"unwatered" poems
all summer in your face
green yes, would suit you, but your brown
unwatered lawn eyes delicious-
a dry wind in a plain
state
your black hair rising
like a tornado on your scalp
a day at a time
marvelous.
you tease me and ****** my weakness
with all of your summer
my day sweats beneath you
my night and your music
commanding my heartbeat
to make adorable
prisons
for a mockingbird.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
(1)
Just like that,
My heart fell into your hands.
(17)
Mid September,
Wild flowers bloomed
Deep within my soul.
The sun drowned in light,
The moon shone across the stars.
(76)
I finally realized
Why I walk on the street
Instead of the side walk
And why I stay up all night
Watching the stars
Instead of dreaming of the moon.
I loved how
You always finished my sentences,
And I love you t-
(119)
I counted all the stars
And I gave up
After 32.
I decided to dream of you
Instead of the moon.
(210)
His eyes lit up brighter than the galaxy
And I prayed that I was the only
Supernova in his eyes
(308)
Slowly
Day becomes night
And the clouds are covering the stars.
The moon doesn't exist in my dreams
Anymore.
(501)
Where have you been, good friend?
Why have you left me here
With no warning?
Why are the flowers
Unwatered?
(634)
He said he couldn't
Live without me
Yet somehow,
He's still breathing
And I'm drowning
(789)
You are in my heart
But I am not in yours
(901)
The wild flowers turned to weeds
As summer turned to fall.
2:31am
Crept closer to me
(1,105)
Time stands still
As you stand in front of me
Telling me lies.
Don't finish my sentences
Because I still love y-
(1,256)
Don't tell me that you love me
Because I knew you never did.
Stop lying
And let me free.
The flowers that grew in my soul
Have turned to dead weeds,
Suffocating my heart.
(1,427)
I counted all the stars
And only found two.
(1,581)
Maybe it's true-
Some people were meant to fall in love,
But not meant to be together.
(1,582)
The weeds are tangled,
The moon escaped from my heart.
I counted all the stars that I could find,
And only found one.
Maybe I should just move on from you.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Years and months of tidy weather.
A sunny and partly sandy time
Where did it all go? The breath?
There was no rain on my heart!
There was no greeny leaves on my garden
Like the desert with deserted heart
Then there was a rainy cyclone
It poured out with a thundering storm
The first day storm was cool and calm.
The second day was with heavy lightening
Why does it sound like thunder & blow like a lightening
There grew a little tiny seed inside the sand
The wet, rainy, eroded sand gave a little light of life.
The patchwork of the untamed desert;
The cyclone doesn't last long, knew the desert;
Could it be more alluring & enduring?
Do you say no to a thunder storm on a desert?
The desert cooled and calmed.
The rays of hopes & the pointy days with blacky clouds
Cloude move but not the rain;
Everyday it rained; somedays were sunny;
Desert knew the rain will stop one day.
But it started believing that the rain will last.
On a day when the rain went to the deepest of the sands.
How could there be water on a unwatered area?
Melted the poor sunny day light desert.
Then the subsequent day it stopped raining suddenly;
It was all sunny, dry and hot again.
But it was not like the time before the cyclone.
There was wet in the deep sand.
There was a leefy seed with blossomed flower;
All of them in despair, in confusion, terror.
It was a catastrophe for the desert's soul.
The cyclone will never know what made this catastrophe;
For it never looked back at the desert's aftermath;
The desert got the new ray of acceptance;
It actually grew and groomed, made more of itself;
Spread more cacti, cactus & wildflowers;
It was dry on daylight & cool at night;
The stars & the sun grew brighter on the desert.
The desert started making more of sandstorms & laughed;
It was what it was & what it will be with or without the rain.
The desert know that now. It's a good thought;
The desert is overwhelmed with joy & happiness;
For it will find it's own companion one day who stays;
But the desert thought sometimes;
"one last time, will you rain again?"
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
The gracile figurine
bubblewraped in warmth:: protected
She is smoke in a midnight room
Defying
any fingerprints::: vulnerability, for her, a vile, repressive word
oh that visage
oh obfuscated view... sacrosanct shadow in the dark
Her
Lenticular frames
Sit wide-eyed, unwatered and
::unmoved::
cold victory of another day.
another inward, in-word retreat.
for her braille heart untouched
still she fears punctuation
Endings.
I guess for her it’s the thought of losing
hope
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Why does the wind howl so loudly
Why can't the moon talk back
To the lonely souls with tear stained faces
Why aren't the love letters in vintage stationary with ironic stamps and coffee stains returned
Why are novels abandoned and potted plants left unwatered?
Loneliness is universal, and the universe is a hell of a lonely place.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
You could say
That falling in love
Is an easy thing for me
Heart open
Arms outstretched
Stars in my eyes
My feeble heart
Was built
Around the hope
That one day
I'd find my one true love
And live a fairytale
Sweet and soft
But the plan was drawn
By a darker force
My love never comes
Like an unwatered flower
My heart whithers
It turns to dust
It's swept away
But still I'll lay her
In my bed
Waiting
For a candied letter
A sweet kiss
A gentle touch
A reason to live
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
this love is now & new & once again
stabbing @ me like durga-like diety
with sweet golden daggers
an essential togetherness
teasing out of these odd surroundings
I was listening to Jack Kerouac on the way
home in his mad
bop rhapsody apocalypse
streaming out my speakers
while familiar streets crawl past
once again
I'm thinking
as the day old glum spread over me
& out to envelop all I see
how little different to be watching
seeing street signs all opening
into cul-de-sacs and open storefronts
paraded in the endless traffic flow
now bent slow over
feeding my cat crab cakes
that my mother made
myow myow, he goes
& I acknowledge
myow myow, he goes
& I answer
what?
what in god's name is
the matter with you?
myow myow
his solemn reply
licking @ a piece of
exposed claw meat
nestled among old bits
of dry brown kibble
how about this soul?
how about this life?
this sickness?
how about this always seeking I?
how about he music of my mind
in untraceable car rides alone?
wherefore to I wander
ceaselessly in search of what
wonders where I might be
born on the road of least descent
cat paws, grabs @ bottle caps on
grained wood table
my media
fizzles & searchlights
in my window
there is something I'm not facing
something inescapable, my love
like you
born of locusts in the dust, my love
like you
my weary dune-mother
how solemn are the tunes that run
thy face, o' mother and thy will
how broken are the lines upon thine
shining brow in bedroom windows
open to the world like peace
stolen in the sad glance I gaze @ everything
stolen is the cup I fill @ leaking kitchen
sink pipe strands of scent or bark
of neighbor dogs amusing grass flow
weather flowers under well I'm never
knowing what--I never will
no matter, all is well
another's all is nothing now
where knock goes streaming
crashing loud
like anvils in the rain
it's only me
how now, my dear contender?
like a shadow fallen into sound
how now the planets unwatered?
how now the roots are killed?
we all inhabit the same fears
how rabbit hides his smear
to give me a surprise
for me, none so dear
than the mystery
& April dies today
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
The street named after the Spaniard who discovered the Pacific
The drive named after the Spaniard who conquered Mexico
The lane named after the Spaniard who blessed the Americas’ first Thanksgiving
Yielded enough rubber bands from newspapers
To twine a ball
Round enough
Bouncy enough
For a good game of stickball
Until the kid tasked
With finding rubber bands
From the circle named after the Spaniard who painted pictures
An oddball among all those adventurers
And a cluster of dwellings that didn’t subscribe
To rolls of paper
Hit it into the backyard with the dog on a chain
But fear kept us on a chain
As we stood over the rock wall
Looking for a manila spot
On unwatered St. Augustine
And spotting it
Disdaining it for
The angry barks
Bared teeth of the restrained beast
Letting it wait
For an archeologist centuries hence
(Maybe even a few decades from then)
To find it and marvel
“Even back then humans played games -- or so we assume --
With round objects.”
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 3:47 PM UTC
Flowers so rare and fine,
Missing from this dry world,
Lost, unwatered, unseen, yet
No ones and none despaired,
They then planted their garish
Seed in blot sun, most sodden,
Soppy soils sprayed which fell
On the plainest, most commoner
Grounds, such fertile dirt, wrought,
Then, all who came to view where
But gaggles of proud mediocrity
Who arrived to revel and preen,
Unjust, they remade this earth,
Once lively, to be lame, what
Celebrations they now need
What praises they do crave,
Sadly, they could not know,
A flower for the weeds.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I’ve made my mint from you by force feeding you fears,
you made it up to yourself by wasting my years.
The “what if’s,” “where at’s,” and questionable deeds,
self righteous as I am your good intentions are just unwatered, planted seeds.
You spun detailed, vivid plans to any and all who would listen,
but if we both worked so hard on ‘us’ why is it just my brow that glistens?
The history is our guide, our hope and a lesson used for learning,
you didn’t study, repeat offender as you set fire to your past, now burning.
Only ashes remain for me to sift through and ***** out,
you let your flame burn, ever so small - impossible to remove doubt.
Blackened, burned and now a soul too dark to leave,
the truth fought through and your intentions I couldn’t sieve.
We are now just the walking dead, “I care about you,” another lie that’s been fed.
Hold me while you hate everything that I love for,
trick my trust and lie for my lust, I can’t survive anymore.
I painted our picture with red lashes from this heart within,
I should have noticed when you cut all ties, it’s too late to try again.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
it's 2:56am, and I'm lying next to a stranger.
when the sun rises, I'll already be gone.
I'll have already climbed out of his bed,
found my clothes, tiptoed
to the front door, and vanished.
the house will be left exactly as it was.
his car will still be parked in the driveway.
the curtains will still be drawn.
the withering houseplant in his kitchen
will remain unwatered.
everything will be left untouched.
when I leave, it will appear
as if I had never been there at all.
but I was.
two weeks from now,
he won't remember my name.
he won't remember anything
besides the feeling of skin on skin,
of a warm body pressed up against his.
in his mind, I will have been
nothing more than another body.
I always imagined that going home
with a complete stranger would feel wrong,
would be terrifying, that not knowing
who is next to me when I am falling asleep
would be scary.
a few months ago, it was 2:56am
and I was lying next to a stranger.
this time, he wasn't a complete stranger.
this was not my first night with him,
far from it. I knew him. he knew me.
I wasn't gone when the sun rose
in the morning. the house was left
exactly as it was the night before.
the only difference was that this time,
I was still there.
two weeks after that night,
he would remember my name.
he would remember my laugh,
my freckles, my eyes
my voice when I was tired,
how I talked too fast
whenever I was excited,
the way that I looked at him
when I was in love.
and I would remember all
of those little things about him,
the same way he would remember
all of those little things about me.
I always imagined that sleeping next
to someone who I loved would feel safe,
would be comforting, that knowing the
person next to me when I am falling asleep
would be wonderful.
for the most part, my imagination
wasn't incorrect. I was right when I pictured
how incredible sleeping next to
someone who I loved would feel.
I was right when I pictured how frightening
sleeping next to someone
who I didn't know would feel.
I was right about most of it.
but I was wrong about one thing.
while lying in a bed at 2:56am,
I realized that the memory
of sleeping with a complete stranger
hurt far less than the memory
of sleeping with someone
who I once thought I knew.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
1.
"In the future," she said,
"you'll see something similar,
a group of twenty-something-year-olds talking,
and think of your past self as sweet."
If this is true,
what, then, will I have lost?
2.
I sometimes dream of a flawless garden
emptied of philosophies,
all flowering assured.
Finding myself back there someday,
will it be the same
though I'll only see
the unwatered bits baking in open sun,
the unlocked, rusting gate
the gardener – drunk on the job – left open?
3.
I resent what she said.
It suggests
that the older I get,
the less I'll see
of an increasingly disliked present,
and I can't dislike the present;
it's all that's ever here, there,
anywhere.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
.
Flowers so rare and fine,
Missing from this dry world,
Lost, unwatered, unseen, yet
No ones and none despaired,
They then planted their garish
Seed in blot sun, most sodden,
Soppy soils sprayed which fell
On the plainest, most commoner
Grounds, such fertile dirt, wrought,
Then, all who came to view where
But gaggles of proud mediocrity
Who arrived to revel and preen,
Unjust, they remade this earth,
Once lively, to be lame, what
Celebrations they now need
What praises they do crave,
Sadly, they could not know,
A flower for the weeds.
.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
*“But nobody really cares about how a poem has done! The only thing worth talking about is
what is the next poem”*
<>
how brief are these pleasures
that are oft tendered to our senses,
sunrise, sunset, eclipses
all ****** too quick,
yes,
a slow read, a leisurely walk amid
the bombast of colors falling extraordinaire
even the denuded trees
are blinked away too easy,
even though they longer linger,
our body clocks knowingly admits
that even the still of snow covered lands
or the blanketing grating grays
of a Midwest Great Lakes winter sky
goes on and on
too **** long,
they too to can be, are,
imagined away without too much difficulty
so too,
the next poem
can be hounding incessantly, crying out for
your undivided-under-god,
for attention to be paid
and paid again
but more likely
be a desert away of unwatered vast eternal spaces, and inspiration is only a mirage
that searingly teasing you for relief
from can’t get go satisfaction
for that next poem
is perpetually around the
next corner,
moving faster than your heart’s beating,
the words that need believing,
need bleeding for
they come at great cost,
never simple, never flawless,
just raw unpolished
that is always the
next poem
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 7:46 AM UTC
i come to you half mad with desire
my *** turned to sacrifice;
starved, like an Unwatered flower,
A wretched *****
A sacred **********
A temple of worship,
Do you remember How you created me?
In A sort of Rebirth, out of the carcass I once was
Aching to be consumed
All my flesh and bones and sinews,
Stripped away.
Now, just the soft dew of our skin,
The clear thickened air dressed in fire
Smoked by the scents of sage and salt
evoking numberless poems
For me to swim through your body
back and forth in a sacred liturgy
Bloodied and purified I am Laid bare before you now
amidst The white sheets of the alter
A purity of sin almost worthy of worship,
almost crying out the holiness of lust before the gods.
And Our velvet kiss turning to a midnight confession
all of our vices and virtues
Are as blood and as sky.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 10:20 AM UTC
Our odd tale is set in the Old Wild West
Where stories like this are imparted the best
It tells of the feud of two bitter old men
Who argued quite often and fought now and then.
The fact of the matter is that each had a ranch
And running between was a large river branch
Each claimed the river to be just his alone
They argued the point right down to the bone.
Family members were brought into the fight
Over the years shots were fired left and right
Amazingly no one on either side died
Goodness knows some of the best shooters tried.
Then one day against the family wishes of both
A man and woman from each side did betroth
As they loved despite anger that they had both known
Into each other's loving arms they had each flown.
They married in secret and needed a home
A small ranch was for sale where cattle could roam
So the new couple bought it and opened their ranch
It was just at the head of the large river branch.
And then dammed up the river and halted its flow
The ranches below had nowhere else to go
But they said to his parents and also to hers
"Unwatered cattle - or fighting! What's worse?"
At long last after dozens of years in a fight
Someone had seen sense and had some insight
And had forced the old rivals to both compromise
Grandchildren, not fighting each other - the prize!
©Joe Wilson - Bashing heads...2014
A fun story about the value of compromise, and the value of water.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
If roses grew too tall for soil unwatered,
And your buds bloomed far above the clouds
I let my leaves crinkle
And hope that one day soon
I may sprout a bit higher,
But never quite high enough to meet you.
Maybe I’ll even get a drop of water
Falling from your ivy leaves
Or a glimpse of the sun
Peeked between your petals.
Casting a red glow upon my own
Dull stem.
If roses grew too tall for soil unwatered,
And your buds bloomed far above the clouds,
I bask in your vibrant shadow,
And consider it an honor
To grow alongside you.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
in love most with you
in the morning
the smell of alive, heat in your hair
divine in this divine & cannot be forgotten
while this white light blinds lines finding lies in our steps toward each other, wondering
am I moving close or forward
I cannot tell
and this whole time, they were my eyes
and here, and you
a dry spell of quiet
your breathing
aware of everything and something
I see her face in my sleep in her bed
I am the body
she is the thing
sweat and closeness
closeness and sleep
something to have before coffee
closed mouth somehow
consuming all of this
it is a different sort
you my love and me
a girl
and I don't get to keep that
or holidays, oh lord
drowning in pages of worth
coming from, ink-less pens
slicing, ******* slicing white sheets
handing you a different line of wounds
right before the blood dries
before my cells give up
tomorrow, don't take this from me
today was over before yesterday
my shoes are bigger than your feet but if you put them on you might see how I run to you
love as a box
bound to age me faster than any unwatered rose.
from red to brown, and brown to forgotten on this calendar made of you & your making time for it
hanging upside, hanging on
having me count down seconds like an acrobat
catch me
but your arms are full
I say carry more
you say I love you
in their bed
I say sunrises are beautiful and yet fire destroys just as faith does in things that were never mine
I'm borrowing your hands for a week
trying to
stop
torturing myself
but you
the whip
me the body
you the lips
me the body
you the grip
me the blood
the colors you dipped in to rouse
I'm going, dying everyday
and she is coming home
I broke the moment I pulled the trigger
wanting a hole
I broke when my tongue found your tumors and your teeth found my love for you buried under blankets that needed to be changed
I haven't forgotten my name
every time you say it
it is only said, and I wonder if you meant to
swallow me like otherwise
that I might die and come back your favorite
spot on the couch
having to give it up to maybe
having the right to choose.
I am choosing not to
because my name is Elizabeth
I am she
& not her
the vase is her
I am the flowers
picked and replaced
you will refill her
you are the water
you are the lion & the horse
& I'm losing my hope in
forgetting your ribs in the kitchen
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
For the aching hearts left wordless with no voice,
For the early morning hours, dark, promising to break,
For the flowers left unwatered, but not faded all the way,
For the young and hopeful, for those innocent in faith,
For the ageless, be they pages, names or graves,
For the smell of wet earth on any undiscovered shore,
For the babes born today and their grandchildren tomorrow,
For those capable of leading and those content to follow,
For the memories of the faces and the footsteps and the battles and the joy.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
Pain for me is a cracked vase
It holds dead unwatered flowers.
The flowers were vibrant now they’re faded
Jaded and deflated
One crack lets out water and pain floods into me
sensitive souls suffer silently and experience pain profoundly.
I wanted happiness but got pain and accepted that as an extension of life.
Jun 10, 2022
Jun 10, 2022 at 12:32 PM UTC
I was torn apart as a child.
My fragmented pieces grew like weeds, unwatered, unwanted.
I was unwanted as a teenager.
My identity is what made my mother cry, revolted, restless.
I am restless as an adult.
My anger is what keeps me up at night, terrified, torn apart.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 7:45 PM UTC
being driven off a cliff isn’t too bad
other than the cold breeze
and that song that ended too soon
the butterflies even eventually fade
but man, let me tell you about the view
clouds danced with the horizon
the setting sun peaked through
Bob Ross would’ve envied my last adieu
sea gulls hovering
waves crashed over dunes
ocean mist floating freely
my head was stuck on stupid ****
bills unpaid
plants unwatered
I wondered what you’d assume
You'd search for something rational
Maybe a faulty barricade
or a curve that I hit too soon
positive I had been a little reckless
in fact those are partially true
I don’t know how to tell you
the real answer was you
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
Eyes searching desperately for answers I do not have
I cannot give,
Won't give.
The resonance of pain too much
Can't filter it,
Even endurance groans heavily at the need to press on
Illusions cast shadows all the time
You pick the ones you want,
Like,
Desperately need.
You believe them,
Questioning them gently,
till you fool yourself with plausible reasons.
You won't go to the core,
You're afraid of what lives there.
Taunting with its pretty whitewashed name
Nightmares parading as daydreams
Its the perfect master of deception
No one escapes it
It knows you so intricately,
Where every seed of doubt remains unwatered
twisting every nerve given to compulsion,
Deftly it hides you amongst the comfortable lies.
Applause,
Bravo,
A standing ovation
The illusuionst,
every slight of mind, sheer perfection!
What need is there of our pretty sunbleached truth
When you are your own masterful pretty little liar.
Now look what you've done,
Made your cake of clotted fears and twisted fruits
A recipe for disaster
Shhhh,
Mastermind of the tears of one.
Has a nice ring to it,
Don't you think?
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
(1)
My heart fell into his hands
That bright September morning
(17)
Wild flowers bloom in my chest
As he stares from across the room
(76)
I always loved how you always finished my sentences
(And I love you t-)
(210)
His eyes lit up brighter than the galaxy
And I shut my eyes tight
To prove to myself
I am the only supernova in his eyes
(308)
Day seemed to shift too quickly
Into night
Where the stars are masked by the
Impeding clouds
(501)
He left the lights on and the flowers unwatered
(634)
He said he could live without me
Yet
He's still breathing while I drown
(789)
You are in my heart
But I am not in yours
(901)
Weeds weaved in the crevice of my bones
2:31 stays by my side
(1,105)
Time no longer stands still when he looks over me
Whispering his perpetual love
(1,256)
He brings me flowers to prove the pain behind his smile is inexistent
(1,427)
How could I have fallen in love with a boy who
Could never have the capacity to love me, too
(1,582)
He tells me how much better I could be without him
Yet these last one thousand five hundred and eighty two days
All I crave is you
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
After you
I became a graveyard
Full of memories
No one else wanted to visit
In an unused plot of land
There is an unwatered flower bed
In another there is a broken headstone
That looks like a shattered mirror
Unanswered questions float around with no place to rest
And every night when the sun sets I want you to return
I want you to come and see
That without you there is nothing left
Without you
Every embrace will be bereft
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 2:51 PM UTC