"unstructured" poems
I think Poetry found me very early,
From somewhere in mama's womb.
Hooked to her umbilical cord firmly.
I heard something like a tiny bomb.
It was the sound of the talking drum,
Heralding the arrival of another grio.
So with gratitude, I said thanks mom,
And to the world, I said a very big hello.
Of course, I used the language of babies,
I cried and breathed in my very first air.
This was my first sight of the ladies
They smiled as they washed my hair.
My very first poem was a sad prayer.
It was written when I was very hungry
I was hopeless, I had only one dollar,
And no real prospect of ever making it.
So I took out my old used notepad,
UnfortunateIy, I had no pen to write with.
I wrote with a charcoal found in the yard,
And I wrote many long lines on my wall.
I wrote everything I had to tell God
Sadly, I couldn't write them all.
I cried in anguish to the Lord,
Asking If He had forgotten me.
Of Course, I got no immediate answer,
But years later my answer came.
It came in the form of a letter.
Addressed to me, ten years later
It came later but it felt better,
Instantly my struggle was all over!
The first love letter I wrote was poetry,
It was childish, unstructured and ugly.
It was written to a girl, she was pretty,
She read it and smiled, I wasn't so lucky.
Crushed, yet I pretended to be strong
I walked away but ran all the way home.
I cried in anguish and wrote a love song.
The lines were very sad, I felt all alone.
But I knew it was my first real rejection.
So I tried writing again, this time to me.
I was very focused, I was on a mission.
Finally, it finished and I wrote my name.
Unfortunately, the answer was the same,
There and then I knew I had no game,
So I reconciled and just took the blame.
Fast forward,and many years later,
I found the subject of my love letter.
I wrote a note to her on messenger.
I was optimistic because I wrote better.
I was emboldened by my poetic power.
Once again,the reply came to me later,
This time it was a resounding yes!
It felt so wonderful, thanks to poetry
And the universe I didn't make a mess.
#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
dear, you cut me off mid-sentence.
for all my skills, techniques and terms
here's a thing i can't find a way to convey.
a narrative even beyond comprehension to it's protagonist
a girl without a simile or metaphor applicable?
somebody to leave me laconic, short in syntax, unstructured.
will we discuss possessive pronouns now?
for in subtext, i am the possessive one.
i'm so lacking verbally
but i'm sure you'd understand it contextually
to punctuate: i can be the ellipsis, the implication of my omissions
but you're in my text as the most eager mark of exclamation
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
Most people don’t know
That two halves don’t necessarily make a whole
Half a shoe plus half a butter knife makes something
infinitely more useless than either halves alone.
Or it makes something much more interesting
But still, whatever it is—it is not whole.
Most people want more
Than only half of things
I wonder: is it greed or just a desire for completion
And if something is complete, is it also whole?
And if someone were to search for long enough,
would they find the missing half to everything?
Unstructured Musings by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC
In the beginning
there is a class
of creatures we call Gods
that much later
we realize are just mono-
instances of god.
From the tower
I babble tongues,
coded messages and ciphers
that you implement
in your daily rituals
and obsessive behaviors.
In R, it's something like,
christ <- god(moral compass)
In Ruby it could be
buddha = God.new
And perhaps a nihilist or we
would find happiness in
10000.times do
pushRock = buhdda.take(me)
end
It's all pidgin for me,
unstructured glimpses at a world
that's moving and changing
faster than my non-existent
grandson can comprehend.
It's all a network
of +1 and like'd
firing mix media,
reinforcing a nascent
thought stream,
back-propagating our legends
and fairy tales, Grimm
reminders of epic Odyssey |
5 Armies in film |
Warring States |
loping dog with a severed hand
in Akira black & white mouth
repossessing Spaghetti Westerns
back into our feudal *****
Fire, firing
into the Monsoon rain.
Always in the Hemingway
rain of symbols and Matrix
green code.
And in my cupped hand,
I catch glimmering fireflies,
instances of Gaiman's
American gods, Tricksters,
Coyotes, and my faithful
Dog smiling at me.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
The things you're looking for are most often found
hiding in plain sight
In the dead of the night,
when everything feels right
who are you seeing when you close your eyes?
I am lost in a moment I cannot describe
I'm standing as tall as my heart let's me write
Do not confuse blessings for an unwanted fight
I simply am wishing the best for our unstructured lives.
Have you ever been questioned...
Have you ever asked why?
Have you thought of solutions someones already tried?
I'm telling you this power offers you something great.
Would you like to partake?
Sit with me,
Don't complicate
Life is too short
to live so irate
You are only allowed what you build or create..
So many opportunities are recklessly at stake..
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
Everything before you is the result of your peers.
You refused to speak up about your valid fears.
So now, as the end of your existence nears.
Your cries for help fall upon unconcerned ears.
Structure, format, foundation, everything breaks down.
It affects the way you think, feel, act, and believe.
You become what you hate, you embrace the vile sickness that overcomes you.
Nothing is spared, your psyche becomes a shattered mass of lost promise and broken dreams.
What is left is what they think is right.
Up is down, front is back, and day is night.
Blinded by the world, afraid of the light.
Your hopes and dreams are no longer in sight.
Panic, dementia, insanity, corruption.
These ideas are now what you embrace.
Corroded are the traits you once pride yourself on.
Go be one of them now, you have sealed your fate.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
She's a pattern and yet so complex--
An entity of incompleteness bound by the voices that tell her "she is nothing"--
A frame unstructured and yet paved by the scars life left on her--
Not an epitome of daintiness but the reflection of a clay that's been molded then chipped to bring forth all at once rugged, sharp, smooth and rough edges--
Multifaceted for she smiles in the light, laughs in the crowds, cries in the night and cringes at the slightest mention of the word "love"--
Self-conscious, never once hearing of a King who thought the world of her--
The irony of dodging people who care only to fall into the traps of the ones who would never care to figure her out--
Similar to a pressed rose--
Pressed into the lives of others, leaving behind residue to the point of self dehydration--
If tears are as perfume, heaven is filled with bottles marked with her name; Daisy--
Born delicate, pure, & soft to the touch--
But over time the petals have been dried , shriveled up into brown nothings that fall fearfully as another heart dares to come near--
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
A kiss takes a moment while hugs keep giving wraparound comfort and room to weep in your sleep when spooning as a means to keep skin to skin tenderness in the state of undress exposing vunerableness sighing long and deep and long and deep with contented peace whispering sweet somethings and never having to release
and to kiss
goodbye.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
My
Oh my
How can I
Go on like this?
Maybe you ARE like,
Like all the other girls…
Jealous of everything
And angry about our past fights.
I am glad you’re happier now, dear.
Compromising you for me, like I’ve done,
That is what a real man does for his girl, right?
Well, why doesn’t this feel right to me, like it should?
I should just be happy that you are happy
So why am I second guessing myself?
I am showing you how much you mean,
And proving how special you are.
So why doesn’t this feel right?
Didn’t I do what’s right?
How much will it cost
In the long run?
This is for
You not
Me…
January 14, 2012
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
Not merely soulmates, matched and equal, but two halves of the same soul incomplete without the other.
Intricately woven links, platinum meshing with layered silver.
Breath-stealing, life exuding, divine.
'Oh, the tales that will be told of this love.'
Hesitant, wondrous and cheerful, the strings of unstructured consciousness circle. Living, imagining and eternal.
Revelling. Crisp, pure and untainted joy.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
I've seen boys turn into men
hands full of grenades
made of anger, of hurt of
cold
hard
beer
and smiles that could light-
no ignite
This cold heart of mine
I've known boys so steady
so calm
so sure
But they ended up dragging me-
along the cold hard pavement floor
Until I was nothing but a tattered corpse
They let me go
Like children do balloons
When my burdens grew too heavy
For the both of us to bare
I've seen boy's
-no men
With eyes so bright
so happy
so full of
life
I've known kids
so
so hollow
so empty
That even a rhyme couldn't describe
And I tell them to sit
sit down
and write it all out
But the paper grows damp
From the tears of their pens
And their poems unstructured
Their names but a blur
So now I know
I know
You can't tame all wild things
You cannot confine
Pain
To paper
As Pen to paper
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
I made a list of caveats
For the designs you constructed,
From thoughts in my mind
And for one, you know me too closely
It is too frightening
The way you find constellations
In broken skies
And propriety from my colouring
Outside the lines
Then, within my bones, too unstructured,
You found the sun in their moonlight complexion
And you confess your secrets
That these letters and conversations we’ve exchanged
Hang in a gallery in your head
Etched sentiments
And faded drawings of everything resolute
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 10:51 PM UTC
Two excerpts, for the full article, see the notes
"It occurred to me that there were two sets of virtues, the résumé virtues and the eulogy virtues. The résumé virtues are the skills you bring to the marketplace. The eulogy virtues are the ones that are talked about at your funeral — whether you were kind, brave, honest or faithful. Were you capable of deep love?
We all know that the eulogy virtues are more important than the résumé ones. But our culture and our educational systems spend more time teaching the skills and strategies you need for career success than the qualities you need to radiate that sort of inner light. Many of us are clearer on how to build an external career than on how to build inner character.
But if you live for external achievement, years pass and the deepest parts of you go unexplored and unstructured. You lack a moral vocabulary. It is easy to slip into a self-satisfied moral mediocrity. You grade yourself on a forgiving curve. You figure as long as you are not obviously hurting anybody and people seem to like you, you must be O.K. But you live with an unconscious boredom, separated from the deepest meaning of life and the highest moral joys. Gradually, a humiliating gap opens between your actual self and your desired self, between you and those incandescent souls you sometimes meet."
"External ambitions are never satisfied because there’s always something more to achieve. But the stumblers occasionally experience moments of joy. There’s joy in freely chosen obedience to organizations, ideas and people. There’s joy in mutual stumbling. There’s an aesthetic joy we feel when we see morally good action, when we run across someone who is quiet and humble and good, when we see that however old we are, there’s lots to do ahead.
The stumbler doesn’t build her life by being better than others, but by being better than she used to be. Unexpectedly, there are transcendent moments of deep tranquillity. For most of their lives their inner and outer ambitions are strong and in balance. But eventually, at moments of rare joy, career ambitions pause, the ego rests, the stumbler looks out at a picnic or dinner or a valley and is overwhelmed by a feeling of limitless gratitude, and an acceptance of the fact that life has treated her much better than she deserves.
Those are the people we want to be."
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
A child’s mind and spirit need a chance
To confront the boredom of unstructured time -
To build, explore, to write, pretend or dance;
To dream and plan for futures more sublime.
But we, with anxious guardian concern
So fearful that our wards might come to pain,
Replace their fires with ones that do not burn
Colored lights that anesthetize the brain.
Our children grow and sadly we bemoan
How ill prepared they are to lead us on.
(You harvest wheat if wheat is what was sown
The chance to harvest other crops is gone.)
So let the entertainment sit ignored,
And see what comes of children being bored.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Today is a first draft day
With no re-write on its way
I’m at the messy stage
the unstructured phase
with a faint promise of better
or maybe just more neatly arranged.
I’m a first draft
and on days like today
I feel it.
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 7:15 PM UTC
a nice young
golden dog,
barks,
joyful.
i think it's
smiling.
following confusion:
vigil nights,
unstructured rhytms.
the timing of
loneliness.
everytime, searching.
everything, nothing.
emotions in
motion,
no reaction.
close coming
determined full moon.
a journey
searching
understanding.
what am i expecting to
receibe?
the same i give away
with my foolish
acting?
(cannot remember
my dreams)
why is always
such a mess
sharing?
(dreaming is
searching)
endless red
sky. filling
concrete with
tired, golden
leaves.
eyes moving,
tightening.
veins full of
blood,
feeling.
is that
freedom?
outside,
a beatiful warm
afternoon,
smiles.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
*Dear mind
Let me be me
You have expressed
Let
Me find the words
Dear Mind
It's my turn
Don't jump
The queue
Then
The thoughts go wild
And askew*
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
The fear has subsided,
Uncertainty melts into endless kisses,
The second movement begins
On a hopeful note,
The violins build with a confidence
And unity, powerful and harmonious.
The unstructured first movement
Simply a search for a theme
A leitmotif to progress from darkness
To light.
The woodwinds laugh,
The horns announce the news,
The drums are strength and power
Driving the rhythm of our love.
Writing the notes together
We flow like rain
Blow together like leaves
In a breeze so brisk and strong.
We are conducting this movement
In gentle caresses and playful interchanges.
A melody only the heart can hear,
Silently envelops our waking hours,
And urging us to surrender.
The orchestra plays as one
We float upon the ocean of sound,
Wondering if the symphony will ever end.
Let the musicians play on
We can dance till dawn.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
I can write words that wrap around her skin
words that slip deep inside her mind
words that can push deep within her
against slick, receptive flesh
but she is no poem
not metered or unstructured
no words can say who she is
*for she is more
far more
than even the miracle of words*
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Be careful all you free-versin’ poetic hook-up artists and practitioners of unprotected textual *********** There are pernicious poetic maladies out there online. Casual cruising of ****** sites might infect your soul with bad verse. The wages of sin is death; but I would spare you AND your muse any viral regrets.
Random coupling with unstructured lines you just picked up at some postmodern poetry site is NOT a healthy lifestyle in the long run. Go ahead–-call me a Victorian ***** Make fun of meter and rhyme schemes. Hoot at message-oriented versification. Throw inchoate drivel in my face… but when you come down with a compromised semantic system or an embarrassing case of nihilistic verborrhea, don’t come crying to me.
This has been a poetic public health reminder.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
Everything is talking to me
and I need it to shut up.
Cut up the seams of my reality
and strip off the clothes to naked
normality.
My mentality is beaten by my morality.
For life, in seconds close to finality,
makes us strive toward normality.
Forced behaviours- just another generality.
Don’t put me in a box!
the walls will start talking to me.
Shouting at me, spilling drivel
filling the level all around me.
I’ll drown its words.
My last words will be heard
ringing- "This is not what I deserved”.
Im just a nerve trapped in this society.
Cant keep to sobriety without the anxiety
creeping quietly form silently to violently
in matter of seconds defiantly.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
electric wheel chairs and electric wires in your brain,
blood filled clouds shower on the insane.
unfinished projects pilled in your garage,
the pain in your spine could use a massage.
ribbons glue head to neck,
they connect like a child's
cheek and a mothers' peck.
tiny hands
full of life
and unstructured strokes
soon to be a house
full of unknown smokes.
these lights are painful,
like cold sores
and it hurts to kiss,
and it tastes like dirt.
I've read your books and I know your worth,
but now you're discolored, and your heart lost its beat.
and you're freezing, slowly, and becoming a piece of this earth.
I feel so alone, and I miss those beats.
Is it sad
that I can still smell you in the sheets?
May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 9:55 PM UTC
and while I ponder
what to write
my hands are weaving
patterns in the air
particles plucked out of the
chaotic spectacular
-- ocean of potentials --
and structure
the unstructured
spinning invisible threads
between the undefined and
the defined
and thus the word is born
© Jasmine, August 2014
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
Depths of knowing
In this kaleidoscope of measurable thought with sight and sound surrounded in waters filling
The mind outward and inward dimensions filling the skull what beholding how it is unfolding reams of
Streaming ideas clash swirl ever deeper raw thinking plunges ever deeper in the place of wonder it all
Swells and with just the right time that it takes to birth completeness human understanding ascends
Against formidable odds expression pours forth in a torrent are we not the sum total of what we think
Then let us mine the extreme the conscious active world can only raise to the level we appropriate in
Private study no great accomplishments have ever come in any other way not all are all called to lead a
Nation or pursue medical breakthroughs but our lives are privileged it’s not find the lowest level and
Sink down no it is speculate about the stars lift yourself to unknown heights in this accessible quest
You jettison limitations you get a foretaste of glory the hidden future hints at thrills yet to be unveiled
As one awaking from deep sleep you will know invigoration possibilities are at the end of favorable
Questions that are asked if you squander in lazy unstructured thinking then you pass sentence on your
Self and your life will be captured in mediocrity the idea is constantly be one who reassesses each
Situation maybe there is a better way the pillars of society rest on the tried and true but not before
They are tested why build inferior structures you want your work your life to inspire leave others
Wondering how they did it this can only be after you have fought indifference much is won by just
Committing to the lengths that it will take not how can I find a short cut that will prove to be
Disheartening from that point your actions will conform to less and the first inroads to weakness
And small living takes over you will hear yourself say if only I wish I had done it differently you have one
Life invest it wisely it will be your legacy to all at a vital turn maybe your life will quicken someone else
When they rethink your life avoiding disaster for them
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:04 PM UTC
Rarer than diamonds, knowledge or hallowed life itself, valued beyond reckoning, two souls lay in the warmth. Their sire's face was awestruck, openly joyous at the miraculous news he had just received. The sheer happiness and tears that happiness had brought forth was almost as unprecedented as the event that caused it. His usually stone like mask almost completely melted as he embraced his wife and for the first time in 200 years, truly laughed. In the comforting softness of their mother’s womb, two consciousnesses peacefully rested, unaware of the joy that their existence had wrought. In this warmth they stirred, feeble minds looking about for something to latch onto; and something they found. Metaphysical tendrils tenuously probed the lowest reaches of the upper dimensions. The twin psyches emitted an aura of precinct, but naive curiosity, 'looking' for some form of contact. Feeling the projection and reception of joy from the warmth surrounding them, they absorbed, discovered an experienced that joy, if only for a moment. As the wandering tendrils of not-thought climbed higher and brighter they came to an open Plane; the middle. Unable to go upward or back, they drifted forward, each in an opposing direction. They 'saw' each other. Timidly and slowly, each danced around the other tendril of thought, assessing and recognising its companion.
Hesitant, wondrous and cheerful, the strings of unstructured consciousness circle closer and closer, until one audaciously brushes against the other. At contact, they each shyly shuffle closer feeling and tasting the other. The tendrils give a faint shiver, grow taut and then still, before glowing. Revelling in their newfound closeness, the twin minds rapidly pulse, imitating a feeling felt but minutes beforehand; crisp, pure and untainted joy. The sensation flares majestically, before dimming to a low hum of contentment. In the material realm, their mother looks at her husband, her face lighting up at what she feels inside her; her children. Diamond tears slowly wash emerald eyes as she is embraced tightly, from both without and within.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC