"unwavered" poems
An absence reversed
Beheld
Belonging
Fuming lush greenery seemingly
Between the frothing
Soup and lather twinkling
Speaking
"Tradition may act dishonestly"
All and sundry
Trails along merrily
For traditionally
All is how it should be
Belonging to one and only.
Binding
A trade between the thin lines
A baking sheet made sprayed messy
Artists in threes
Shakers of mountains for invisible ease
The truth is simply
Things done traditionally
All-in consuming historically.
Flesh
Released
Is fresh
Relief
Hidden in the fabric's sleeve
A gaping passage of air and breeze
Racing electricity
Breathtaking silk from worms
And worms eaten by birds
Tradition
Sewing the dresses of Empress the third.
Halt
Her plea worth salt and sugar
Still
Like the skater's
Minted odour
Hope
Distances the valleys low dipped to the everlasted rivers
Where a time arrives for eternal celebration.
The embellishments of
Unwavered tradition.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
Necklace of rope around your neck,
Cold sparkled your tears,
Mingling in our kisses,
Drawing out fears.
Blood crows' broken beak,
Moonlight mourning the free.
Your glimm'ring eyes,
'Ere eve of death,
Last thing mine heart aches to see.
Strange things happen here,
Under the Hanging Tree.
*"String me up!
Lest apartheid influence separation,
String me up love!
Sing me songs of silence, kiss away segregation!"*
My voice unwavered,
Decaying church bell tolling twelve,
Cold, cracked fingers fumbling rope.
Moon lighting the way,
The wind whispering,"hopeless,"
Frigid lies hope.
Shuffling of feet in the woods,
Edge of moonlight creatures stood,
Watching the Hanging tree,
Where the dead told his love to flee.
-Firefly
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
For Jay - whose light never ceases to shine.
Wounded with darkness
he reflects each light
like a diamond, they say
Oh, what a sight!
He trots down with his black shield
And blunt daggers on his face
He smiles
With such kindness; with such grace
The Man with The Black Shield;
Alas - he's taken a wound to the chest!
He sends shivers to monads
"Hence!, she says, "let him rest!"
The Man's breaths were long -
And unwavered -
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
you place me on your shelf
right next to all the rest,
a commodity priced according
to which and whom are best.
you shove me to the back
so others may not see
the person who would sit
and reclaim you piece by piece.
I am a bitterness unwavered by the winds
I am an ice storm unstoppable in its onslaught
I am a tornado festering on the countryside
You are a man made up of
turned shoulders and lowered eyes,
a man who would much rather store things
than to see them in use.
Your fingers may peruse
the cylinders of my being,
it may be graced by
the loveliness of your cold touch.
However it is fleeting,
and I grow cold from disuse.
I am the item on your shelf
I am the mirror casually ignored
I am the gramophone screaming its discordant hymn
I am the void rearing its sickening maw,
waiting and watching for my prey
to wander helplessly into my gaping esophagus
I am the bat wing, leathery and clinging
to the cartilage of the world.
I am the item on the shelf,
high above the world,
looking down onto the ants
who scurry and shimmy to try to ascend.
They will not ascend
because God didn't make ants in order to fly.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Connection comforts us with a warm sense of familiarity,
a piece of home we look to find and know,
in all of these reflective eyes that stand before us.
Some have searched their entire lives,
as though a sea of people have moved through them
because this constant searching for completion in another is a set up
for heartbreak if we can never truly dwell within our own flow.
If we believe another is all we need to make us feel
we will always be looking with eyes that forget how to close.
This love shall be false
nullified by our own lack of wholeness.
I´ve felt angry,
betrayed and hurt within the seas of such love.
All this unnecessary aching due to my own foolishness,
We are the only ones who make ourselves suffer.
We betray ourselves through a lack of self love,
through our own sense of incompletion.
Because I no longer know the meaning of lonely.
Just uncontained with all the love inside of me
unfulfilled by the door un-opened from within.
It´s our choice
we decide to not feel.
Many times I was foolish,
believing love had given me up,
resigned and blew away
just like the echo that journeys
when the wind moves in the trees.
Those winds carried many of my ideals
and I was just yet to open to this unlimited supply
not matter what or who goes by...
I hadn´t noticed until I closed my eyes
that Love stood unwavered
just waiting for me to re-open to myself.
The branches may´ve altered
leaves certainly died,
re-gathered
re-grew
but my trunk
always my core.
