"unsurpassed" poems
Only in my dreams,
where the butterflies are aflutter,
Can I find the warm, smooth surface,
to something so much grander than I could ever imagine.
Your hills,
your valleys,
your rivers,
your lightning,
the beauty unsurpassed.
The glow of the lights,
down the street corridor,
flakes falling, sticking,
straight to your hair.
Wrapped in my warmth,
I hold on tight,
To what I know,
the only truth in this world.
Every moment,
two beats,
fresh again,
and together in time.
I want this moment to last forever.
This moment, I not yet know.
Will I ever know you...
Could I ever find you, see you, feel you, my truth.
*I don't know who you are.
But I love you. More than you yet know...<3*
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
Accuracy of your acrostic arrows,
Ride the wind with utmost ease.
Claiming each bulleye with poetic precision,
Hands steady, unswayed by the errant breeze.
Endowed with talent, unsurpassed finesse,
Regarded by peers as the wise-worded wiz.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Assert confidence in a convincing recital
Claim certainty that protection is binding
safety is paramount
a rehearsed amount
until she takes it on ethics
every truth is there to detect
A battle for reason
until potential yields to the objective
Loyalty isn't just imagination
Fate constructed in a noiseless dialogue
momentary eye contact
pencil hits paper
Smoke and vapor
Fire comes later
an unsurpassed honor
All the letters weve written
are a smear on the page of occasion
Resulting in endless treasure
Only to be rediscovered
When the omission is uncovered
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 4:41 AM UTC
There's an item that's truly essential
Of a roughly cylindrical frame
It's a marvel of modern invention
And a legend it duly became
It surpasses the birth of electric
And eclipses the slicing of bread
If it wasn't for this innovation
Then I think I would surely be dead
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Stick with me
Fix my wardrobe
Effortlessly
Hold up the curtains
Wax my thighs
Gaffer-tape Gaffer-tape
Improvise
It's useful for picking up hamsters
And it serves as a passable tie
As a gag for a amateur gangster
Or the crust of a blueberry pie
For a mite of podiatry pleasure
You can use it for mending your socks
If Pandora had come up against it
Then she'd never have opened her box
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Holding fast
Adhesive savior
Unsurpassed
Smooth as mirror glass
Diamond tough
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Marvelous stuff
It's bringing our nations together
And it's holding them firmly in place
You can use it to pull back your wrinkles
For a genuine Hollywood face
It'd surely have saved the Titanic
And they took seven rolls to the moon
Keep it near and be calm in a crisis
And predicaments inopportune
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Mending sails
If you're tired
Of hammering nails
Buy some now
It's a thing to behold
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Solid gold
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
27 years incarcerated.
27 years of committing to the same ideas and ideals that shut him off from the world.
Unsurpassed courage and finally unsurpassed Grace.
Forgiving his captors and those who would wish to remove his hope for a brighter future for his people and his country.
The longest and most arduous marathon ever won.
Redeemed at last.
Oppression crumbled by one man's will.
And being humbled by the journey.
As if anyone would've done the same.
Rest quietly 'trouble-maker' for now.
The invitation to return is always open.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
I want to be close to you like Mercury
to see your full glow
and brightness of your intimacy
I see you like a Venus
because of your unsurpassed beauty
and your unfathomable, abysmal kind of love
You are like the Earth
where living with you is not a problem
and with you it is always easy to breathe
I see your ardent desires like a red Mars
to fight a war to cover and protect me
even sacrificing your own life
You give a gigantic precious tenderness
and enormously unselfish affections
like a Jupiter
You give me snowball rings like Saturn
that gives remembrance to all the beautiful
things that we had been in the atmosphere
of treasured memories
Your warmhearted axis
that tilts on the rocky core of my life
is like in a deep ocean of Uranus
that clasps me with grasping arms
You are like the depth the Neptune brings
who takes me beyond the known
to what's alive only in my wildest dreams.
On a very far and infinite distance
deep into the darkness like Pluto
you are perfect to get lost with
nothing matters but You and Me
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
FIRST
Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
It is red, it is boiled; could the obstetrician
Have possibly been a lobstertrician?
His degrees and credentials were hunky-dory,
But how's for an infantile inventory?
Here's the prodigy, here's the miracle!
Whether its head is oval or spherical,
You rejoice to find it has only one,
Having dreaded a two-headed daughter or son;
Here's the phenomenon all complete,
It's got two hands, it's got two feet,
Only natural, but pleasing, because
For months you have dreamed of flippers or claws.
Furthermore, it is fully equipped:
Fingers and toes with nails are tipped;
It's even got eyes, and a mouth clear cut;
When the mouth comes open the eyes go shut,
When the eyes go shut, the breath is loosed
And the presence of lungs can be deduced.
Let the rockets flash and the cannon thunder,
This child is a marvel, a matchless wonder.
A staggering child, a child astounding,
Dazzling, diaperless, dumbfounding,
Stupendous, miraculous, unsurpassed,
A child to stagger and flabbergast,
Bright as a button, sharp as a thorn,
And the only perfect one ever born.
SECOND
Arrived this evening at half-past nine.
Everybody is doing fine.
Is it a boy, or quite the reverse?
You can call in the morning and ask the nurse.
3.4k
My love for you, endures everlasting sleeplessness,
your head to my chest lays the final stick
to my fruitwood nest
your scent will cultivate
a woodland stream
in a single sense of clarity
can comfort this body
this profound beauty you possess,
extends a distinct paralyzing permanence over my fateful transience,
our afternoon of initiation,
impart transcendence over all other days spent,
in a hats off, upper hand revolution, unsurpassed
My highest conceit ranks leagues above
as I give my resolve in contented surrender
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before darkfall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
A hint of peppermint,
Musk and ***** just so;
You are my spice blend,
Aromatic, oh, oh!
We meet, bittersweet
Teasing, tongue to teeth,
Spicy liquor tones beneath,
Such a mouthfeel, unsurpassed,
A potent blend, that’s made to last.
Scenting, heady, ready, we
A blended alloy, meant to be.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
Water. A profound subject. Of which, we are all expert. Therefore, I permit myself to write upon it. Water. When I offer you Sparkling, Still or Tap, think carefully for the path to happiness is confusing, you can be mislaid, strayed, betrayed if you imbibe the wrong path.
The definition of each is not my responsibility. Like poetry,
drink what you will from each, but drink you must, pas de choix (which is sparkling for no choice).
Getting drunk on the wrong water is very bad. You have washed your system out, after flooding it. Give an engine the incorrect quality of oil, and it will grind itself willing, having been tricked, into emoting itself into gear lock suicide.
Now go back to the first line, and star(t) over, because you are no longer silly but afraid, and that is the proper way to be when first cog-nizant that this is an earnest subject and you are a fool.
So I ask, not again but for the first time,
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
You say. You are. Poor. Tap is the only option.
Save the environment from plastique explosives.
Clear as colorless water (another sujet, for another self important foolishness) you lie. Is Sparkling and Still not found naturally, while Tap is unnatural-now water transmogrified by rust pipes, fluorescent fluorides, that when drunken, tap you out and for which, You pay heavily when the water bill comes?
What am I?
Your cheek!
As a ****** passenger-reader-human unsurpassed. So typical.
My credentials?
I am human-reader-passenger-voyeur so ***** your impudence!
I am still, but underneath,
I am effervesceing, like the band,
whose goth I am too,
but don't be an idiot, for
all we know,
is tapped into us and out of us
from birth ~
until death/
Was there water in your mother 's body when she breast fed you, was there water in your formula? Was it organic (idiot), from a crystal spring from polluted China,
and isn't it tool ate (auto correct for too late) now anyway?
So I rescind the question,
for we are provisioned but poisoned long before we have adult cash or credit card bills to answer properly this waiter's question,
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
(Nonetheless, if you have progressed to this sad conclusion,
as I wait upon you and,)
Your Reply,
**Water is the clear space that surrounds the letters and words
We write, thus all words float to the surface on your unique percentage of body of water, that oils the brain.**
Ergo, Ip So Facto,
I, the waiter *** writer,
already know.
Now start from the top,
Again, yes,
And answer me,
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
Let's say
Hypothetically
Someone was
Keeping score
And I had a
Perfect
Unsurpassed
Record.
In that case
There would be
Three hundred and twelve
Pieces of paper
Somewhere
In my house with
Five to thirteen lines of
Text on each of them.
And then suppose
Five and thirteen averaged
Out to somewhere between
Seven and eight.
Then do the math
And tell me what seven or eight
Times three hundred and twelve is
And then think about how
For each line of text on each
Sheet of paper
There is another
Sheet of paper in some
Binder somewhere
Or a pile in the righthand
Corner of my room.
And remember
I'm just one person.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Do you know
What happens
In the mail room
When you're not around?
Do you know
Who uses the copier
In the dead of night
Or the morning dawn?
Do you know
Where we go
When we
Die?
Or even
Why we're
All alive
To begin with?
It's sure
As hell
*(Or should I say
As unsure as hell
Because no one can
Agree on anything
Even a universal a
Concept as hell)*
That we're not living
To make paper
To print out our
Personal whims on.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
If she knows, she's keeping the secret of generations. When she leaves a room, it resonates for her until she returns.
A generosity of spirit unsurpassed and a one of a kind soul.
I'll miss her something serious.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
The sweet aroma of love-spell scented candles
Prior to dinner, overtook me stunningly.
As I made the table and set the fine mantle
For my love, my life, my one fair lady.
Her glare so enticing, as she stepped down the stairs,
Seductively wearing a black pearl silk dress.
Her beaming smile, her unsurpassed gif to share.
Holding her neck, our first sweet caress.
Sassy yet classy, I hold her she’s mine.
We share this great moment; our souls intertwine
Sudden a gasp, there go our lips.
So luscious, so tender, our very first kiss.
Exuding great passion our kiss follows through
Then, I whisper in her ear, “Baby I Love You”
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 7:54 AM UTC
Twisted light perforates the dust filled room and the pungent odour of history hangs in the air like stale bread and old forgotten pantomime costumes.
Yet somehow the smell recalls recollections of a jolly past. Transporting me back through the years, tumbling over and over in the rapids of time until I splash down and emerge as the keen eyed five year old I once was.
I can still hear the shrill screams of play bounce around my head and feel the boy in me longing to join them on the playground outside. I can feel the tight lace wrapped round my hand as I swing my unsurpassed conker to victory. I can still see the bouncing curly locks of the sweet little girls as they hop and skip to long forgotten nursery rhymes. I can still feel the dried mud caked on my palms sending shudders of discomfort all down my spine and the cold drafts of air through the green hole covered knees of my short nylon trousers.
Swinging the blackboard round to reveal the partially erased remnants of the very last lesson, my mind adopts that old familiar position. Arms folded, head in arms wishing that time would move on.
Sadly my wish came true. Sure it took its time but these days time flows by like a babbling weir stopping for nothing.
How I now long for that dripping tap like time once was. Those long summer breaks and endless days playing in the meadows where I lived. Even boredom is no longer as sweet. The kind of boredom where you aren't making excuses for not doing something. For these days there is always something that needs to be done.
Oh how I miss the innocence of youth that carefree era where ironically, what you desired, was everything you don’t want now.
Wiping a single tear from my cheek I left my old classroom, hopped over the fence and walked away from school one last time.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
Standing straight in the swirling straits,
A bridge - now outdated - whose chains bear great weight and history,
Bejewelled with diamond raindrops that glisten in the winter sun,
Lending the old bridge the look of a semi-submerged crown.
This bridge is a source of pride to the islanders,
Many stories are told of it,
Some are true and some are legend,
But one tale lies inbetween:
That of a giant King chased from the island.
Forced to leap across the boiling straits,
Barely making landfall,
Falling backwards as he did so,
Watching in horror as his crown tumbled to the ground,
Falling into the grey waters.
Many years went by,
And modern ways demanded a bridge.
As foundations were laid a discovery made!
Upon the shore, deep in ancient mud,
Poked out a colossal rusting iron crown,
News broke!
Everyone spoke!
The story was true!
A giant King had once ruled!
So, in honour of this ancient King,
The design was amended to honour this crown,
And that is why this bridge, in profile,
Resembles the ancient coronet,
Found on the shore of the waters that the Romans failed to cross.
Of course, naysayers claim there was no crown,
Merely publicity seekers who found an old iron fence,
And who contrived a tale with willing locals.
Whichever is true,
The bridge is part of a glorious view,
And stories abound of its construction,
Like the man who walked the length of the chain,
Stopping halfway to take in the view whilst making a shoe!
Or of the maiden who swore that all who crossed would suffer a loss,
As great as they could ever imagine.
This bridge, whose beauty is unsurpassed,
Is now part of a glorious past of truths, lies and legends.
But forever it will stand,
And many more stories it shall inspire,
For it no longer simply links lands,
But now links truth and myth...
Am byth.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
Well, my Dear, What can I say
I've thought of you this Valentine's Day
But this should come as no surprise
You brighten my day; You're my Sunrise
There's rarely a day you don't cross my mind
When I close my eyes, it's you I find
So I know it's not much, but it is a start
Accept or Decline, you have my heart
When God made you he must have smiled
At the beauty confined in this confident child
And the big man sure must like me too
Since I was clearly blessed in meeting you
He sent me an Angel, for when times get rough
But for a girl like you, I can't thank him enough
And I know if I need you, you'll be there
Accept or Decline, I know you care
It's been too long since I've seen your smile
But when it comes to you, the wait's worthwhile
It's been too long since we spoke last
But the feeling it gives me is unsurpassed
Over this time our friendship has grown
So I'll throw my request into the far unknown
I send this on an arrow, to my sweet Valentine
Accept or Decline, Would You Be Mine?
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
Red rose, petals of velvet,
thick and smooth.
Your beauty, unsurpassed in nature,
made even more splendid
by the brevity of your existence.
Hand crafted over the centuries,
but in the twinkle of an eye
your green stem is hewn
from under you.
Your head falls to the earth,
petals close in the fading sun,
not to open again.
If only I could keep you.
But you were never mine to hold forever,
only to cherish in your bloom.
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 2:47 AM UTC
Fat little gray clouds
smear the sky.
Adjusting
to a comfortable position,
they settle in
and spend the day weeping.
Rain here is
soft and welcoming,
cold as ice sometimes,
but warm as a toasty spa
most of the time.
From my window
I see umbrellas that bob
like a *** boiling.
They weave in their
ceremonial dance.
Rain whispers secrets.
Rain reads fortunes.
Rain cleanses the sidewalks
and waters the roses.
Warm inside, one might think
the rain a kaleidoscope
of unsurpassed beauty.
Homeless Old Mothers and Fathers
find it tedious and hold soggy
papers over their heads as they
seek a dry spot to wait it out.
It rains all day - grab a comforter
where you can snuggle and dream.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
The beauty is still unsurpassed..
The pious heart is still unbiased..
The purity is still unblemished..
The charm is still unabashed..
The grace is still unabandoned..
The brilliance is still unabused..
The serenity is still unabhorred..
The spark is still unblazed..
The ***** is still unstained
Just an abrasive scratched the vignette..,
But the portrait is still a masterpiece..!!!!
O woman..
You are still as elegant and dignified!!!
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
I've always been a ladies man.
I think they are truly great.
But they always seem to die on me.
That seems to be my fate.
Their courage and bravery is unsurpassed.
Much stamina they have got.
They seem . to accept things more than men.
And put up with their lot.
What they lack in muscle power.
His made up with mental strength.
To fight the pain of childbirth.
They will go to any length.
So don't knock them fellows.
They will always be there for you.
And if you treat them properly.
They'll remain loving kind and true.
Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2016.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
Jesus as you hung with arms outstretched
Even as you were rejected time and time again
Somehow you loved us so much that you would give your life
Unconditional unsurpassed love would win
Sin couldn’t hold you, death had lost its power
Over and over you showed us love
Nailed on a cross between two thieves
Three days later you came back
Hell could not hold you; Heaven rejoiced
Everyone could not believe so easily
Carrying that cross to Calgary I can’t imagine
Ridiculed, beaten, ripped and torn
Our sins you took upon yourself
So that we might have new life; so that we might be:
SAVED
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
I still love my Catherine dearly.
Her beauty unsurpassed.
Long golden hair and pale blue eyes.
I still think of her like that.
But that was four decades ago.
The time has just elapsed.
But time stands still in the memory.
Just like a photograph.
We were to marry one March day.
But circumstances took me away.
When I returned from foreign climes.
Life had moved on with the times.
I never saw her ever again.
Odd letters I did get.
She was swallowed up in city life.
And I often have regrets.
Has she grown old gracefully.
Or in youthful beauty died.
Many times I've thought of her.
And many times I've cried.
But in my mind's eye clearly.
Running swiftly down the hill.
A vision of loveliness.
Within my memory still.
Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2016.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
There once was a man who travelled in time
He gladly left his home for adventure
And found it doing scientific crime.
He was called a prophet and avenger.
They easily became his profession.
He dealt swift justice regarding the past,
Leaving to some a confused impression.
His large amount of deeds was unsurpassed.
He was hooked to the future like a dream.
The world was his and he had all options,
and nothing was grander than his esteem,
but one desire consumed him like toxins.
He wanted his close companions to brag
But he no longer knew future from past.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC