"unwoken" poems
Michael Louviere was a man of the people,
Who held in his hand a book of the law,
And outside his belt a gun for his safety,
But never would he have used it for ******
I'm told he helped many but never killed any,
But Sylvester Holt did not believe it,
He said the actions of one create a whole guilty people,
And he took the matters into his own hands,
And killed poor young Michael for serving his people.
So I'm sorry young man, you been born with white skin,
In a world with the permissions to ****** and to maim,
But just to have freedom depends on your name,
But if you think its good I suppose ill let you,
Work for a cause that is just out to get you,
And keeping in line with the others before him,
Sylvester took the bait and the hook nearly gored him,
But the worm could've lived it was just his misfortune.
Sylvester laid down with a bullet in his chest,
And the gun in his hand had a burning hot barrel,
He assumed death was better than life and life only,
But in his last second he pulled out a small knife,
And cut in his gun small violent furrow,
It was then that he realized this all wasn't worth it,
He saw those two notches and handed himself in,
To a lifetime of no pain and and unwoken rest.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
Here lies the grave
Of an unknown hero
Fighting for his country
he lies cold and tired.
A single shot fired
straight to his heart
Blasting him through time
into an unknown place
a frustrating place of nothing
A place where poppies grow
and a field of dreams.
Unwoken dreams,
never ending, but for a poppy.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
"The Scent of Spinning"
Following the curve of your neck in the dark.
Watching your eyes close in slow motion as I slow my motion.
The smell of your bare skin sends me spinning,
rendering me helpless into your fold.
Time slows the flows of sweet smelling wine down your neck line.
Tracing soft lines down your back, our eyes close.
Excesses of ecstasy rekindling even the cinder within our beating hearts.
Clinging to the start of each new moment, we slowly roll and fold together.
The scented potion of sweet devotion renders quiet all but steady motion like slow ocean waves.
Laws of science, all broken.
Jaws are silenced, none is spoken.
Embraced in compliance, a dream unwoken.
The hour after you're gone,
reminiscent hints of you scent linger on.
Again I descend into a hypnotic slumber,
sent spinning by the scent of your bare skin.
R. Craig David-Copyrighted 2002
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
life and its glitters, the boredoms that seek to write
the inspirations of death with its healing joys
and life with its uttermost sorrows
i, a fractured sky, disinclined to move,
divorced from shadow and voice
unwoken by the mild pull of the earth
an old romance of ears and eyes, yellow and round,
heavens-hopes the goals of a lifetime
waiting innocently for the rain.
i waited and the shadows of the earth
grew long until they were armies
sleeping near the bleached rocks
believing they were the blanketing dark,
breathing beside autumn’s haikus of
slumber the sharp fall of love, the
intense tide of low grass and high wall.
dreams rushing like princely streams
a beginning of clouds, clouds of black air
sweeping clear, like valleys of the wild
a wilderness so tender it could speak,
where the mighty waves froze the shore-line
with the hints of winter's first kiss
and the magics of the stars cried into fire,
not knowing the flower-beds or the laughter
or the crazy tears of a humble man.
love poured sapphires from its streams
glass-houses of light, where the oceany
air believed in vertical caves, monstrous
caverns of hopes and dreams, marble
statues with broken jaws, unearthly
branches that rose like strange trees
combing the wind into tangles of tide,
hollow night, with its breathing and
mights, its desires, its poetry of mind.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
When the day blooms and the light streams
Through the handcarved cracks
Of consciousness it inspires infinity.
The boundless light and undiscovered
Colours of the morning draw even
The birds to serenading, for the
First time, and for the hundredth.
I feel as if I am breathing sunlight.
As if I could raise my hand and weave
The wisps of clouds between my fingertips,
As simply as I lie here on the ground.
It is easier to dream when the sun shines.
At times like this I like to live in daydreams.
I like to dream myself into possibilities
As yet unsubstantial, even previously
Unthought of. I like to be unmade, unwoken,
Confidently lost amongst the scenes of
My mind's creation.
In the labyrinth I can find confusions,
Emotions, revelations unexpected.
But I always find hope.
A hope that keeps the sun shining.
And when days grow dull and wintry,
Spring blooms behind my eyes
As daisy petals and puppy ears
Melt through the rusted lock of memory.
To place me barefoot in the grass
On an immortal sunny day.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
tippity tippity tap
tap tap tippity tap
tippity tap tap tap
And
stop.
This is not it.
This is not art,
this is no way for me to start.
This glowing screen
this cold machine
can never catalyze my dreams into
communication
conversation
or fire my
imagination (nor can
The mincing of a pen
across neat lines). Writing only hurts my hand.
And so,
I stand.
Re-align the ol’ synapses
Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses!
And THERE,
Planet Earth, with a grin, says,
“I dare you! Throw form to the winds!” And I,
I want to blast my words from the sky
with a big, black blunderbuss,
scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven!
I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit,
Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme
I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea
Hold them, know them, set them free!
I want my similes to flatten me
Like rhinos on the rampage
Tell me your stories, in everything you do
Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre
And dance your poems as the flames leap higher!
I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet!
I do not want to be neat.
To tether in letters,
To file for forgetters.
Words on a page are birds in a cage,
Poetry unspoken
Life, unwoken.
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
The nights are cold
and the days,
they are long.
Another sleepless night,
wondering what went wrong.
And my thoughts,
they whisper to each other
constantly, keeping me awake
as I lie in bed.
Over and over,
a cacophony of confusion
let loose
inside my weary head.
For the problem lies not
with words misused
or words misread,
but with the ones which
were more than often unheard,
and much too often unsaid.
The words are again unspoken; the feelings,
repressed, and unwoken.
I am left broken.
Shackled
and caged behind the bars I've made
for myself.
Down.
Down.
Down, I am laid.
And as the days becomes long, the nights grow colder
and every waking moment I grow
just a little bit older.
A familiar darkness comes,
creeping closer.
A harrowing feeling thaws through me.
Tapping a touch upon my shoulder.
It wears a dark cloak and holds a scythe.
It offers, like many times before
to release me from this life.
But not just yet.
For now,
the noose hangs loose.
And my wrists covered.
And the sea waves silenced
and those thoughts smothered,
just for now.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
Share with me Cherie
The life you left unwoken
Asleep under ice
Send me your sweet heart
Riddled with self-inflicted
Knife wounds I may mend
I feel in your words
In your thoughts the flesh you sear
In hope of sealing
And hiding the pain
Of existence without love
Living from below
You are not alone
Cherie do not
Be afraid
Cherie please
Do not wait
For me
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
In mornings unwoken
A turn toward the sleeper
And presentations to eyes that will not open
Nor see to the chesty howling
Nor a smile shared on skin and other spaces
Tied to the arms moving violations
And subliminals creeping upon you through slats of sunlight and shaking eyelashes.
Dust that’s formed in the folding where the nose shades seep into blood vessels store the dreams nodding at coming days.
Bullet holes admired by tourists, defunct airports admired by tourists and the flashing bulbs which used to carry them away,
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
Always gestured, never spoken.
Left to dream, alone unwoken.
Finally together, this love will last!
Much effort and time, did not come fast.
Dreary day, soft slumber I make,
But what just happened, was I awake?
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
a moment.
A small and subtle
moment
in the early hours of daybreak,
where unwoken minds drift between
the real and unreal, eyes flutter
open/closed and semi-lunar valves
bang, open/closed and make a tiny,
tiny racket. A din so quiet;
to be sat a foot away would
lose it amid the noises of
the heaving of unconscious lungs. This is our moment.
There is a moment
in the early hours. For one half second
he remembers you are there
and pulls you closer.
All worthless notions of yourself forgotten,
you just exist on this small island
drifting on the bedroom waters --
in your head there are no people,
cars or towns. In your head there is just this.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
Made from lust and greed
How can a memory continue to bleed
Swimming in saddness
Treading dead waters
Drowning again in the depths of your sorrow
Frowning again taking steps towards tomorrow
Wondering now just what is the point
Pondering how I sit at the brink
Ice cubes and a cylinder glass
Miscues and a dwindlers past
Wash them away 100s proof
Slosh them and stay, a bundles a spoof
Mere sight lost and all blurry
Clear as night I'm crossed all slurry
Saying thoughts with no worn remorse
Praying clots a lost souls torn corpse
Suicide always is calling my number
Aside the hallways balling my slumber
An unwoken home build on ashes
By an unspoken poem with blood stained clashes
The pictures are burnt and the pages torn
The scars still hurt a broken heart will never learn
Scream in silence at the voices to come
Dream in violence it's the choices your numb
Venture off in your personal hell
Knowing it's your own mind does you well
Swallow it down and accept your fate
Close your eyes and close the gate
Close the gate on the house you can't escape
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
You don’t know what it is to have and to hold,
from this day forward,
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
You don’t know what it is
to love and to cherish,
till death do us part,
according to God's holy ordinance;
and thereto I do not pledge thee
my faith
And/Or
pledge myself to you."
Signed: Your unlawfully almost partner for life
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
I miss you,
I hope for you
someday to return embraced in my
arms of chicken wire,
brittle in this cool breeze blowing across
cracked earth that surrounds me, grey,
the only precipitant;
drops of suspiration from my eyes.
My world skips to slow motion
as I observe with the eyes
of a million unwoken promises,
and it hits the ground,
each drop splattering like a cloud devoured in a
pool of flies.
My body yearns, it aches for you
like a honey suckle longs to be
plucked,
torn in half
licked clean
by the tongue,
moist with desire,
that makes it home in the preoccupied body that will soon discard it,
barely noticed by the taste buds; it moves on to consume another.
Hope leaves me
as I realize
I miss you, but I don’t know who you are…
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Portrayed in absence
Nasty taste left
Under swollen cheeks
Bitterness
Twisted up nerves
Conclusive Skulls
Perturbation unraveling
Sacred kept
Unwoken
Dreams
Dwindling
Darting
Captured
Locked
Deep seeded
Frustrations
Viscera
upside down
Computed relief
Only
Just
Aspiration
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC