"untasted" poems
There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung
No wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we'll live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
That Chinese box
Your wares untasted
From whence arose
The lunar doom
Of my obsession.
Some oriental harmony
I never heard
Auspicious omen of prosperity
That passed me by
Like cloud shadow across moon
On a restless night
Long ago.
Your pale and autocratic beauty:
Moon over wall-gate in frontier
Long gone
Like life on a distant planet;
I am out of your orbit . . .
Still you circle
Serving others more worthy
Of your light.
I still love you, Mooncakes
Though I shall never taste you.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
Dear picture of mine comeback!
My dear picture comeback!
Comeback and leave.
Let the helpless lovers
rising from the tide of memoirs
-with anger their shadows revealed
by the light of stars-
and the chronic from their forms
of lust,
let it fade away harmonic and undoubtedly
in the wave of their union.
Dear picture of mine comeback.
Indefinite and freely dead
by the envy of gods,
untasted the essence of creation.
Comeback and leave..
and as you leave,
let the lovers;at the only sky
-their own-forever there,
in the last summer of their life.
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 8:54 AM UTC
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall.
Of mighty kings of Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away;
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote,
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built,
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
4.6k
Planks, splintering in solidity
Together twined in tedium
Curving cords of mated metal
Lost in ludicrous loops
Twines of tetanus protrude
Danger danger
Rising flying roaring floating
Above the stillborn trains
Arching acrid aerial arms
Lazy concrete spiral, neighbor snail
Inverse slide with railings
Rumble rumble try and grumble
Jitter in jumpy juxtaposition
Guts of grotesque giants
Flayed flawed under flaming flight
Blink away oblivion
Orange and omnificent, opaque concern
Useful hangnail, table scraps
Rise above
Shocked stillness soon stumbling
Ornamental oasis for the oracles
Unseen unheard untasted unsmelled
Unfeeling unused to understanding
Carry me across
Fly me over
Lift me beyond
Suspend.
Glimpse the unparalleled phenomenon
Ribs of steel, rain has parted
Seeping to the soul
Buzzing through the boards
Immobile, cradle in the wind
Twist
Take off your sunglasses
Be sure to look around as you pass through
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
Bubbles in a bath,
loud moaning blaring in the back
as I look down at the
bruising on my
muted
skin.
I try to imagine
myself with your
glowing frame
submerged underneath
the water.
Without you, I've
been a bit dramatic.
A bit manic.
Wandering and wonderin';
yeah, I've let my mind
slip at night.
In the hours of now until
then, I try to
refrain.
I indulge myself
into routine.
I watch lovers on the
screen.
Envisioning myself with
women in the late
hours but mimicking
your strokes in the
morning.
Without you,
without you.
I'm free to be me.
With you, I'm
happy.
Molten coffee scorches my
untouched tongue,
reminding me that
I can still feel
warmth.
Damp moss grazes my
untasted body,
reminding me that
I can still
dream.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
On Death’s domain intent I fix my eyes,
Where human nature in vast ruin lies:
With pensive mind I search the drear abode,
Where the great conqu’ror has his spoils bestow’d;
There there the offspring of six thousand years
In endless numbers to my view appears:
Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are ******
And nations mix with their primeval dust:
Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb;
His is the present, his the age to come.
See here a brother, here a sister spread,
And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.
But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry’d,
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o’er this mortal shore.
The glowing stars and silver queen of light
At last must perish in the gloom of night:
Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand,
Which gave them life, and bow to his command;
Thine Avis give without a murm’ring heart,
Though half thy soul be fated to depart.
To shining guards consign thine infant care
To waft triumphant through the seas of air:
Her soul enlarg’d to heav’nly pleasure springs,
She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
And leaning forward with a filial love,
Invite you there to share immortal bliss
Unknown, untasted in a state like this.
With tow’ring hopes, and growing grace arise,
And seek beatitude beyond the skies.
1.8k
Grateful
for the way
you loosened my tongue
unlocked the longing
let nature, unfettered,
spill forth
For the keys
to the dance floor,
the illusion
of manhood -
the sing-songs,
punch-ups,
lock-ups
and lovers
But that part played,
what's left
is loveless.
You weigh on my mind,
you get in the way,
you pin my arms
and force your way in
My boys are watching.
You'd have them think
this was normal, natural -
you're waiting
with your glistening invitation
to take them down
this perilous path
Wasted
days wasted
they watch.
I wish
myself washed
of this witchcraft.
I'll raise a glass
in this hall of mirrors
then set it down
untasted.
We'll always have
the past, I suppose.
Now please,
just let me be.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
In a little cafe I know
I sit
alone
imagining you here
our hands
touching lightly
as we
subconsciously stir our drinks
Others passing by
look and smile
muttering
first date
so cute
and such a lovely couple
we smile
almost laughing
but not to be
as I drink alone
my bitterness
held with a china heart
my hands hold
tightly
maybe one day
you'll see me there
and ask
is this seat taken
and we will
touch hands so tentatively
and laugh
at passers by
while carving hearts with spoons
within the froth
of latte warm and sweet
upon the lips
as any
yet
untasted kiss.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
facebook
told me yesterday was
national donut day and I had to
admire how something that's had its
center cut out still has so much good
to give. and it made me wish
you would see the remainder
of me and find me worth sinking
your teeth into but you don't. now that
you've painfully excised my heart
you toss me aside
untasted.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 4:09 AM UTC
Dim the lights
Now light a candle
Walk slowly
The perfect angle
Come close now
Stop and bite your lip
Take your hand
Trace lines by your hip
Yes that's it
In by your navel
Further down
Beneath see-through lace
Touch the crown
Quicken up the pace
Excitement
Come here let me taste
Near the bed
Blankets pushed aside
Sit on top
Put your lips on mine
Push me down
Not yet, take your time
Hands in hair
Love bites on the neck
A whisper
Baby, kiss my back
Flushed cheeks
No moment wasted
Hands grip tight
A thrill untasted
Pull them down
Tell me what to do
Lay back there
So I can taste you
Do not rush
Face pressed against thigh
Go real slow
I want you inside
Hearts beat fast
Quicker, almost wet
Got it right
The first of many sets
Kiss my lips
Anything you say
Can and will
Be used in foreplay
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
"There's No Kiss In Your Eyes..."
You ever notice how you purrrrrrrrrrrr
when you focus on
- thought I was going to say me didn't you?
well I didn't...
puppies and kittens.
How the sun FEELs so **** good
in your eyes...
how that first taste of
cold winter's air just bites
and makes you FEEL so
...alive.
I make snowballs
- still -
and throw them
hard
and **** accurate too
- and laugh
and duck
- well - for ANY age.
No one asks me to make a snowman anymore...
I miss that.
I don't curse the snow I shovel
- never have, that's strange I guess
but
I like snow
and how it feels, tastes, touches me back.
Seems theres a Snow Angel in every bank...
and the feel of crystals
each as unique as we.
Its not the taste of coffee
that draws me
holds me
- nor its aroma
as the wisps meander to heaven
- one cup at a time...
Its the thought of the anchor
that binding HOLD
that keeps me focused and from floating off and
...away
and yet it still gets cold
while setting unnoticed and unheld and
...untasted and unwanted after all the herald's smiles
and teasings told.
I don't like water... theres no HEART to water
no ...squeezing GRASP to be had
no ...warmth shared
no ...bitter dregs to be mind-chewed
and eye-candy.
I never want to be told
"There's no kiss in your eyes..."
Chris
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
The softest touch of a loving friend
To the deepest **** from a charaded blade
Where does blissful sensation make its end;
Converting to the obtrusive pain enfilade?
A subtle ambiance from a serene musician
To the daily news of grief and causality
When do loving whispers of mutual affection;
Fade into a harsh scolding from authority?
An untasted sweetness of rare delicacy
To the sour lingering of bitter temptation
How does the favored indulgences' nuancy;
Shift to a bland routine of daily recreation?
A picturesque sight of undying fantasy accord
To the shocking reception of a suicide note
Why do relations flow from their distant discord;
Into the desperate end that fate already wrote?
The lavishing waft of a motley gardens' aroma;
To the putrid scent sifting in the house of flies
What's the difference between this mundane coma;
And the ignored certainty we all despise?
Aren't pain and bliss really just one in the same?
Like the lowest to highest on any sort of scale
Every single trace of emotion just felt by name;
Portrayed variably through each separate tale
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
***he rises early, well before the premature, minutest hints of early dawn,
cradling tenderized words, from a silent marinating mind withdrawn,
some spices harvested from the soil's mortality of daily strife, others,
manna gifts of wild floral tenderness, plucked from Eve's tree of life
neither gardener nor chef, the fruits of his labor, are product of
a mothers mind's silent back labor, emerging with no notice or invitation, spilt from lips unmoving, eyes shuttered, fingers ungloved
ministering a Temple sacrifice of plain psalms authored but un-titled
some spark ignition causes a key reversal, from motionless to motion,
moving with no in-between, words simmering, from seeds unknown,
the dishe's integrity questioned, but it births itself, uncaring, eagerly, willing copied from cavern decorations of rude, wall drawings
almost fully formed, though untasted and undigested, a savant smell
provokes a leap from placid prone, to upright and seated upon the
throne of his writing desk, can one*** divine ***a recipe from odor alone,
thus claiming authorship of an untitled dish, one that can't be recreated?***
sets it down before you uncovered, with a lustrous screen of silk damask,
plated on Royal Worcester fine bone china, yet, without any utensils,
asking you to ken this work,
**eat this poem, with bare hands,
love it as if it was your own first born,
consumed/consuming
a strange but familiar spirit**
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Desire rises up like a tidal wave.
Yearning to reach out to another.
The strong flow washing over me,
And within me.
Pushing out, reaching...
The object of my desire is barely known
Surely you can't warrant such an intense reaction,
So soon, so incomplete.
But it flows, I can't hold it back.
I flow.
Wanting more I drift where the current leads.
Giving into desire, but unable to fulfill it.
Such a waste
All this beautiful passion
All the thrilling things that could be done.
Oh what I would do with this desire.
Every drop wasted
Every morsel untasted
Every ****** act, a ghost to lay to rest
With an inadequate eulogy played by my fingers.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
Accepting aloneness, incomplete solitude, imperfect rest. The garden
wasted, pumpkin patch planted late, potatoes untasted left in ground.
A thousand email addresses, each unique represents a flame of
passion, compassion, desperation or depression. To understand, to
know's
impossible. It is therefore only reasonable to observe the shadows
on the mountain, the actions of the dreamer which tell us something,
little, nothing of his dream. It's a simple secret shared,
longevity. The half breed John Russell says it right, the
date and place don't matter, dry desert or cold mountainside,
lush bottomland, soulless or hospitable, contagious hospital.
The best laugh's death's, a perfect escape, perfect error, perfect
rest. Their solicitude's unnecessary, grief is temporary, life goes on,
you go under, underemployed, the undertaker's never unemployed.
Forensics prove an ***** with two chambers, ovule adnate to the
funicle.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
So many lost moments...
so many prescious kisses
untasted
arms that have felt the chill embrace
of your absence
bodies that occupy the same space
made strangers
but time and tide today held back
to make so sweet amends
as we once more share with one another...
one another.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
Come now, spill your secrets
on this slowly rising floor
paint me in your misdeeds
for I am craving new colors
flickering eyes expose fresh
hesitancy that lingers clearly
upon untasted tongue
that (despairingly) longs for freedom
unfurl cold nuiscances
they hold no power here
come, proclaim your hidden inquiries
while we’ll decorate these steel walls
in our variegated offences
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
I wish I could be like the street urchin
Unpampered uncared but not sad
Wear daylong a cloudless grin
Be in manners and etiquette bad!
*I want to be bad
I need to be bad
Am too shackled by the good
I want to be like him
The street urchin
Carelessly capriciously crude!*
Too long I have been by the good enslaved
Hold captive in its pretentious cask
Too long for good I have naggingly craved
Let it cut out for me all my task!
*I want to be bad
I need to be bad
Am dying for the untasted brew
I want to be like him
The street urchin
Treating good too good to be true!*
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
She is sweetness untasted,
by the likes of the deserving
though for some,
love is merely a mistake of judgement
until something better comes along
to subtly replace a misplaced heart.
She is forgiveness unfelt,
a bleeding heart of amore
so they drink,
and play and fall,
until choice is lost,
yielding to fatal attraction.
She is kindness unseen,
not wounded love could defeat
from the bounty of the wasted
we count,
moments until she turns sour
but she never does.
She is sanguine addiction,
of words that melt stone
with a fire that breathes
from her will,
burning in virtue
that makes me sing.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Unseen and yet
the phoenix rises
over head from ashes now grown cold.
Unheard and yet
the crystal fountain rushes
with jade and emeralds,
their essence sounding delicately like
a bell of golden light that rings
with laughing sounds.
Unfelt and yet
the darkness of the night
blows bottomless through the room,
a tangible presence
like the chanting prayers of monks
long since gone from this world.
Unsmelt and yet
the perfume of the flowers
we once thought of
exhale a breath
of yellow dust
that makes us weep.
Untasted and yet
the sleepless moments
we cannot run from
linger like a bitter wine
who's taste will not quite
wash away.
And here for just a second
we almost sense these things
and a shiver passes over us
and we do not know why.
May 29, 2010
May 29, 2010 at 2:56 PM UTC
By Les Miserables
There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung
No wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we'll live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
Enough is waiting for one
Enough is the searching for answers
Enough are the sacrifises made
Enough being treated like dirt
Enough are the lonely nights
Enough are the days crying out for a smile
Enough are fulfilling others dreams
Enough are these animations
It was an interim, Now its time to
Taste the untasted,Try the untried
Feel the unfelt,Do the undone
See the unseen,live the unlived
Its not much but its enough
To smoke my emotions
To pull me out of this illusion
To teach me the ugly truth
I found an inception to my life
The pursuit of hapiness has begun.
I give you two choices
watch me or join me.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC