"unuttered" poems
TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.
The name on one all men may read,
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.
On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.
To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.
O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.
17.7k
The owl
owns silence,
it dawns;
movements
are arrested,
as stillness
comes alive
as owl moments.
The condor,
gravitas,
incarnated,
in relentless search,
circling around
the sky's navel,
in a mystical quest,
a motif that arrests
motions of mind.
An owl sits and sees,
a visible presence
of an invisible absence,
on the cosy notch
hid by foliage
on the tree of loneliness.
Perking up ears
inner silence,
the faithful watch dog,
listens owl's unuttered words,
ever echoing,
deep within the walls
of mind's corridor.
The owl and the condor,
the eloquence of silence,
has two voices speaking
in unison.In the secret center
they reveal the forbidden,
silence rules, the dawn of wisdom
bright and spectacular, awaken
the fog filled landscape.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
This is for the father that does not consider to be a whole in his creations life.
This is for the mother who chooses to 'opt out' of being a giver of love to the fruit of her womb.
This is for the one who has chosen to be an absent parent..
This is for you...
WAKE. the. **** UP!!
What are you doing?
What is wrong with you?
It seems to me you may not fully understand the ramifications that your chosen absence will play in the life of your child.
So I will spell it out it for you..
Your child, your gift, your delight, the one who was created from your very own dna, the one that you willingly gave life to and brought into this world...
will remember everything you have not done.
And they will carry this as a load upon their back for quite possibly most of their life.
Each will carry it differently, but carry the load they will. Some will carry it with forgiveness, some will carry with resolve, some will carry with the added weight of a heavy heart. Some will carry defiantly and will never truly forgive.
And no matter how they position the weight you give, by choosing to be absent, they will still carry that load...
because of you.
And you will continue to add weight to that load every day you choose to be absent from their life.
Each missed opportunity will be a pound of disappointment that your child will carry... for you.
Each broken promise will be a pebble.
Each late appointment will be a handful of sand.
Each missed birthday will be a tablespoon of gravel
to fill their pockets.
And every achievement they experience, that you have missed, will weigh upon their mind and their heart.
And because of this, throughout their life,
they will continually try to win your love.
You hear that...??
They will try. and. win. your. love...
Because... it is not given freely...
so they will try to win it.!!!
because, bottom line...
let's face it...
you're a selfish ****
And because of your self centered behaviour, everything that they need, want and have to experience without you will be tainted with your chosen absence.
Every tear and heart break, every grazed knee, bad dream, smile, whisper, secret, colouring on the fridge door, every clay model, every needed word of advice, comfort, support and encouragement, every exam result, every moment of despair, loss, grief and first love...
each and every lost opportunity to say 'i miss you'
each and every unuttered 'i love you'
will be carefully, silently and invisibly weighed,
measured
and carried.
And i promise you this..
the weight you have placed upon them will be keenly felt
when it is their time to fly.
This is not to say they will not fly, because they will,
and beautifully so..
And with wings that you did not help to fashion.
And, because of your chosen absence, your creation, your child, your very own delight will always carry the weight that you have placed upon them.
And the weight of your absence is so much heavier than you could possibly imagine.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Regrets, they come in waves and break around his feet
And he begins to wonder who he might have been
Had roads diverged in different woods and fields
Not yellow or yet any colour still unseen
But clearer now by day than windless nights
Still nearer than the objects of his dreams
It'd rained late into the evening, and when the lights were shaded
Around the pool outside and with the windows shuttered
He'd thrown on loose clothes, flicked open an umbrella
While high outside the stars the lightning flashes muttered
Pulled open doors that led to the veranda
And moved outside once more with all his thoughts unuttered
The smoke, from fires on Java lies heavy on his senses
An omen of the time of year and of the past condition
He shrugs, ***** in the acidic nighttime odors
Reviving lives not lived but revealing his admission
That time beyond the present that mirrors every movement
Within, without, and yet again, the flicker of suspicion.
The pistol in his pocket, illegal not unloaded
A symbol of his state of mind and by his sole discretion
He kneels beside the water, deep-set and in the shadows
Lips forming wordlessly around the last confession
Images of where and what and who and why and whether
A portent of that final action, sensing and impression
The smoke from fires on Java lies heavy on the water
The reek of cordite mixing with the smell of burning grasses
Indignant birds protest the crack of one small set expulsion
The echo round the swimming pool reverberates and passes
Nothing more and nothing less and time and space and matter
Slick red upon the treacherous tiles, the shattered bloodied glasses.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
Stranger...
I know you
Beyond the screens
Even in the silence
That surrounds me...
I hear you chuckle and laugh
Stranger...
Conversations we have
Only words unheard
Unuttered go by...
But they mean much more
Than the sound of spoken word
That resonates over my tympanum
Stranger...
Across the different metros
Sits you and I
Yet we connect and continue
In our journeys
To our own goals
Parallel paths drawn...
Yet some common thread
Linking us all
And I feel you
At one hand's distance..
That is the connection
I have..
Strange are the ways of communication
It dissolves strangeness
Into an unexplained acquaintance!
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
Ineffable: Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words; Too sacred to be uttered.
-------------------------–-------—-------------------------------------------------------------
The whimpered cries of the dying
in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice,
announcing we were worthy of life,
to which we think to ourselves,
agreed upon
with our,
a whispery, silent
amen.
The still alive cries of children,
tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair,
teachers body shielding their charges, whispering
save us Lord, from your inventive toys,
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again,
now four more dead in Houston,
selecting the innocent, the brave,
logic in any of this, none,
nonsensical at its worst
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
~~~~~
The first I-am-alive cries
of new born lungs,
I have grandson, stain-less, perfect,
recovering in the stainless steel delivery room,
I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison
pronouncing a Hebrew blessing,
the Shecheyanu...
(Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments)
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
These unspoken poem devotions of adoration
of the sleeping chamber, that cannot
be heard or answered for they're dreamt and
perchance in the morning thankfully recalled,
enough to be transcribed,
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
Ineffable.
A day, just another supplying an average day
to the mass of average.
Birth + Death = an average day.
I thank a God for the
birth of a newborn perfection
On this day the newspapers report
about silence of the God others pray to,
could be the same deity,
reporting that in his holy places,
Jew spits upon Jew,
Muslims usurp Christian lives,
all for none,
all forgetting in
whose image they were created.
to which we cannot say nor think
anything.
Ineffable.
too sacred to be uttered,
so instead of the paucity of these unuttered words,
know that each tear in
the reservoir of my eyes
is my unspoken poem prayer.,
my amen.
*Instead of answering
amen out loud,
wipe my eyes
with your fingertips,
silently.*
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
Tempus Fugit:
Nought is eternal,
Nox is ephemeral,
And
The Charred Canvas
Of
The Night Sky
(Noctis Lucis Caelum,
Scala Ad Caelum)
Bedarkened & besmirched, bespeaks
A
Love-Worn Wayward, Wayworn.
In the
Citadel
Of mine
Temporal Heart
Time
Streams infinitely
As an
Exhalation of The Ethereal One.
The Chronology of
The Arbiter of Fates
Shalt Destine,
Herald Eternitas
Upon
The Phantasmagoric Horizon
Of
Mine Mind's Sky
Wondering
Upon
Days of Yore.
(The Hither,
The Thither,
And
The Morrow.)
These
Luminescent Children are
Are born
To wax Luminaries
Then,
Wax Nebulous
For all eternity.
O, Metempsychosis;
Born of
Edicts Unseen,
Of that
Which was,
Is,
&
Will Be.
(For
All things
Are
Circular & Cycling,
Existentially.)
We were conceived
Infinitely
To
Infinity
And beyond.
Let He, Let She
Whose
Ears & Eyes
Of
The Unuttered Anima
Be unstopped, unfurled
To resonations:
Deep within.
The Emerald Lifestream Anew
Dost begin.
The Sovereign of Songbirds sings
Esprit d' amour
To those who wait.
(Se' Lah.)
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
For days it was as if I never existed.
You have flung me out of your world
like a wilted flower from your vase.
I have treasured our unuttered pledges—
rising with your name as a prayer on my lips,
breathing the morning breeze,
marveling,
oh God, isn’t this the same fragrance my dear one breathes!
I waited beneath your window last night,
heart aflutter under the moon,
for a rustle at the curtain,
a fleeting glimpse of your shadow...
Throughout you kept it shut.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Only a long, low-lying lane
That follows to the misty sea,
Across a bare and russet plain
Where wild winds whistle vagrantly;
I know that many a fairer path
With lure of song and bloom may woo,
But oh ! I love this lonely strath
Because it is so full of you.
Here we have walked in elder years,
And here your truest memories wait,
This spot is sacred to your tears,
That to your laughter dedicate;
Here, by this turn, you gave to me
A gem of thought that glitters yet,
This tawny slope is graciously
By a remembered smile beset.
Here once you lingered on an hour
When stars were shining in the west,
To gather one pale, scented flower
And place it smiling on your breast;
And since that eve its fragrance blows
For me across the grasses sere,
Far sweeter than the latest rose,
That faded bloom of yesteryear.
For me the sky, the sea, the wold,
Have beckoning visions wild and fair,
The mystery of a tale untold,
The grace of an unuttered prayer.
Let others choose the fairer path
That winds the dimpling valley through,
I gladly seek this lonely strath
Companioned by my dreams of you.
1.8k
Between earth and sky
is where I abide.
Grass grows beneath my
feet and inbetween
moments of deep thought,
longings and unuttered
desires,
as I sit, communing
with the trees
and for a while, just
doing as they do...
just simply 'being',
no matter what
as they hold majestic
limbs up
toward the heavens
in adoration or
perhaps
interrogation.
And that is but
speculation or
imagination
on my part.
I sit, quietly,
somewhere between
this moment
and tomorrow
and wonder those
simple, complex
questions of old...
What does it all mean,
in the end?
What price do we pay
for passion or apathy?
Why are we here?
In my mind
worlds collide, die
and begin again
and this most
encumbered heart
still holds hope
by the throat,
refusing, yet, to
let go.
Between earth and sky
is where I abide.
That is where
you'll find me.
Full to the brim,
with questions,
wild, vibrant dreams,
and a never ending
sense...
of wonder.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
I spot my reflection in the silhouette of your eyes.
Like a mirror, you are me and I am you.
In this lonely hour, and in this hollow room,
my eardrums fill with piano notes and rhymes,
as everything around me suddenly goes quite and silence blooms.
I come to realize our love is nothing but
meaningful lyrics hung upon abandoned piano keys,
and unuttered syllables written
amongst a music sheet.
Yet, the symphony plays perpetually,
loud and clear, demanding to be heard, to be felt.
It lifts me up, swirling me in your galaxy,
and every so often, I approach to tear off the mask you've been hiding behind,
till there's nothing left but musical debris.
I strip you of salvation.
I unleash your wholeness.
Rondes and blanches and noires
punctuate and embellish your figure.
They are a halo.
They are mine.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Carpe Diem (2)
It is a hot day....but, we're having a brief shower
i sniff the earthy scent carried by the afternoon breeze,
feel it blowing, brushing against my moist skin,
i spot a beetle wandering away from its home,
the Pine tree...it travels... oh...so...slowly...inching
...reaching at last...the...window...sill...
Amongst the leaves of the tall Fortune tree
daddy long legs appears......its fragile body quivers,
as it dangles...going down from its web
to meet its neighbor and beetle friend,
.....and from the window ledge
the two fall down on the bushy flower bed,
like a dual suicide act.
quickly, they vanish... into the thick
of bloomers, yellow, white and pink
The rolling hills landscape on the horizon
breathes peace and calm at this very moment
the valleys...streets......the church and houses
people from all walks of life, going through their chores,
they suddenly enfold my whole being...
there is pulchritude in the faces of the women,
slim, strong, bulky...hips, bouncing, swaying rhythmically...
fair-skinned and dark, short...long haired...all are smiling warmly,
like they have no other cares in this world
signs of fortitude on their faces...obvious, but unuttered.
i, too, feel a lilt deep inside..i beam with a smile,
acknowledging theirs, as they walk past me.
enjoying every bit of God's miracles
that meets my eyes
...a few lines pop in my mind...they become a story...or a ditty
suddenly, words in a joke...from someone who's witty
comes sweet laughter...during moments untethered
hours of heeeeeee, and ha-ha-ha, and shared giggles...
Anything that comes to sight
comes with a smile, so bright
i squint from its brilliance
i bask in its radiance
i refuse to let go of this glowing,
an unknown inner feeling,
outside, it is revealing,
my soul, it is embracing
i claim it:
this moment of bliss
i have finally seized!
Sally
Copyright September 21, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
When first your glory shone upon my face
My body kindled to a mighty flame,
And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace
Until you swooned to love, breathing my name.
And wonder came and filled our night of sleep,
Like a new comet crimsoning the sky;
And stillness like the stillness of the deep
Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh.
I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed,
Panting with passion, naked unto mine,
Until the throbbing world around is hushed
To quiet worship at our scented shrine.
Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face,
To kindle and to change my jaded frame
Into a miracle of godlike grace,
Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame.
1.5k
Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
Cast up thy Life’s foam-fretted feet between;
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
Which had Life’s form and Love’s, but by my spell
Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,
Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen.
Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
One moment through thy soul the soft surprise
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.
1.4k
some unseen hand of cruel fate
tainting her deeds of sacrificial love
loaves of home baked bread
turned to stones
cups of cold water
taste lukewarm
soft melodic words
ring sarcasm in dull ears
toiling from sunrise till darkest night
only to bring others delight
never taking time for her dreams
unuttered cries and silent screams
Hilda
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
With the man I love who loves me not,
I walked in the street-lamps’ flare;
We watched the world go home that night
In a flood through Union Square.
I leaned to catch the words he said
That were light as a snowflake falling;
Ah well that he never leaned to hear
The words my heart was calling.
And on we walked and on we walked
Past the fiery lights of the picture shows—
Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by
On the errand each man knows.
And on we walked and on we walked,
At the door at last we said good-bye;
I knew by his smile he had not heard
My heart’s unuttered cry.
With the man I love who loves me not
I walked in the street-lamps’ flare—
But oh, the girls who can ask for love
In the lights of Union Square.
1.4k
I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
But my heart was full of my new love’s glory,
My eyes were laughing and unafraid.
I met one who had loved me madly
And told his love for all to hear—
But we talked of a thousand things together,
The past was buried too deep to fear.
I met the other, whose love was given
With never a kiss and scarcely a word—
Oh, it was then the terror took me
Of words unuttered that breathed and stirred.
Oh, love that lives its life with laughter
Or love that lives its life with tears
Can die—but love that is never spoken
Goes like a ghost through the winding years. . . .
I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
My heart was full of my new love’s glory,—
But my eyes were suddenly afraid.
1.3k
Hardly Hidden
*for Helen,
the High Definition brunette momma among us*
there are tracks in your arm
ready visible
to all those
with a personal microscope
if one
optically
examines the empty spaces
tween your poem-words....
the exterior all smiles,
whooping it up,
children, all smiles,
tumbling, breaking things,
ceilings collapsing, winters arriving,
as is the way of the kids
and nature,
inexorable,
occasionally
breaking you to
smile too
Abut to all this
is the contentiousness,
the aboriginal sense of loss
for what once was,
plain out in
in the secret messages sent
and
you know
you own
my all
unuttered utter devotion
we need no qualification
of what we are
we are friends,
not drinking buddies,
the straight out
semi-secret fans
of each other
thousands of miles apart
of simple purity borne,
you warm me
with endless jokes
and familial tales
and I thank you
for sharing, for trusting,
me with that troubling notion
that I am missing
a sorrowful deepening
that is
after a wellness examination
hardly hidden
but t'is heard around the world,
gunshot to my heart,
come to me when
ever
is understood that this
paean ~ pain ~ poem
is a simple wayfarer's way
of declaring
forever
I know you are sleeping now,
but when the fall sun breaks,
here is hoping me that you
break into private tears
in private places
like the ones decorating me,
celebrating
the best of what
humans
can be
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Go, cry one last time
Feeble and withered in the storms
Your soul had its darkest night
Ye think its the wrath of God?
This endless menace
Or the creation of your soul?
However ye may deem my friend,
How good wings are without wind?
And the blossoms without scent?
Ye spread the wings to glow
Mistaken; to reach heaven?
But the gentle breath withheld its blow
Bow not to the pity of your heart
Nor the squashing unuttered pain
For glad tidings will be heard
Cherish, for what ye have in soul
Rare bear in such might
So go cry one last time
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
A cloudless sky elicits
No Meter.
A thoughtless mind elicits-
No Rhyme.
A closed mouth, contains
No Words.
No Context,
No Syntax,
No Rules,
No Name.
Emptiness is a title
better left unuttered.
And titles, like rooms waiting for guests,
or minds racing with thoughts,
are best uncluttered.
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 3:10 AM UTC
He sneaks into my mind in slumber,
emanating his fervor; awakening *****
to a frenzy, then whispering wet
licks against me, I whimper deep
within from his delicious torment;
labials unveil for tongued ecstasy.
Wallowing in my bedewed rose; he
breathes its ambrosia with tongue &
nose, stiffens each dip into garden
of Eden, he knew I'd buck and tremble
begging to feel him deeper; unearthing
sighs and whispers.
Touching me with promises; as I eye his
sinewy masculinity, entwined limb to limb
our desire erupts each plunge into
paradise, wet, each teased withdrawal,
inner muscles contract breathing him back
in, rising to meet and sheath his firmness
in unuttered realms of ecstasy.
I whisper, need to swallow his measure;
and sweet hotness trickles down throat,
********* my own wetness; he greedily suckles
one at a time savoring its aftertaste, tonguing
me to taste what he's enjoying, moving slowly
in and out.
And...
I shudder from the sheer feel deeply
embedded as his passion leaves me
softly broken.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
.......a parade of thoughts,
crowd its tip......sad...sweet,
scary...unpleasant...pleasant,
hopeful...or prohibited,thoughts
come.....one after the other,
like white circled smokes from a spectre,
smoking....hiding, behind the curtain,
triggered by a song, a verse, or somethin'
else.....like a photo, a voice...a memory...
when they come to haunt...and taunt
..... i just bow my head,
and let my pen stand *****
or lean inside my palm,
allow it to make curves, loops and
lines, to cross out untimely thoughts
on white blank pages...
pen struggles with me--whether or not, to share
my likes, dislikes, my disgust, fears, my despair...
my endless questions are frozen...wintered
within...i wonder, will they remain unuttered?
....the answers, as before, are uncertain...
.........my discontent, oh, so apparent...
::::
.....when i hold my ***** when my soul
breathes and relaxes...it journeys...i forget all,
....hunger pangs do not enter my mind
..my troubled self....and the peaceful me
....join forces....their combined energy
flow freely, inside my inner streams...
...i sit tall when they bring out the best in me,
...wonder if i could bring back worst moments,
......and correct the wrong in them...but,
who's to say what is right? what is wrong?
when i hold my pen, i realize its might,
its omnipotent power....its written bold words,
exclamations, lines, commas, dots and dashes,
can incite, or douse strong actions and feelings
it softens the sharp edges of anger and pain
it can puncture deeper...better than a sword,
it can heal...soothe wounds and slashes
.................inflicted by other pens
........when i hold my pen,
i let it speak for me...time and again...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 21, 2018
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC