"unsurely" poems - Hello Poetry

and what were roses. Perfume?for i do forget…or mere Music mounting unsurely twilight but here were something more maturely childish,more beautiful almost than you. Yet if not flower,tell me softly who be these haunters of dreams always demurely halfsmiling from cool faces,moving purely with muted steps,yet somewhat proudly too— are they not ladies,ladies of my dreams justly touching roses their fingers whitely live by? or better, queens,queens laughing lightly crowned with far colors, thinking very much of nothing and whom dawn loves most to touch wishing by willows,bending upon streams?

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9.7k

E. E. Cummings

And What Were Roses. Perfume?For I Do

and what were roses. Perfume?for i do forget…or mere Music mounting unsurely twilight but here were something more maturely childish,more beautiful almost than you. Yet if not flower,tell me softly who be these haunters of dreams always demurely halfsmiling from cool faces,moving purely with muted steps,yet somewhat proudly too— are they not ladies,ladies of my dreams justly touching roses their fingers whitely live by? or better, queens,queens laughing lightly crowned with far colors, thinking very much of nothing and whom dawn loves most to touch wishing by willows,bending upon streams?

18

new light comes early - low and uncertain - cold and unsurely slowly winter is waning - fading her darkness away - begins a new day.

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Mar 5, 2015

Mar 5, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC

r-2

waning winter gloom

new light comes early - low and uncertain - cold and unsurely slowly winter is waning - fading her darkness away - begins a new day.

8

Regretful Memories Unsurely, I can feel the certainty in your kiss. It lingers, like unrequited love. Hopeful, lustful, incomplete, lost. What’s missing, your fingers play my hair as if they were piano cords. Nothing, I breathe in. Everything, I exhale. You taste like burnt cigarettes. And mint. I count how many stars I saw in your eyes, and I know the lightning in the sky doesn’t matter. Thunder, thunder, thunder. Bang. Bang. Bang. Rumbling thunder. You play them away. And my feet are off the ground. My skin is electrified and I realize that I am alive. Then dead. At the same time. Bliss. Is that what this is about? Yes, you beg. Yes and plead. ... Published in LALUNA Magazine, Norway - April 5, 2014

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Oct 25, 2014

Oct 25, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC

shannon-a-thompson

Regretful Memories

Regretful Memories Unsurely, I can feel the certainty in your kiss. It lingers, like unrequited love. Hopeful, lustful, incomplete, lost. What’s missing, your fingers play my hair as if they were piano cords. Nothing, I breathe in. Everything, I exhale. You taste like burnt cigarettes. And mint. I count how many stars I saw in your eyes, and I know the lightning in the sky doesn’t matter. Thunder, thunder, thunder. Bang. Bang. Bang. Rumbling thunder. You play them away. And my feet are off the ground. My skin is electrified and I realize that I am alive. Then dead. At the same time. Bliss. Is that what this is about? Yes, you beg. Yes and plead. ... Published in LALUNA Magazine, Norway - April 5, 2014

9

stoking and stroking very, very often, but not every day, she wakes me with a tonguing on my clean shaven heart, I ask not why, lest it break the over ten year, she be magic spelling, a hexagonal licking put on me after ten years she gets cat curiosity bitten, asks me if I want to know the wherefore, pretend not to hear, re-awarded with an elbow between the ribs five and six, grunting me a ‘sure’ (that’s a surly unsurely, no - not really) “you don’t take care anymore enough of the body I embrace, so I am my own your health plan, licking your chest cavern, one of a defensive medley of many medical techniques, stroking the heartstrings vibrato, stoking the hearth fire, purely selfish you see, all I ask is you purr as you do, lay still, accept my pill of vitae min no-calorie surgery, for ten more years, let your heart be stirred, keep the bad stuff excised, and let the desire of returning fire of your taste buds, be forever for me...”*

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May 7, 2019

May 7, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC

onlylovepoetry

stroking and stoking

stoking and stroking very, very often, but not every day, she wakes me with a tonguing on my clean shaven heart, I ask not why, lest it break the over ten year, she be magic spelling, a hexagonal licking put on me after ten years she gets cat curiosity bitten, asks me if I want to know the wherefore, pretend not to hear, re-awarded with an elbow between the ribs five and six, grunting me a ‘sure’ (that’s a surly unsurely, no - not really) “you don’t take care anymore enough of the body I embrace, so I am my own your health plan, licking your chest cavern, one of a defensive medley of many medical techniques, stroking the heartstrings vibrato, stoking the hearth fire, purely selfish you see, all I ask is you purr as you do, lay still, accept my pill of vitae min no-calorie surgery, for ten more years, let your heart be stirred, keep the bad stuff excised, and let the desire of returning fire of your taste buds, be forever for me...”*

21

unsurely, we could have slept, still: all made small slitted movements, all ablaze in serenade for something like life, hanging sterile, like presheaved diamond litter, across broken lines through the dark. we breathe. we trek out motions, taking step in each other's shadow. and i, caught, dividing through the time either of us still could sleep. well, i can't sleep. i can't wait it out. i can't do this. didn't you say how i'd lie? well, sugar, i can't lie.

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Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC

tom-mccone

icing/lining

unsurely, we could have slept, still: all made small slitted movements, all ablaze in serenade for something like life, hanging sterile, like presheaved diamond litter, across broken lines through the dark. we breathe. we trek out motions, taking step in each other's shadow. and i, caught, dividing through the time either of us still could sleep. well, i can't sleep. i can't wait it out. i can't do this. didn't you say how i'd lie? well, sugar, i can't lie.

23

Sophia's parents had invited me to tea best go she said they invite it rude not to come (she was Polish and spoke a broken kind of English) so I went and I put on my best suit and tie and clean shirt and there I was at the front door Sophia opened the door and gazed at me you come ok? sure why not are they both home? she nodded do they speak English? I asked she nodded I entered the house and the hall light was bright and contrasted with the coming evening light outside she ushered me into the lounge where the parents sat on a sofa the father stood up a short stocky man with a moustache and a shock of short greying hair his hand was offered and he said you welcome friend of our daughter welcome here (I had been once before when they returned early and almost caught us in bed having a good time and I crept by him on the way home) glad to be here I said smiling weakly the mother looked at me her eyes were searching me she didn't smile Sophia sat in an armchair and I sat in one next to her and waited for talk or questions you Roman Catholic? the father said yes convert 1968 I said go to Mass each Sunday the mother looked at her husband where you meet Sophia? he said I work at the same nursing home I said you nurse? yes sort of I said Sophia say you good boy and respect her? he said o yes I do I said (pushing any images of us making love on her bed a few months previously and my friend's flat some months ago out of my mind) we want her to be pure and marry untouched the father said of course I said looking at Sophia who sat pale faced and hands in her lap she's a good girl I added highly respected at work the mother smiled shyly the father looked at me his eyes searching mine good he said that is good our neighbours see you and Sophia come here that time and think things but we knew she would not do anything to spoil herself before marriage he added stiffly that's right I said not looking at Sophia but at the mother who was warming to me she's a daughter to be proud of I added he nodded his head right now we have tea he said and the mother and Sophia got up and went into the kitchen and began bringing in sandwiches and cakes and teapot and jug and cups and saucers and plates and such and I sat there gazing at the father who sat back gazing at me you know the Pater Noster? he said I frowned thinking stupidly of the Italian Mafia then remembering he was Polish said o yes the Our Father yes of course and recited the Pater Noster in Latin softly and unsurely you can say it in English if it easier he said so I did and all the while the females were bringing in the food and Sophia like some ****** queen looking innocent and untouched and secretly I wanted her o so much.

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Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC

TerryCollett

INVIATION TO TEA 1969.

Sophia's parents had invited me to tea best go she said they invite it rude not to come (she was Polish and spoke a broken kind of English) so I went and I put on my best suit and tie and clean shirt and there I was at the front door Sophia opened the door and gazed at me you come ok? sure why not are they both home? she nodded do they speak English? I asked she nodded I entered the house and the hall light was bright and contrasted with the coming evening light outside she ushered me into the lounge where the parents sat on a sofa the father stood up a short stocky man with a moustache and a shock of short greying hair his hand was offered and he said you welcome friend of our daughter welcome here (I had been once before when they returned early and almost caught us in bed having a good time and I crept by him on the way home) glad to be here I said smiling weakly the mother looked at me her eyes were searching me she didn't smile Sophia sat in an armchair and I sat in one next to her and waited for talk or questions you Roman Catholic? the father said yes convert 1968 I said go to Mass each Sunday the mother looked at her husband where you meet Sophia? he said I work at the same nursing home I said you nurse? yes sort of I said Sophia say you good boy and respect her? he said o yes I do I said (pushing any images of us making love on her bed a few months previously and my friend's flat some months ago out of my mind) we want her to be pure and marry untouched the father said of course I said looking at Sophia who sat pale faced and hands in her lap she's a good girl I added highly respected at work the mother smiled shyly the father looked at me his eyes searching mine good he said that is good our neighbours see you and Sophia come here that time and think things but we knew she would not do anything to spoil herself before marriage he added stiffly that's right I said not looking at Sophia but at the mother who was warming to me she's a daughter to be proud of I added he nodded his head right now we have tea he said and the mother and Sophia got up and went into the kitchen and began bringing in sandwiches and cakes and teapot and jug and cups and saucers and plates and such and I sat there gazing at the father who sat back gazing at me you know the Pater Noster? he said I frowned thinking stupidly of the Italian Mafia then remembering he was Polish said o yes the Our Father yes of course and recited the Pater Noster in Latin softly and unsurely you can say it in English if it easier he said so I did and all the while the females were bringing in the food and Sophia like some ****** queen looking innocent and untouched and secretly I wanted her o so much.

152

slowly surely i'm losing my mind slowly surely i'm living helplessly slowly growing unsurely anxieties living in me slowly but surely i'm giving up

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Jan 26, 2019

Jan 26, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC

thisgirl

what i feel inside

slowly surely i'm losing my mind slowly surely i'm living helplessly slowly growing unsurely anxieties living in me slowly but surely i'm giving up

12

The moon sings from high Yet, I’m lost to the night Not a sorrow takes wing Not an angel in sight Every demon screams its anger As they wage their war of mind It’s too late to tell I’ve unsurely surmised So ends the beginning Of my slow demise No stranger to the stranger In the mirror none too kind There is magic in the making Darker than a shadow’s crawl Sudden laughter in the breaking Of the fool who paid it all Though there’s comfort in this failure For it’s been so long, it feels too much like home I’ve forsaken my mistakings Undertaking such despair Broken rhythm unromantic All too real, yet barely there Both in living and in dying For it feels as both have settled in my bones

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Mar 11, 2017

Mar 11, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC

DanielSmithFreakMorbidity

If Only I Were Numb

The moon sings from high Yet, I’m lost to the night Not a sorrow takes wing Not an angel in sight Every demon screams its anger As they wage their war of mind It’s too late to tell I’ve unsurely surmised So ends the beginning Of my slow demise No stranger to the stranger In the mirror none too kind There is magic in the making Darker than a shadow’s crawl Sudden laughter in the breaking Of the fool who paid it all Though there’s comfort in this failure For it’s been so long, it feels too much like home I’ve forsaken my mistakings Undertaking such despair Broken rhythm unromantic All too real, yet barely there Both in living and in dying For it feels as both have settled in my bones

24

Yet , it look so beautiful but making me ugly inside. The bridges created by us were unsurely doubting us lacking the sense of being loved we ended up being stifling beneath our own bridges.

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Jul 27, 2020

Jul 27, 2020 at 12:26 AM UTC

_abstrusive_ink_

Stifling beneath our bridges

Yet , it look so beautiful but making me ugly inside. The bridges created by us were unsurely doubting us lacking the sense of being loved we ended up being stifling beneath our own bridges.

7

With all the grace I can carry from the insides of my heart I will try opening my hands as I feel the distance grow. For you, for me. One finger at a time, slowly and still unsurely, the tight dark grip will lift like the daffodils in Washington Park up the hill in warm Spring. With all the courage I can find from the deepest parts of me I will try sitting still as I watch you float away. For me, for you. Out my open arms.

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Mar 27, 2016

Mar 27, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC

m-j-s

Spring

With all the grace I can carry from the insides of my heart I will try opening my hands as I feel the distance grow. For you, for me. One finger at a time, slowly and still unsurely, the tight dark grip will lift like the daffodils in Washington Park up the hill in warm Spring. With all the courage I can find from the deepest parts of me I will try sitting still as I watch you float away. For me, for you. Out my open arms.

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