As Love is a door
that´s opened from within
and then lends it´s opening
to be explored
to be entered
with you.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Was out past Southend,
about eleven thirty five,
Saw a whole troop of girls,
dancing very much alive;
I struggled to my feet,
slapped a smile across my face,
Turned my sallow gaze
toward their alcoholic grace.
I said "evening ladies," and
I just tipped my hat, but
Hell, no sorry luck for this
shabby-legged cat. They ascer-
Tained a certain thought and
laughed into the night,
Quite the effervescent attitude
for the solemn moonlight. So with no
Pennies in my cap despite my
earnest little ditty, I just got
Right back on the train and rode it
straight into the city.
The conductor with his cyanide in
silver coated capsules, takes a
Tricolor mandolin and
plays it to relax you. A
Beggar on the chairs emitting
insight by the glass, and a
Banker saying prayers for our
little midnight mass. Be-
Spoke attire from far away to
dress your tired frame, and a
Medal and a badge with which to
decorate your name.
Tracks of steel and sterling pounds to
take you where you please, with
Speed unwavered, flying through with
masochistic ease. I got my
Map and made it through, to
Angel up on high,
Got off the train in pouring rain,
with nurses passing by.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 5:13 PM UTC
I was once alone in triumph
An emotion unwavered by my poise
Balance was never something
We adhered to
If I could reach into your calloused heart
I think there’d be no disconnect
To why we felt so tied
to the same bloodline.
And I’ve been unwell
For too long now.
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 11:07 AM UTC
Powerful women attract me.
Not because of how they look,
But because of the fire in their eyes.
Because they stand up for what's right.
Powerful women are what the world needs.
Capable, willful, fearless
In the eyes of the immorality, they contest.
Beautiful, these women stand strong.
Not for doing no wrong.
Not for pretty eyes or silky hair, flowing long.
Beautiful are they because they stay.
Unwavered by society's foul array
Of misdeeds and Man's greed.
If only the world, their beauty could see.
As I see.
Those graceful gladiators.
Fighting, with subtle pride, with unsurpassed bravery.
Fighting to save what's left of humanity.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
don't let the world change the way you think
but make contributions to the world
make people believe in something
whether a god or a diety
(oh what irony
to stay unwavered
but stumble a weaker link)
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
don't be afraid
to bleed brains on paper
to plead pains unwavered
string sounds slowly
string sounds quickly
do so daringly
rhyme no caringly
do not balk upon the blind eyed judge judging unwonted
spray inky gouts
dare defy doubt
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
I'm not gonna go insane
Although sometimes I can't promise that I won't
The clock on the living room wall has never bothered me until I noticed the relentless noise it projects
The first tick u hear the harder it is not to anticipate the rest in high quality exasperation
It mocks ur mind and makes u cringe
The constant ticking is equivalent to an insanity filled syringe-
The worst poison of all
-But I'm not gonna go insane
Life's schedule works like clock work
Nothing ever changes
Each second follows just like the last
Each day fresh and crisp with unwavered blandness
And there is nothing I hate more than consisitency --
But don't worry I'm not gonna go insane
Each day is followed just like the last
With a strict schedule layed upon your desk on shown on your lap
Weather is predicted,so is this game
But really trust me Im not gonna go insane
Oh who am I kidding
I'm teetering towards crazy
The fixed ticking is too much
But I don't want to be a victim of familiarity
Promise me one thing
Before that ever happens
Make sure my life was lived unanticipated
Like a clock stutter
Or an unexpected storm
A broken pendulum
Id rather die young
Then sell my soul to a life full of deja vus
**** me with suspense
**** me with adventure
**** me with spontaneity
But for Gods sake don't **** me with repetition*
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
There is a duality in this existence
there is a part we play no role in
There are spaces we could and would never fit into.
But we are here
& there is no going back
There is only this time that stands now
& possibly the day after that.
Still, there is an aching radiant lining in all of us, the moment of.
Let's be here unwavered & unafraid,
carving heirlooms for ghosts
for a future, we will never exist in.
Tumbling like sand cathedrals
We will float together
maybe.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 4:56 AM UTC
The performances gone,
all memory survives
A spirit most willing,
whose body still tries
All motion much slower,
directed regret
Intention unwavered,
—times ravage beset
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
In the heart of the evening,
Alone but for the passive hum of the fridge,
Waiting for the creeping force of fatigue
To press down upon my eyes.
He comes each night to interrupt,
To steal away my hours that march on unwavered,
And pass by without interest
In a solitary sleeping girl.
And from Him, She takes my limp body,
To sweeten the inescapable emptiness,
With promises, tales and memories
Crafted from my own
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 7:57 AM UTC