them
to have meant that
to
us.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
Riding here, a cloak over your face,
What has caused you to come to this haunted place?
Atop a horse that is one with the night,
Why are you here, this isn’t your fight
My hand in yours leading the way,
You beg me to go so why should I stay
Dark eyes with hair swept over your face,
Why have you come to this silent place?
Back on her horse and riding away
Just riding, away
Back on her horse riding away
Away
The shadows shoot by under the moon’s silver rays
An old ruined castle for the night we will stay
The dew stained grass
Until the dawn of the day
Taking your hands gentle with grace
Now we are here is it the end of the chase?
Leaning to you yet away you do move
Bringing me here, why don’t you approve
Hearing the ocean, the wind in the trees
You’re still and pure, please just be freed
Staring at me, your touch full of grace,
Is it the end of the unstated chase?
Is this a chase
Chase
Why this strange chase
This overgrown room with an old and slow pace,
Acting as if we’re in wait for a race
Taking my hand, is there something you know,
Flying back home, what won’t you show?
*Return to the villa there’s a man in my bed,
Drips on the floor from the shot in his head*
You took me away at a frantic pace
You look at me as if we’ve just won a race
The race
An innocent race
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
~
for T.M.R.
~
*We find our poems in many different ways. Of late,
I keep finding inspiration in the public and private messages that many of you send to me, regarding poems I choose to publish here.
So I repeat my disclaimer,
"any message you send, can and will be used as a poem."*
~
instant recognition at levels so deep within,
what are the odds, given the enormous differentials,
that the kin in kindred, would blossom across two lives,
where the oppositional factoids are exceptional
as if seeded in the fertile soil of the blank spaces,
between each of our poem's words and verses,
there secreted for each other, but gleaming visible
for all to see and uncover, even join in,
uncovering semi-hidden insertions and assertions of affinity
I confess
she stands behind me ofttimes in my mind, silently,
suggesting, reflecting, critiquing a word choice,
a nuanced pressure upon the hand redirecting,
with infiltrating suggestions imaginary
oh wordy me, four stanzas excised,
abstracted from the memories contained within my fingertips,
this, an accolade to the pleasuring of humanizing mystery connectivity,
when she, in the depth of her stylized brevity,
captures more than I, after hours of exercised trying,
in the succinct excalibur of her comprehension
"We are an unstated understood"
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
One eye lined a rippling void in our favor
Two lights aimed to dither coherence astray
A spark may be one
A pyre, another
Two methods by which we may aptly narrate
These volumes which artifice rendered impassive
Some lifetimes ago
As if carved out of stone
Upon faces that masons could not replicate
We taxed ourselves harsh by indulging old spirits
But graver the crime was to give them a name
The deepest transgression of all, incorporeal
Our memories in the end gave us away
Yes, nostalgia seeps in through the gaps in our logic
To shepherd the currents beneath those blue waves
As if tides could be altered by such visitation
And oceans stood frozen with forces concealed by
Some gravities borne of celestial weight
Reluctant to wake and depart Colorado
My surrogate mother
Our canvas to paint
Expressions whipped dry by the skirt of her leather
And eardrums wrung pierced by the crags and the scree
If I leave now this portal may vanish forever
I could leave my sins here in the chill of the Springs
Release them down mineshaft chutes long since abandoned
In futile attempts to abscond the unclean
And rise to leave haunts of offenses unstated
To come crawling back from the dead
Southbound with me
Hold out, I was told
With arms to receive
You'll make sure to keep your hands steady for me
I'm soaked to the core with my soul and voice breaking
With eyes for your heart and its formless cascade
And my pail with dozens of holes to redeem
An abundance of squalls brewed behind both those seams
The light crosses your path
And you won't look away
When I question by which laws such mirrors are made
And it all seems so cruel that we're drawn here to suffer
To be teased and transfixed by what glimmers remain
I can drum up what strengths I have left to ignite you
I'll shout even louder when you forget your name
I'll relearn every way that I've known how to love you
But we're taught to process what we cannot maintain
Yes, our hearts are irreparably torn in this way
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
long after you’ve logged off,
the screen, now, just room temperature,
no longer warming plate hot, a good feeling lingers,
the glowing, slowing remains of our days first visitation,
reducing to a single dot, fading gunshot message, but unstated:
*”I was here, but moved on,
I am your first, yet you, are not mine...”*
the Dylanesque mystique, mystifying, mind-burring,
in the air hanging, those words sticky stuck in your craw,
ear worm ya, until, you utter rush, desperate to return,
shoot, what was that poem, its title, the author, ****
on what-was-that-poetry-site’s-name?
Hello Poetry! and now it’s too late, you’re not entranced,
no darling, you’re entrapped, fly glued to my sticky heart,
you, served raw, with the hook, line and sinker still attached,
you, my friend, are now my poet ****** my belonging, for
fourscore and evermore there is no cure, no cutoff, no resisting.
fresh meat for the poets beat, and you still have not even tasted
the salt water words, the rhymes that will tie up, and prolapse
your heart ******* in the love poems, ha, so when they ask what’s
the name of your new friend, the one that you are keeping so secret, tell them, shyly, bravely, whispering outstandingly, upright, shouting forthrightly: it’s me, Brandy Channing, and your soul is now mine to keep...for as long as deemed necessary to extract my ****** poems essence, so be my parasite and I will be you mistress, the mutual infection meaning but one thing! we, you and I, will live always apart, always together, yes darling, be distressed, you’re oh so blessed now, and
f o r e v e r....but tattoo these words upon your bicep lest one forget,
I am your first, you, are not mine
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
My body is a roadmap
Dotted with state lines and stretch marks and red arrows pointing to You Are Here.
There are scars like flags crossing my arms claiming gripping holding fast to this
Earth this life
Highways that lead nowhere
Train tracks that click clack against my ribcage
Cars that rumble in my brain.
Exhaust fumes fogging thoughts.
My body wears these hills on my chest like rugged territory unstaked unstated these weight plateaus like failure flatlining against the horizon.
My body is untraveled unfolded uncreased
These eyes like lakes see depth from new perspective dipping fresh into cool clear vision.
These legs like rivers cut through worlds rushing hard and fast
This head like boulder
steady and stoic even with anxiety
quaking through my core.
My body is a roadmap.
I seek only adventures within.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
I am numbed by the loss of companions & loved ones,
all set out to fulfill their destinies
in continents of unfamiliar names; trackless wastelands.
I am on a self-discovery, in ruins…
whereabouts remain unstated.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
♥☠♥
Lightweight free-verse exploration,
withered ghosts and wisps of phrase,
breezy unamusing musings
barely raise
a titter, tear or lyric warning –
fail to reach a middling height;
then subside to shallow murmurs
(not quite).
Teenage existentialism
cryptic, dull confessional mush;
suitable for a poker-faced
unroyal flush.
Must you set this stuff in motion
fizzling through our universe:
half-bright comets leaving trails
of boring verse?
Incoherent thoughts meander
through your words like fish through nets
unable to ensnare your reader.
One forgets
whatever it was you started saying
(weirdly spaced, unpunctuated).
Could it be such thoughts are better
left unstated?
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
I want to believe all I'm hearing from you
I'm tired of hearing things that just aren't true.
I need to feel passion and love in my life
happiness seldom reaches where pain cuts like a knife.
Left to my own imagination I have become quite jaded
too many words that would have been better left off unstated.
My mind playing tricks again I see only what I want to
overstayed my welcome my tears were the first clue.
How can I move on and love you the way you love me
when I can't stop punishing myself or stop being angry.
I am on a fast track the Devil's Highway
Nothing left now for me but, to pray.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 7:08 PM UTC
There were actually three sheets. I put two on top of the third because the bugs are real and were on the original unstated third sheet. Sometimes things smell like my grandma, but the scent has no name. My mom is over protective of her 107 year old wood floors. We've talked a lot about silence, but how often do we listen to what it is trying to say? I don't understand the physics of sound, but there is nothing you can't understand without google. This poem isn't about you and we weren't wrong about the strobe lights or the fact that we had never been so ****** I wish you were here again.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
The unstated part of the One-Party State:
non-compliant masses to liquidate.
Religions and tribes unwelcome to stay,
undesirable dissidents in the way;
when humans are resources—nothing more
selective reduction must even the score.
It’s a soft dictatorship: One-Party Lite
while global nimrods suppress the right
to our freedom of thought, word, deed, and speech;
our freedom to overthrow and impeach.
Stay late as you please. The party goes on
in the United Nations of Babylon.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:01 AM UTC
so say voices who do well know
they're multiplying by the score
an exact total out of show
it's possible there's millions more
they're multiplying by the score
every day numbers keep rising
it's possible there's millions more
these huge counts ever surprising
every day numbers keep rising
alias names being concealed
these huge counts ever surprising
genuine stats rarely revealed
alias names being concealed
under our radar they all slip
genuine stats rarely revealed
each one an unstated ship
under our radar they all slip
incognito account holders
each one an unstated ship
we're never privy to their folders
incognito account holders
an exact total out of show
we're never privy to their folders
so say voices who do well know
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Which is more painful?
The lie told or the truth hidden?
The reality unknown of
Or the reality believed in?
To say you've forgotten
But secretly reminisce what has past
Or when there is no presence of love
But still trying to make us last
To bid a forced farewell
When desperately wanting to stay
Or to remain together
Where everything's black, white and gray
The hurtful unmeant words
That carelessly slips
Or what needed to be heard
That's kept behind those lips
Let me ask you again
When asked about you and I
Which is more painful?
The unheard truth or the stated lie?
Which is more painful to be heard
And more painful to be spoken?
Forced to say you don't when you still do
Or forced to say you do when you no longer can?
What answer shall I say?
What answer shall I hear?
If asked about our love,
Which pain should I fear?
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
When you came unto my life
it brightened up my day
some doldrums faded swiftly
I threw the rest away.
The first date is the standard test
will I like her, will she like me?
I was pleased and jubilant
(the way it worked you see).
You were charming and delightful
as we chatted about life
about ordinary things
work and play, stress and strife.
Old loves, better times and music
books we liked and ones we hated
food we loved, the past and present
and things better left unstated.
When you came into my life,
you were like sunshine after rain
I felt whole again, revived
like someone finally free of pain.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:09 PM UTC
::: ::::
pain pain pain ..... !
( **** )
( **** )
pain ........ (!)
( **** )
pervert poets
With
SOUL FOR SALE
signs
Raking children 's faces with their hate
( **** ) ( **** )
pervert poets smearing death across the Page
//// ////
•
•
•
•
•
•
~~
sensitive !
Sensitive !
we are so sensitive here on hello poetry ????
******** !
•
we are violent ****** looking for Gold
and we don't care who we hurt
Along the way !!
•
( **** )
pain... (!)
( **** )
pain... (!)
( **** )
pain..... (!)
( **** )
Broken child
On the broken street
Here comes a HP poet
To laugh in your face
And to try to sell you
An autographed used razor blade
///
The unstated purpose of our
SENSITIVE **** ) poets of pain
Is to de-sensitize our Humanity
So that when the actual storm troopers come
And stomp on your face.....::
YOU will not complain !!!!
( **** )
pain ..... (!)
**** )
~~~
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
I cannot find the common time
To realize these eyes died that night.
My brights dulled dark and yet still sparked
The burning breath to break my heart.
I swear I'll tear myself apart
Just to go too far.
Destroy this world that I've created.
Am I jaded or just faded?
Hated those words left unstated.
Grace did make it appreciated.
Grateful to be gone away,
I'd rather run then have to stay.
Who's to say it matters, anyway?
It hurts, but I bleed gray.
So who cares if there's nothing there?
A barren land may seem unfair,
But I would dare to breath the air-
To fill my lungs up with despair,
Just to cool the flaming flair.
Stop the coughing up gray blood,
Forget regret and leave my love-
To die away and turn to dust
Just to break the trust.
So I seem so lost and cold.
Gave up blood and glinting gold,
Sold my soul to growing old
Just to die alone.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
You worked all day
and only now
can belief grace you,
whilst you drink cofee.
Mealy mouthed is better at meal times
you squeeze the ketchup
to watch the splash
on your empty plate.
No explanation is offered
if its bravado its misunderstood.
Its just the exasperation unstated.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
A camera flashes, you smile wide
Moment to moment; life is just a ride
A common metaphor for what it's worth
You were given this nonrefundable ticket at birth
Strapped in with a buckle by your parents
The unstated rules were quite self-evident
Sometimes you get filled with exhilaration in anticipation
But then it doesn't always meet all of your expectations
It can even break down during the hardest ordeals
So you learn patience sitting on top of this rickety Ferris Wheel
Fear settles in as you pray it doesn't all crash down
The courage to hold on is something to be found
As this old ride slows to a screeching halt
You feel a sense of despair at the thought
But a waste it does become to live with this worry
Life is just a ride, and the amusement park has plenty
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting icecaps or igloos,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Whinny The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Collective self-consciousness,
the well where I draw
old voices and struggles
lie deep in its craw
What’s shared but unstated,
reflexively pawned
to borrow ungiven
the right to what’s wrong
Collective self-consciousness,
polarity’s friend
unspoken meridian
between fact and pretend
To wait in the memory
of what’s yet to come
released by the moment
—humanity won
(The New Room: February, 2022)
Feb 3, 2022
Feb 3, 2022 at 10:36 AM UTC