"unthinkably" poems
After laying awake way past her bedtime
There where nights she cried herself to sleep,
Thinking how could she have possibly been so naive?
But as she closed her eyes and wanders down the streets of once-used-to-be's
She realises, she'd lost herself to a past of full of mistreatment
But now she refuses to be a victim of it and stands tall rising above it
There used to be a time she'd been used, and so to be used was all she knew
And to crave love, a sense of belongingness, was unthinkably selfish
So instead of finding love from within,
She'd give her all to all those who'd treat her like she didn't mean a thing
And apologised and forgave repeatedly though she was never to blame
She became a dreamer of dreams to cope with the painful reality of things
But now instead of living with wishful thinking
She wakes up and struggles hard to make her dreams into a reality
No longer a slave to her fictional fantasies
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
My head in hands
My weeping stifled
the creatures in my head
swirling screaming tormenting each and every thought daring enough to cross my mind.
each comment a blow to my character.
These spiraling insecurities unthinkably true.
Could it be true?
Swampy hands pulling me under
under civilization
a whirlpool of consumerism
selling the next thing
selling me
I DON'T WANT TO BE SOLD
I battle these ideas, these values being forced upon me
They lock me in jail.
I plead
They only stare back at me with stone hard eyes.
I pout.
I will not be sold
I will not be some media **********
I am me.
I cannot be advertised.
I cannot be owned.
"Take your commanding hold of me"
I will not succumb to your sickly media culture
I will not hold off for you.
You may hold me in this suffocating cell for as long as you please
I may live and die a captive
But I will never be yours
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
incogitable is the question
you've asked yourself
since you could form
thoughts dense enough to grasp
quandaries these daily citizens
are encouraged
"not to be contemplated"
unthinkably aware of your surroundings
that you tend to notice cracks
in the side-stomped concrete
three-point-five seconds before
my ankle ever twists
and yet, your eyebrows carved canyons
in sweaty, porous sediment
caked onto the blood-fed silkscreen
stretched below your hair
you didn't believe me when i told you
cameras will litter the city streets
innumerable greater than the lampposts
illuminating your view of my sprained ankle
(you missed that one, by the way)
you honestly believed that everyone
thinks about everyone else
because that's what you do
but boy, I gotta tell ya,
you are not like anyone else
you're the high-flyin pilot
star visible to the naked eye
caught behind the crescent of the moon
yet still shining through
and some may even come close enough
to brush heat waves you emanate from that hot heart
unfortunately, your perennial denizens
rely on waxen wings
crashing anxiously homeward
to moss-laden paradises
they make up
twisting neural networks into bundles
here i recline
pierced through the retina
held fast iron-gripped heart
legs tight and fingers licked
incogitably cognizant
of each
and every
answer
|| Restricted Access Memory ||
will not permit to ponder
ponder for longer than
a second anyway
but a second is all you
need to receive
seventeen-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty-two
percent of your daily value
of vitamin E
(that stands for Enlightenment, people)
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Snapshots
by Michael R. Burch
Here I scrawl extravagant rainbows.
And there you go, skipping your way to school.
And here we are, drifting apart
like untethered balloons.
Here I am, creating "art,"
chanting in shadows,
pale as the crinoline moon,
ignoring your face.
There you go,
in diaphanous lace,
making another man’s heart swoon.
Suddenly, unthinkably, here he is,
taking my place.
Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Centrifugal Eye, Poetry Webring, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: snapshot, picture, photograph, photo, album, memory, keepsake, remembrance, token, memento, art, replacement
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 12:12 AM UTC
When days go by and I don't get any of that magic stick
I start to feel just a little bit sick
For you to leave my sheets clean
Borders on unthinkably mean
Once a week used to be enough for me
But after I met you, I started craving your touch constantly
Your lips on my neck
Your tounge wondering below deck
The thrill of your ******
Quickly becoming a pleaseurable must
Didn't you know that this milk was a package deal, along with the cow,
Great news, huh, wow
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Hid away, somewhere, packed up with careless love,
We all have them, somewhere.
Sometimes filled with regret, sometimes pain and misunderstanding
We peek and nudge at fragments of our distorted lives;
Reach for what was, for what it was worth.
The unusually, unthinkably happy faces
The familiar strangers, the awkward closure,
The sudden choke of realization,
Eyes flood with recollection.
It all comes back,
As it had never left.
A sudden gush of air draws to conclude,
I was not alone,
As I watched us burn
Slowly,
The shadows dance on the walls
Off the fire ignited.
Slowly,
We turn to gray.
Slowly,
We die.
Slowly,
Inevitably,
We burn.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
The spring-head bubbled forth,
and ran in two separate streams.
One, sparkling, swift and cold:
the fount of eternal youth.
The other, unthinkably clear and deep:
the fount of age-old wisdom.
He was brought here by the elders,
and told he could drink from one alone.
Which would you choose?
He took the ancient wooden bowl,
dipped it into the second pool
and drank his fill;
saw with clarity and depth.
That day he became a poet,
using the gift of the second fount
to drink from the first every day.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 4:35 PM UTC
a girl sits on the pavement,
lunch in hand
wondering what kind of times they were
-neither the best nor the worst of times,
but times spent at a coffee shop
watching the cars go by.
as the rain falls
-as it always falls at 2 am,
steady and calming
a world in limbo
despite all of the chaos that i so lovingly
call mine.
the birds aren’t out yet,
but the cars softly flash their lights
i shouldn’t be here
this desolate city,
mine,
this desolate life,
mine.
the plants sway softly,
ever their vibrant green and your cat meows
-the only thing along with your short hair
and scrolling habits
and off-feelings
you’ve been able to keep alive this winter.
lone figures in the winter,
at your desks -alone in class
smiling at a laptop,
the papers on your bedroom floor flutter around you
wind in my rooms,
slashes on the push floor.
slashes -also on the peaches
nectarines
fingertips (from falls)
coffee cups in empty cafes
and unthinkably
blueberries.
all of our photographs,
a poet said they would happen,
waiting to happen,
i think they’re right and
they’ll never happen
-it’s the kind of beauty arranged and taken down,
never enjoyed.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
You said I was so sad because I didn't love myself,
that if I weren't so
pathetically
unthinkably,
unconsolably,
sad
I would find myself with a friend or two.
I think you believed it
I think you thought it over and over in your head..
blaming
angry
accusatory
repetitively
carving out space for it behind your eyes
so you would never wonder
If my despair was not self inflicted…...
that perhaps I was crying because I loved myself
as I loved you,
and her
and all of them,’
and I thought I knew you
and her
and all of them
as well as I knew myself
And then she changed,
you changed like all of them
and when the curtain fell I was
pathetically
unthinkably,
unconsolably,
hurt , alone,
and still in love with myself
and wondering why I was not good enough for anyone anymore.
good enough to be in their presence
to be in their hearts;
to be carved behind their eyes.
I cry because after all that you
pathetically,
unthinkably,
unforgivably,
blamed me.
Angrily
assaulted and
accused me of existing
as less than
And reminded me
daily
I was alone.
Maybe I’m not sad because I don’t know myself.
I am sad because you don’t
I am not sad because I don’t know who I am.
I am sad because for you it was not enough.
I am not sad because I am lost,
I am sad because I no longer have a place to call home.
the only time I am disappointed in myself
Is when I allow myself to admit
That I miss you.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
/|\ /|\
/|\ /|\ /|\
/|\ /|\ /|\ /|\ /|\
"""""
Whether composed,
ailing...or up and about,
i'm always roaming
in this untouched forest,
where trees are tall with
inspirations...abundantly
blooming with lovely
words and phrases...and,
i always find you there.
i see you peeking, at the start
or, in the middle,
at the end...even between
the lines of a poem.
you're bound to mind
by indestructible ropes
made from vines and roots
of a durable tree...you seem
to be, unthinkably permanent,
not even Chopin's etudes,
or Schubert's serenade
could unbind you.
you emerge from buckets i fill
with water, or from the ***
where i make meat sauce...you
rise amongst tangled leaves of
the asparagus fern, or the crisp
and fragrant oregano plants.
there, you dwell pensively
within my forest of thoughts
because............because,
you are the poem,
the longest, i ever wrote.
~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~
~~~~~
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 3:34 AM UTC
describing the person inside me:
quite pessimistic
unthinkably thought filled
insanely aware
somewhat crazy
with the mind of a poet.
as laughable and cliché as these may all sound on a poetry website.
they're all true but i have things in my simple life,
that me less of these things.
there is this boy,
who makes me a bit more optimistic,
who makes my orange days,
a bright blue
and whose grin can make me blush like crazy.
who can make me laugh,
in the midst of tears,
and help me to trust another,
when all feelings of trust are lost.
a boy who makes me feel like i could sing
who can make me grin like an idiot,
and believe that i have done something right finally
when i look into his eyes.
this boy also is the cause for some of my crazy thoughts,
but when i voice them he will laugh,
or inform me that "i am not crazy"
he sympathizes at rough times,
and lets me speak freely,
ignoring the fact that i may blow his ear drums,
and stumble over every other word when i get too excited.
he allows me to be mad when i am mad,
and waits for me to be happy
(maybe a break from rants is nice)
but this boy,
truly helps control my thoughts,
that bubble inside me as long days pass.
he also gives me a feeling of safety,
where even just knowing that he is within distance,
distance where i could run to him,
or yell his name,
relieves my stress filled thoughts immensely.
and when he speaks soft words of
it'll be fine or the soft chuckle of reassurance
it makes my cold frightened blood,
warm where it can flow again,
and pump to my heart,
so i can remind him at these moments
that i do indeed love him.
he allows me to be my somewhat ******
crazy,
nutso self.
and with a comment or not
there is always a small grin.
but when i am a little crazy,
whether it's explaining my funky dreams
or laughing so hard that i spit out my water,
he still looks at me with that grin,
that makes me feel
a little less...
well, crazy
and sometimes when i feel all of these things at once,
the kind of feeling where your heart is racing,
and your cheeks are rosy,
and your laughing insanely,
and smiling like an idiot,
and falling hard for this certain special boy,
i can't even write,
but sometimes that's quite alright
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
The scent-hungry hound
Unthinkably finds what's lost
That's meant to be found
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
I miss you constantly
You are just beside me
Some thousands of miles
Of seas and skies away.
It is baffling that I could share the same sun
Admire the same moon, as you might feel inclined to do
And somehow be too far to ever count it
As sharing the same space.
I see all of who you've shown me you are
And I package you in precious pieces
That I hide in my limbic system
And scatter through my striatum.
When it rains, I can't help but wonder
If these little droplets were ever closer to you than me
And I hate and love them in a single instant
Until I can hear and see and love you again.
I miss you with an intensity that scares me,
Considering I have yet to meet you,
And every second closer I am to seeing you
The lump in my throat grows impossibly larger.
I am closer to you when I speak of you
Face lit in an involuntary, irremovable, lovesick smile
The people who asked must regret it terribly
But, as a sap in love, I tell them anyway.
I occasionally regret ever buying the plane ticket
I constantly regret buying the plane ticket
To meet you would be the greatest joy
And infinitely more so my greatest nightmare.
Why would I give myself temporary relief?
I will see you and hold you and split my face smiling
And then I will leave you and miss you ten times more.
I am willingly subjecting myself to this.
I will miss you more than I do.
It will hurt, come good or bad,
It will feel worse than most things
It will feel better than most things.
It will feel like liberation, like knowing the grand prize
It will feel like drowning, slowly, agonizingly
It will feel like the rush of falling from a height
It will feel like the instantaneous pain of hitting the ground.
I miss you constantly.
You are just beside me
Unthinkably far, impossibly close
Within my thoughts.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
there's something so endearing about hearing that song i used to love. a meer recollection, a dreaded reunion of unforgotten words, but never thought of. it's sensual expectations, and a beaming nostalgia of tears and cheers, from time so unthinkably distant from now. the very essence of remembrance, and the intamcy of the infinite chorus. a perspective of a lost love or
lost lyrics, it's a simple far sighted mess, in which i've engulfed myself into once again.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
when did everything
get so serious?
seems like half a breath ago
we played and smoked
we talked and fought
untouchable.
but the expositions over,
now the conflict begins
as we're heading up
our arc of suspense.
as our self worth starts dropping
through constant comparison
of our backstage
with their performance,
we start getting beaten
and we start thinking that
we deserve to get beaten.
as our cheating and lying
turns from harmful mistakes
to just another part in a
cyclic self destructive
downward spiral,
we begin making the
unthinkably miserable
happen impossibly frequently.
so witness live:
the loss of another generation
to self violence
mental health
and despair.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
I can close my eyes and dream about golden streets
Winged choirs of angels
Existing to love and praise
Seeing majesty outside the reach of imagination
Those same eyes open in the morning.
They are set upon a world containing dark, twisted minds
Controlling unthinkably vicious hands
Hordes of people, tormentors and saints alike
That glimpse returns me to the reality of earth.
Back to another day.
I hate that my expectation of forever is damaged by the world each morning.
The same world I'm being saved from.
That concept of glory isn't a memory.
I've never seen anything like it.
I can't remember Heaven.
It hasn't happened, yet.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC