"untempered" poems
Upward-curled, gleam of white
But as yet, something missing
“I swear, I’m quite alright!”
My wonder turns to stressing.
Is she really quite alright?
No-one wears their shoes,
Socks upon the carpet
Browning fog turning loose,
But purple mist diffuses.
Is she really quite alright?
My wonder turns to worried health,
I turn my focus to myself,
I pull a beer down from the shelf,
Indulging still our failing health,
She smiles, as if to say that she’s alright.
Trading sweat between our hands,
A greeting shared from man to man
We speak ambition, WE ARE PROUD
Our cigarettes, they make no sound.
They know that it will soon be their turn.
To be or not… I have forgot.
Our wasteland, wasted, seems alright
It skips my mind I’m all I’ve got
I’ve never put up much a fight
I hope I’ll quickly be all right.
But there are NO PROMISES
And no safe-houses.
smoke arouses surety,
But holds the door for vanity.
But as for me,
I highly doubt she's feeling free.
Charging, useless, up the hill,
The last endeavor of it's kind,
Cry peace, peace, but peace is killed,
Fulfill the end of southern mind.
There is no way that she's okay.
As men in grey
Lay on the ground
Bleeding with untempered sound
I cast my eyes about the house
I find her broken, fading lips
Pressed limp against assailant’s kiss
Those pearls that were
Her sentient eyes,
They cast upon me smiling sighs
She clings the arm of shifty eyes
And leaves the party, new inside.
And now I know she’s not alright.
But then again, nor am I.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
The blood comes dilute, as if to refute
What is, or was ever at all
To challenge the must,
The is and the thus
The ever, the will, and the Fall
The Winter, the Spring, the Summer that brings
A freedom, an illusion anew
A time to recline--in dreams and unwind
The idea that you can, that you will
The will, O the will, O the untempered can
Of worms which one opens and finds
Full to the brim, before and again
"Reality"" which tries to unbid
The self from the mind
The meaning from line
The reason from rhyme
And the is from all time
Separates Us: from passion
From Trust.
From belief in ourselves
From love
From true wealth
From magic. From tragic
At least in true measure
Dulling the pain,
But denying the pleasure
The Roar and the Ring
A Hell of a Thing
To make the time pass or
To fill up Your Glass.
~D.B. Guy
August 15, 2011 12:11AM PDT
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
In this, my last hour of rhyme,
with stains uncontainèd by shaking hands
Spreading like red soldiers running wartime
untempered by generals shouting commands
Then laughing like drunkards, drowning in wine
that rich purple spills out from its barrels
Then lying on bartops, eyes shine porcine
and unheard soft voices hiss curses and carols.
O, woe be on me if I speak out of time;
out-tumbling come innards, spewed from a mouth
Which whispered sad prayers in corners of grime:
hints of spring-season on trips to the south;
Watch them out-tumble, watch horri-divine
like the death of the tragic, acted but true
Yet laughing old minstrels declare it quite fine:
and friends ensure royal-men breathe not from the blue.
Hours fly past on wings of the Sun
who turns misted eyes from child-fight below
And lives lives of many, but cares not for none
not least merchant servants, throttled in the snow.
I fade and I fade: a blossom once watered
and love of the stage is clogging my throat
It changes my words: I fight it, I fought it
and hot-wet floods up with drowning and choke.
This minute, these words: I defy death.
And cold, outward slipping: my slow final breath.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Science is governed by theorems and laws, but I think its more important to learn, live, and love from nature’s flaws. Ideal reactions exist on paper created by pencils, but really its nothing more than a flawed man’s stencil. Something unable to exist in freeform untempered by the creative storm and unblemished by the perfect mistakes that prove its not fake. Thats not of what I partake.
You make my world spin and keep my gravity down. It’s just the physics of our situation, is this our mind or the worlds creation? Einstein was the founder of relativity but I’m sure of our brevity. A whirlwind thats almost out of control, the dance of days that composes our souls. Linked rhythmically together no longer singularly apart joined at the heart never to depart and so we start. I’m not sure how this equation functions but its a positive conjunction. I want to linearly progress without regress never to suppress or obsess but to travel and caress but I digress with my interest to express.
I haven’t done the math but I’m almost positive one heart plus one heart equals one heart. Thats real arithmetic, a force surely kinetic. Attracted and reacted to form a singular product of an environment construct. You make my world spin and keep my gravity down. It’s just the physics of our situation.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
A man born without wings into the ashes of a forest
dead leaves and a valley of butterflies
Bleached to be ethicless
effortless as it is
To go without pursuit of question
A mind of matter
Wherein death lies one doesn't know
You're feeling all these expectancies
all these dependencies
Energy of yours, unhinged
The screens written
with the bastardisation of simple truths
Rhythmic as a creature
as spoken wavelength navigating
A wondering memory standing in front of the collectives
Transcendence above the impermanence
A palace on the grounds among us, but separated
dangerous minds of a phenomenon, in sequencing
Unceasing in divinity and untempered
by the indignation of his companions
Free to be, among the meadows of ourselves.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
It is not hopelessness.
Simply the realness.
Cold and fully factual,
Empty,
Merciless.
Unhindered by
Untempered by
The heart's softening.
Logical
Calculated
Weighed and measured.
It is
As always
No more than that
It is what it is
And no less.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
begin this life in a wordy
but wordly habit, daily,
father-gifted, though different,
in form and language selected,
‘tis the one and ‘tis the same
tally, a counting combination
of all that has been done, for both
better & worse, blessing/curse,
the key: revamp review reset
this day upcoming and welcome
all the major tasks, minor miracles,
that one can effect, select, elect!
by choice, a freedom so great it
tenderly rips joy thoroughly into
and from my cells, and my body
is enlightened, uplifted in this,
now a preposition, a conjugation, a
state of composition,
for the tasks given, the granted,
those that must be taken, those most
difficult, when knowing their choice,
entails pain, untempered, and
requires establishing a two edged
position of composure…
this is a hard and an easy
new proposition I create,
hard for I write on a tiny
phone screen, in letters so
small. it keeps me humbled,
a reminder of having
lived a span well
beyond belief,
for one took\gave body a
careless comfort,
giving little
of the differring
kind of nutrition in order
to live life, well and purposed
hard too, for my body has wept,
a steady stream of silent tears.
unceasing as I scribe,
making vision difficult, the
insight salty but clear and the
words contained within them,
flood for easy laying-down
for this AM workout of counting,
lists up and down, so many items,
of differring nature, even now
noticing for the very fitting first time,
the subtle hint within
differring,
for it possesses a doubling
of the enormity, the division
of what has been already
accumulated and what yet,
needs accomplishing, the tally
needy for resolving looking past,
for seeing with yet more tears
fast-as-you-can-forward
the tally never ends, paused only
for a quick question/happy deletion
of, and a resolute immediate, moving on:
***Where do I stand,
what is my position?***
keep on keeping on,
tallying has no finale,
no sunning/summing up,
for another day
will yet follow,
for you, and
your own
tallying must
goes on, on
and
not even,
nor even,
odd,
when mine,
mine no long,
and the
and yets,
no longer
commence
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:33 PM UTC
Through the amber forest,
The untempered glass,
The souls reflection shines.
Influential darkness,
Uncensored light,
Fallen sun bringeth,
Never ending night.
Through the tortured lens,
On a blank face,
Shattered soul comes forth,
Covered by fractured smiles,
And exhausted energy.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
it was beautiful,
as most things are in their simplicity.
nothing more necessary than the presence of those
whose hearts hold a space once occupied by you.
there were flowers, and there was sunlight,
and the birds greeted me with a melancholic joy;
they, like you, are free, untempered by life's inequity.
i looked up to the sky, and it was beautiful.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
I will spend my days standing beside you,
Cradling myself against everything you are.
Loving you through any distance,
How near or far.
We'll make a life that's bold,
Like nature in its untouched state;
Together, our hearts will never grow old
And we'll be happy with our fate.
If we have a large house,
Swimming pool,
Our hearts' fire will never be doused;
If we have a small house,
No money with which to fool,
Our hearts' fire will never be doused.
I repeat to you: it will never be doused,
Stranger, then friend, boyfriend, spouse;
Life partner, harnessing perfect love,
Living with me in our house.
Our love is untempered, I promise you,
It'll remain that way
No matter what life puts it through;
They can't be stopped, our hearts destined to play,
That's a fact clear as day.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Anger
The simplest
And most complicated
Of emotions
His anger is celebrated
A mirage of strength
Power
Control
Her anger is ridiculed
A loss of control
Inconvenient
Emotion without reason
Neither view is complete
Or completely wrong
For all of us
We feel righteous in our anger
Full
And complete
But anger can be an illusion
Of power
Control
Sometimes it pops
Like a bubble
A balloon of hot air
And we are left feeling empty
Drained
Sometimes full of regret
And shame
Even when it is justified
And full
of substance
It can only be an important step in a journey
But never a home
worth living in
Use anger as a tool
A sign
“Injustice may live here”
Worthy of further exploration
But even in its most righteous form
Anger alone cannot solve problems
It can fuel action
Incite support
In the moment of outrage
But avoid the quicksand
Of rage untempered by reflection
That way leads to despair
Inaction
Silence
Beware anger as a shield
Against feeling
Pain
Guilt
Regret
Fear
These emotions are necessary steps
To continue any journey
To grow
Feel your anger
Seek to understand it
Then look beyond
Find strength
And power
In feeling
In seeking
shared vulnerability
empathy
and joy
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 12:18 AM UTC
The lack of fame
my spirit free
A bird uncaged
amongst the trees
Its weight not lifted
and never there
My breath in sequence
above the air
The lack of fame
art’s greatest gift
My oath to no one
allegiance kept
As thoughts go hither
and feelings yon
My soul untempered
—my words to song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
A plotting mind linking line by jotted line in hopes to find some form of vitriol to sooth the untempered soul before the coal has been toiled and burned out.
No matter the highest heights or crashing lowest of lows.
This I know not if my hand-glide will sail smoothly
or will Tempest roar too soon before?
I come crash-landing to the floor.
!!Beam me up God-dy!!
~in blaze of blue-bellied rays~
or something akin to Eternal Light...
or
s o m e
thing
a c h i n g
too
E t e r n a l-l y
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
*My insides are raging
Like my feelings are on fire
From my fingertips to my toes
Untempered, this flame will be dire
The way I see it now
Is that if I share my feelings
They can make me fly
But if I keep them to myself
My own fire might burn me
Until I die
I go up in a flash of flames
I'm afraid my feelings will burn me
They are so painful
I feel like I can't just be
So I fly with my flames
Instead of just fighting the truth and sitting
I share my light with the world
Instead of flames just licking and spitting
I resurrect from this hole
Like a Phoenix, I light the sky
My flames turn darkness to light
So from fire, I fly*
~JLH~
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
The moon mocks with distilled grace.
Its light bleeds through panes of glass
to reveal her to Heaven's judgement.
She lies upon waves that cannot cleanse her,
upon sheets of abandon
with devils dancing in deranged
circles around her mind.
She is naked save for the remains
of ripped vestures of white that once
contained all of her purity.
The harlots outside laugh with sardonic voices,
the drunkards laugh at the jokes that spike their liquor,
and the thieves laugh at their spurious wealth.
But they all laugh at her.
She hears the voices of another world
and even they speak to dismantle her;
to haul her down from her untempered flight
on facile wings of wax.
Flirtatious voices whisper
with the strength of God's divinity
but burn with the intent of the Devil.
A cruel air reigns over the room
and stifles her in its dominion.
She holds a handful of the deluge
and her mind is absolved of reality,
but she discerns no creases upon her paradise.
God's angels observe
and bewail her.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
You see it coming and keep watching
In thought that you may survive.
Crossing over your imaginations
And in your face; a present of misfortune.
It's better to stay but rather watch from afar
And better not to run...
......Never hide forever.
Even when you climb high, nature
Commands you to the flow
To be safe is to be on standby
The sooner it comes, the earlier the better
It later goes in the air invisible to human sight
You're a solvent/ vapour
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
I never say sorry when I mean it
Just vomiting it out into the clean ceramic
After a binge
Of misunderstanding and bone shaking rage
My stomach drops sorry into the moments where I need the screaming to stop
Sorry is a pacifier
A ramp onto the high road
anything I can say to be left alone
Conflict running like tracks leaving bruises over my body
Familiar as the desire to hide and never be found
Yet I am always the one who spills sorry
A snake handler under the bed again
Yesterday I was not sorry
and my sorry could not stop the water from sluicing down the drain to leave me shaken and shaking
in the bath
But your sorry, hours later, after the trees felled have sent the electricity wires writhing within me
After you have manned the tank and rolled over me only to reverse and do the same again
After I have prostrated myself for your flagellation that continues through the night
your sorry means This is over.
Your sorry is a demand for a sweeping brush and a rug, for untempered forgiveness.
And I am not sorry
That my answer is no.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
satellite skies (3 months of love)
satellite soaked skies
stars to unknowing eyes
crossed moonbeams
not quite as they seem
a mistaken cosmic sign
astral bodies do align
our bodies do align
starbursts on leavened tides
I see it as nebulae collide
star to star you + me
the colours my eyes do see
hues myriad your love gifts me
eyes closed sighs aflame alight
you're burning me up so bright
as nebulae collide this night
setting my skin on fire
untempered desire
you
you
you
my love
set all the stars to collide
love shine crystalline in your eyes
infinite fires burn in my heart
our love stands a universe apart
you loved me back from deep gloom
this love is no love in a vacuum
J.C. honey-baby 25/2019
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
Your vagabond child
has run off into the wild
because it has been so so long,
since his face has felt a smile.
The mundane of this life
is causing him so much strife
and he simply cannot contain
the pain he feels in the night.
He longs for adventure
full of life uncensored
so this is why he must go
to find life untempered.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
The steps outside
That trace a fear
An aching in the heart
When your own consciounce
Betrays you
Leaves you to be consumed
By untempered thoughts
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
"With the utmost compassion, the dark one reaps in waves..."
Yet she stands unshaken, a poet of storms,
weaving change into the wind,
etching echoes into time.
Through turbulent vessels of pride, she carves mirrors,
reflecting truths we dare not name.
"Please don’t arouse my anger..."
For love, she would move mountains,
for her children, she would break the sky.
Soft as a whisper, fierce as fire,
a mother’s wrath, untempered steel.
She writes in pulse and prophecy,
a warrior who shelters, a poet who shields.
"Grandma sold mother..."
Some legacies are bound in chains,
some are broken, thread by thread,
and from their ruins, she builds anew—
not with shame, not with sorrow,
but with shards made beautiful.
The weight of the past does not define her,
it is the stone she stands upon.
"I'm watching from the moon..."
She sees beyond the finite, beyond the stars,
whispering love across the silence.
Aneesah Lionheart, voice of time,
your words do not fade—they crystallize,
shining, burning, living on.
And if poetry is power,
then yours is an unshaken kingdom.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 2:55 AM UTC
I could write songs about you until I die
About the anger I feel when wondering why
A well could I fill with untempered contempt
Neglecting necessities for a love-filled attempt
Born here in this dark world I remain in
You were once a lovely light that I let in
Calling you by name stings just the same
As to you appointing all the blame
But healing happens with hands held not tight
And hearts open at the most after sought light
Voids can be filled with anything
Limited to but not including
1. You
2. Drugs
3. Alcohol
4. ***
5. You perverted
6. Religion
7. Repetition
8. Remorse
9. You demonized
10. Love
11. Lust
12. Loathing
13. You romanticized
14. Faith
15. Fear
16. Failure
17. You forgiven
18. Redemption
19. Repentance
20. Replacement
And here I am filling with all of the above
And eventually forgetting how to love
So distant from all the places we, I
Used to be, crying in a sea, eyes
Locked by gravity, sighs
Cracks an opening, why
Did it take so long to get here?
How great a place to be here
After countless bottles of beer
To find hope at the end of years
No recourse for reaction
No temples for distraction
You,
Have inflicted wounds and left me to suture
And labor to create my own future
And I can feel my efforts blossom into fruition
For they trample all tries of division
The most important thing I've found
Is that I can't fly if I'm buried in the ground
So while I reverberate from your decision
I mustn't make any further incisions
I am a pendulum falling full throttle
To the bottom of a ***** bottle
And I lie in wait as energy goes upward
Where I'll swing my weight for the word
That releases me from motionless dichotomy
And find out what God means to me
And let me know a better you
Where I can see and not hate
I'm getting there
And I'm already there
Still grace though
Fill my soul
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
Can calamity turn to serendipity?
As all should happen with a reason,
could the turnings’f fate
be brought about
to conquer inner demons?
Might we rise, unbound,
in freedom,
as phoenix from ash?
Could inner fire be quashed
to be rekindled?
Are not we unbridled by chance?
Are we yet lost but found
again in our advance?
Where first to swim
in drifts ‘n dregs, as drags
of denser things
should hold fast
our frail bodies,
thereupon the first breath
of earth’s clean air
are we alight,
and therein-lightened.
To start a walk upon new legs,
evolved to live on land
in vague untempered
night and day;
to sleep beneath the stars
and lay away in homes so vast;
so ever layered.
Then should we climb
upon the freest heights,
and rise no further, lest we fly?
Then should we take to falling
just the same, to catch a breeze
and drift away?
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
Filling The Glass ,Tipping the Glass
We all drink from the same cup, sent daily items of old or new to partake
By the drop or a great flood how we receive always open to how we perceive
Some deviation fills it to over flow with frustration, leaving the faucet open is often our mistake
Whether a P-ism or O-ism overthinking leaves less time for drinking, when always full which side do we believe
View often distorted if not open to what was reported, will this elixir be clear or opaque
Often coursing with ice cold fluid mixed with hot untempered solvent, when we mix this to warm the flow won't burn or freeze
Pint pitcher tub, puddle pond lake, brooks streams rivers flow into seas or oceans all will wash us, optional to drown or apply a brake
Paths lead many places, fumbling stumbling will sunlight brighten, enlighten or will it always be midnight with moonlight blocked by the trees
How we each view a concept is nothing new, always a task coming to fast, taking life in leaves a head in a spin, internally we sift real from fake
Awash in a wasteland that has become our over flowing mind, as it fills avoid those chills positive negates negative, face hurricanes as though it were a summer breeze
Finding my glass half full an easier task ,less burden or questions to ask, given a choice reason to rejoice, absorbing that other half shows a reason for that empty space
Playing mind games often reveals our pains, Liquid turns living steel into rust how fast is up to us, new mission requires clear vision, will we stand stall or be left on our hands and knees R.C.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 10:28 AM UTC