"unwitnessed" poems
Ganges, dawn, a luminous haze
over the water. The bathing ghats
are busy with the faithful. (But India
is inconceivable without faith.)
The robed bathers, raising river water
to the sun, pouring it back
to mother Ganges, are they worshipping
the sun or the river?
For them God is everywhere
and everything. Water, sun,
the river and the twinkling lamps floating on it
are part of one consciousness.
The burning ghats too (such quantities of wood
stacked ready) are beginning their day.
The funeral party approaching in respectful haste
have a job to do. They build their pile,
move the body to the wood,
start the fire. I watch, but not for long.
This moment, so intimate, so public, reminds me
I am an intruder here. The ashes
will return to Ganga unwitnessed by me.
Away from the river, the vendors of tea
do their trade among the stalls. Monkeys,
cheerfully pilfering, are chased away
half-heartedly, for they are Hanuman’s representatives,
and they, with the sacred, garbage-clearing cows,
are part of the one consciousness. In this land
all are “the faithful”, everything is God’s creation.
In this poverty is richness.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
The city is loud with chimneys,
bristling with dimpled sky dishes,
afloat in a dammed lake of sunset fenestration,
beneath unwitnessed, unappreciated clouds,
its streets a grid of flowless canals,
to the music of "Hey, mister, got any change?"
Oh,
but,
when the lights go down,
and the pretty people come out!
and the beef bouncers sort snort the buzzing sequin queen queues
for the sparkle dance houses,
the city,
the city,
can one ever get enough?
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC
Precise scaffold silhouette
slants sharply across smoothed
cement. Narrow shadow shaft bisects
unfinished window, points
toward glowing sunlit
sliver of grey wall. Mundane
beauty, workday
glory unwitnessed.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
There are no pictures of the forgotten child
just second hand memories
of a police station handmedown
and too many mothers.
There are no echoes of my smile to be found in family albums
No book to lovingly hold the dates of firsts unwitnessed by love.
Yellowed paper bears witness to my existence, a name given, typed above that of an unknown Father and a mother too new to bear my needs.
There are no tales of first days and birthdays, no tears of joy at my arrival, nor at my loss.
Just me, a girl with no past and a stolen future, screaming at shadows while clutching at straws, hoping that someday my face will be reflected by that which I did not create.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
Girl, it is summer in just a few months.
Springtime -a newborn that screams.
World will be warmer with wildness in hunt.
Winds wave away winter dreams.
Girl, we could sleep just as normal would be.
Awaken when sun chases moon.
But baby tonight, let's get lost in the night,
Let's get dressed, see the sun's setting soon.
Boy, you will say, *not a scene have I seen
That scares me and still owns my eyes
The way this is cut from the textile of dreams,
You were right; I did not realize.*
You'll see elk in the moonlight; not sensing us there,
Bats between branches in dance.
All playing near to the river down here,
Like some unwitnessed rural romance.
But more than the Wild, there are mysteries still,
Of nature beyond what we know.
Of trolls and of elves and of creatures that will
Only let nighttime them show.
Let's get lost in the woods, find our animal roots,
I will go there with you if you might. By
When Sun lights her flame, we will not be the same.
Let's get lost in the woods tonight.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Each twilight goes unwitnessed
I haven’t had a meaningful conversation in years
And as the hours pass between waking and dying
I scarcely feel emotion, I scarcely know life
I can’t remember what I did a week ago
But likely it was unremarkable
And the week before that I might have tossed a ball
Although that seems too recent
Things are harder now, despite the congruence
I could be doing those same things
Without knowing it
And each fetch is like an unanswered question
Soothing, in its clumsy forthrightness
The slope of my yard, dramatically subtle
I assume the sky’s above me as I bend
Here is the ball, I’m picking it up
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
Golden strokes and purple haze,
Rusted spots dropped here and there,
Patterns in a silky maze,
Buried treasures everywhere,
Strange, as they begin to turn,
To a golden purple hue,
The strokes begin to dance and swirl,
Led by winds into the blue,
As the pair spins around,
Trails of gold it leaves behind,
Covering, not just the ground,
But whatever springs to mind.
A thousand tweets are flapping wings,
Aimless float above the pools,
Reduced to silence stand the kings,
A theater, with empty stools.
Let the frozen liquid diamonds,
Wrap in sleep the worldly stage,
Covering the sea and islands,
Everything's one big white page.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
~for betterdays, and all Aussies~
the fires massifs all around, the smokes surrounds,
the house invaded with closed-out-of-college students,
mother and father who are similarly workless, a fire bounty,
all this a treat to an nine year old (no school) boy and his dog
newly self-appointed ringleader, the little boy,
in his fire heaven, with a gang to command, to entertain,
some adults, silly college students, who don’t know “no,”
when he says this is the game we are playing next
this vignette, is not a Manhattan variety^
but an insight story heard, unwitnessed, but of
those who tell the tale, unwittingly, of finding small joys
amidst sky-full clouds, all grayed bunting of burning stink
few wiser than my old, tired and smokey clouded eyes,
though, one yet detects those who are truly not lost,
those who are found, and those who will find them all,
and lead them to the safest places inside themselves
and my heart and brain, at last in unison,
forgives the restless adults who with grownup worries,
yet can! just barely detect those mini joy-rivulets among the whiffs
of destruction and bravery, losses and new hands extended
So I ask, Mum, what game shall we play next?
Perhaps, Noah’s Ark?
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 3:21 PM UTC
<>
the wee little ones cry out loudest
fearful of being dying unnoticed
for they're not the stoutest
or profoundest
*“we’re always among the forgot,
for we come so quick, oft left to rot,
as you street walk in the early morn
composing on and on and on
and our
sweet little rhymes, smaller than a dime,
oft arrive as twins or even triplets,
so fast and so furious,
they go unwitnessed
so we can’t be recalled,
stillbirthed, unborn,
therefore
we’ve decided to take you hostage,
treatied with your leggings,
no home return permitting
!
until we are recorded,
and given up for adoption”*
P. S.
how do ya like them shorties now?
Oct 4, 2024
Oct 4, 2024 at 7:41 AM UTC
If a tree falls in the forest
And no one is around to hear it
Does it make a sound
If a gun goes crack in the night
A soul leaves a body limp
Did anyone care enough to see it
If a young man dies alone in a desert
And no one's back home to fear it
Does anyone care
If a little girl falls in a pool
But mommy never came home
Does she still get a head stone
If a man dies in a crowd
But noone looks up from thier phone
Wasnt he also alone
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC
I want to marry you.
Not in the way it's so common these days, I mean marry as in;
I will care about everything,
the good things, the bad things,
the terrible things, the mundane things all of it, every hour, every minute, every second, of every day.
I'm saying your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it.
I'm saying your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness.
Eden or Armageddon do us part.
Untill our hugs take us to an infinite.
Untill the lining of your throat memorizes every vein,
Unit my tongue knows only the taste of your trembling lips.
I will tear down every wall between us be it gold of silver,
Be it Man , Woman or Beast alike.
The pain of losing is awakened a hunger
I will pry you from the family that's not me and make you mine.
Think I'm delusional?
(with absolute resolve and silent anger)
I WILL BE YOUR WITNESS.
TRY ME!
Jun 28, 2025
Jun 28, 2025 at 4:27 AM UTC
Not quite sure
How we
Ended up
Without clothes
I hold you
My chest to your
Back
Eyes interlocked
In mirror
I help myself
To your every
Treasure
You try to close
Your eyes
But we are too
Beautiful
To be
Unwitnessed
You lean an ocean
Of raven hair
Against my
Face
And whisper
The Devil's honest
Truth: *Everything
You see
Is
Yours*
I
Know
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
Every movement
Every twitching
Every bruise and
Every blister
The dark fine line
My blood glistens
In the moonlight
Ain’t it twisted?
Every vision
Black and blue, I’m
Used, abused, Crime
To suicide
Every sharp sur-
Face of the knives
Every blunt hammerhead
That I’ve tried
‘Fore they knew I’m
Painting pictures
Inhumane crimes
Still unwitnessed
Going through, I’m
Thorough, twisted
Me beyond recognition
Ain’t it vicious?
I deserve hurt
I deserve pain
I deserve work
I deserve strain
Self-starvation
Unsatisfactory
Tainted believes
I become feign
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 4:41 PM UTC
Out of all the living things that are alive on this planet, I believe that the true witnesses of love were the trees that root the earth. In the history of the world, you will always see one growing tall and strong. And if you don't see one growing, then you'd find yourself unwitnessed of your love. For in the trees were carvings of every movement of the wind, sun and rain. Markings of wars that fought for love, and names of people who fought with love. The trees were there to witness love through the air, for every moment the air becomes wind was a moment that love was being felt. Maybe, when we cut a tree, maybe we should first think of the love it witnessed. For every tree that's cut, believe that it once saw and felt love. Whether it was plant or animal, human or God. It was there to witness love.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC