"unwoven" poems
You agree
When you want to shout, curse, and swear
The Almighty....answer this weeping willow
Made of concrete air
Of unfeeling movement
You cower behinds browned bodies, montezuma minds, and your license
Power to go as you please, be as you please, please help me to see
The inner child trapped in mordant cornerstones, and sitting on your own weight
To grasp the folly by the throat and twist him into existance
Not so much absolution
In agreement with other fancies
Prayers unanswered
Dwelling on ginger hands and knees
In *********** when his course has never enter into being....real
Or really close
His path to plunge thick into purple passionate trance
His path askew from my own
Though a followed trendy line
A drink
When it makes your journey into trees, and speed, and gluttony
A laugh
When scorned mouth spewed and sput into russet wounds already *****
A smoke
When it clogs your memory into patchwork and quilted thoughts unwoven
Youre unspoken!
You agree?
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
if, somehow, you could see how high & dense your fortified groves has gotten
you wouldn't be asking me why i'm trying to get to you like a giraffe gets to the
leaves in the trees, because your barrier is like barb wire tangled around your
wrists and, almost like a failed lobotomy, you're as mad as a hatter, and the
ribbons that tied us together tightly unwoven it's knot, and i'm so careful in
finding the pieces of worn bricks to tear down and not break you in the process
the fear left me restless, without a doubt, you get helpless after a while and
start believing that sandpaper and silk are similar, but they aren't textured the
same in reality, yet who even really knows what is wrong and what is right?
maybe the puzzle pieces get worn over time and they're not even considered
to be pieces to a puzzle anymore, it's like putting together a falling apart pie
- kra
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
If grass was a girl,
She'd be so beautiful
That words wouldn't justify her.
They would have to be unwoven and recreated
For them to fit her.
She would shine and grow in the light,
But feel all of the pain in the world
When in the darkness.
It would make her wither away into nothingness
And disappear.
But, out of the blue,
She would appear again
To always be there for everyone who needs her.
Those people, however,
Would not appreciate her love
And would trample over her as if
She were nothing.
If grass was a girl,
She would be crushed by the world
And see a fractured image of it
Through a long broken window.
Her happiness would be stolen by the selfish,
Who take for themselves and never give back.
That's the thing
About the girl named "Grass".
She's broken, unable to differentiate
Between those who care about her
And those who do not.
She becomes isolated in a cocoon of sadness
Because no one appreciates her for who she is.
However,
A drop of rain later,
She is happy again
And becomes even more beautiful than she was before.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
A kite with faded colors
and unwoven threads,
once made with care,
now not much more than shreds.
It hovered with sorrow
longing to fly free,
but found it was held fast
by an unwavering string.
The cord was not much to look at,
most people would say.
But it was charming to the kite
in its own humble way.
It was vulnerable in places
and had a knot here and there,
but it never once faltered.
In its task, it took care.
It held the kite tightly
and made sure it stayed.
Otherwise, the high aiming kite
would surely float away.
Although the twine was secure,
gripping the helpless kite,
without the kite’s grasp,
the string would never take flight.
The able piece of rope would’ve
spent all its days
lying dormant on the dust,
never to be raised.
The kite helped it dream,
to see the sky and clouds,
and the string made sure
they both stayed near the ground.
The kite had seen other ropes,
crafted more tasteful and long.
They were appealing on the surface,
but never as strong.
They always broke off,
not steady enough to stay,
but this plain, simple cord
was there day after day.
The kite learned to love it,
saw beauty out and inside.
They weren’t sure if they’d make it,
but they’d undoubtedly try
to hold each other in place
until the end of their time.
A simple, sound string
and a half-broken kite.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC
A sin of darkness, buries silvered waters, where breathing is as tangible as a caress;
The circle turns, unceasing, around my feral heart,
Unfettered as the tides, where desire ebbs and flows;
Through rainbows, spun with roses, swaying beneath shadows...
Crystals of feathered lace sense his rhythm; like whispers
Drifting past things I dared not dream,
Clinging to misted breath; cradling me unconditional;
Wrapped in strands of tender, I discover him,
In a sacred place, where cheek meets chest,
And bodies find recognition...
His shadow across satin, the pattern of my emerald draped desire,
Coating my silhouette in a musky promise, cocooned in timeless abandon,
My eyes sing with the gentleness of baby's breath, lips fill with the softness of rainbows,
Of cloudburst kisses, trailing tenderly from forehead to cheek, to moistened mouth;
His darkness, drinking deep, a black satin desire...
Eyes of fire, burn my skin, searing into me,
Demands; as heat wraps, twining through me, gazing past absolution
Expressions of want, shine radiance, reflecting need;
My breath brushes against questions held in his eyes,
His murmurs tightly thrusting a foreplay sliding in cushioned madness,
In crescent moons that bleed....
Fingers encircle, tracing the wet I create, hands grasp tender submission,
My body given, raw, arched, grasping darkness within his eyes,
Rampant...and forbidden, my unwoven breath....shatters
Upon the mastery of his moonlight storm.
A suckle flush against a throbbing womb,
Swept away against passion's throes...
Cradled, in ache, chaos spilt between us in rivers,
Swirling within the scarlet spill, I am strung out,
Like the lights I have found , eternal, in his eyes entranced;
I weep for the beauty he pours, lips bleeding his crimson name;
I touch him, touching me, in the weave of promise, stained upon his smile...............
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
at theend
of the day
theking goes
back in the
samebox
as thepawn.
Right next to the guns, poppers and wedding rings. Right next to the forgotten kings words written in pages bent but unread, revealed and sent like bullets found a gun bed. Stories woven and unwoven through the magic of attachment.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
“I have loved you so much that I believe I understand you a little.”
Marcel Proust
we are wearing our glowing skins
full of unwoven whispers
or au contraire
we’ll have worn them
-who knows
in poetry, not in theory,
anything is possible-
one of us could say
“take this animal
out of my eyes, teeth, bones
for wild flowers
to grow in my sockets”
and I’ll say:
“for my eyelids to rest
in the shadow of your breath
and my vertigo, indigo
in the nest of your palm"
-words are just riverbeds-
see you - the sea in me
at the echo point
of blood
I’ll wear rivers
lipstick
bluebirds
in this poem of touching
every cell is spinning
its nucleus of numinosum
while the day breaks open
into the heart of trees
-words are stones of silence,
unintelligible altars-
I was in love
with a vertigo man
last time I checked
blood has its madness
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Peel it off
One by one
By every single thread
So every single strand
Is unwoven by a broken hand
And reveal to us
What you've done.
Were you scared?
Were you scarred?
Beaten and mashed in and marred
by the wasteland in which we breathe?
I don't know which came first:
the euphoria of absolute power
or the fear of it.
Regardless,
we are here.
in the wasteland.
And the worst thing you can do-
the only crime you can commit-
is to stop peeling layers.
and stop wondering why we are
where we are.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Seamed hands unwoven,
Small footsteps lowered away,
. . . Hearts torn asunder.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
"I write poetry," you laugh, "I can tell beautiful lies..."
Sadly clever, your decoys reaching out to the dendrites of trees
desolated by winter, fingertips in their severe shapes stroking
lungs turned inside out so that they might breathe for you
when the patterns of things become as unwoven as they seem
and a dark symmetry throws smoke across the mirrors. All the
mirrors are rippling, frail as moonlight on the ruptured skein
of whatever is left of the water and then only the good doctor
as you turn to undress before the open door, waits.
You whisper: "I will tell lies you will want to believe."
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
please
I’ll ask you with kindness one last time:
do not
absolutely, do not
(oh, brown eyes, brown eyes…)
break.
your bones are splintering,
the fibers that knit together your identity
are becoming unwoven
it seems—
& I don’t ask this easily,
nor without understanding
your lingering pain:
for the same ocean you drown in,
I’ve come to know
& the same bridges you’ve jumped from,
I’ve stood upon, aloft—
& with the wind&waves; I bend,
yes, I, too, bend--
with our evenings awash in escapism
& our midnights amiss with noise
[& our daylight alive with passioned kisses
never meant to ever say good night]--
yes we bend, dear friend,
but we absolutely cannot break.
dear love of mine,
we are two branches that ache on the same rotten, fallen tree,
two butterflies with gold-plated wings that labor to sing,
two corpses encased before their time,
two veins that race with the same
bloodlust for living
[but also for dying,
for that is our flaw,
& we do it exceedingly well].
for what I give to you is peace,
& what you give to me is inspiration—
two things that fight to exist
in a world that throws them out with
itswars&itslost;&itspoets.;
so in fact it is not love
we share in our greetings,
but rather the
enabling of
narcissism,
masochism,
& the misery to which
we harbor&cling;.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Ash lit eyes
Lost in cloud filled skies
Searching for an answer
Grieving in the chemicals
Looking for a miracle
Maybe a happily ever after
Smokey grey emotions
Insides still unwoven
To myself I cant be the actor
Head rushes past self
Slowly past everything else
Wish I was fading a little faster
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
Never forget
There’s an ocean
Around us
Through logic
And reason
Its meaning
Confounds us
Unbound
Although wound up
In threads
And unwoven
Awoken
It speaks in our heads
Yet it tethers
Connects
And continues
To carry
Reminds us
That wisdom
Is simply be wary
Apparent to you
Could to others
Be barren
Yet wearing this
Gallant
Medallion
We earn
Is but shade to the shadow
To which we return
Jan 22, 2023
Jan 22, 2023 at 3:56 PM UTC
my fingers are spindles of thread, unwoven from blankets of strong women who fought harder fights than I could withstand.
my neck is a porcelain clock. engraved with wisps of words, it's cogs churning to keep my brain functioning.
my torso is an storm. lightning leaves scars acrioss the lining of my stomach, spreading out like spiderwebs, covered in dew. thunderheads boom when I walk, rattling my ribs and awakening this hummingbird heart.
my spine is a garden, blooming. daisys and forget-me-nots bloom from the soil tilled into my veterbrae.
My hamstrings are tightrope across the twin towers, quivering.
My knees are doorknobs left unturned, the room contents dusty and cobwebs string the corners.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
He stands like William Stanley Moore
a mugshot of an old gangster I saw once
in sepia, stony, strangely clarified, endowed
immortalized in caramel marble
glassy eyes and all--
he plowed ahead that night
fingers twitching, only to turn
around outside of the light
once we'd gone through
the doors and I'd fled down
the stairs in his wake
to clip his heels
I've been chasing his shadow
tying my lead to his bow
far away from my own
dock, a sailboat piping
behind a cottonclad warship
I am small and timid
soft and malleable, unwild
unwoven, strips of silk in the foyer
running through his fingers
sheets sliding down his back
I cannot give what other girls
have given, the way they
dive and plead and swarm
I can only coat, can only
rinse, only lather, I can only
run over--
I am standing at his bookshelf
running a finger over the spines
gingerly closing the cabinet or
slipping into his bed, tucked
away like a porcelain doll
I try
i try
i try
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
Wild and uncontrollable
Fresh air
To the vestibule
And saint's alive
Life is a headlong dive.
Flying squirrels
Little girls
Unpredictable
But equally lovable.
People feel things
Like kids say things
And everything
Is under a microscope.
Hate is a long game
Love has short reasoning
Feelings drive emotions
Fueled by everything but reason
Logic
Makes us murderous.
One plus one plus it's all ****** up
You can't swim out of this pit
Too soon to tell
But I think
You're going to hell.
But the future is unwoven
The Seamstress Union is on strike
Yarns of every color
Are scattered on the floor.
An industrious imp
Tosses in a steam-driven loom
It eats up all the bits
And spits out new histories.
So genes collide
In their secret unions
But messages get crossed
And we welcome new mutations.
In the wake of a mininova bang
Conciousness is all-grasping
Freedom unobscured and No Trespassing ignored
Tucked away in safe corners
You keep all your real answers.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
I couldn't keep my hands from holding tighter on to you
to use myself to weigh you down was all that I could do
and now the time has passed us by without a single stop
I still do not know what we are, I know what we are not
when you became familiar in the strangest kind of way
I had to take a step aside, I knew I'd gone astray
my feet have stumbled long enough for me to walk again
and every insecurity I had is lying dead
we cannot resurrect ourselves, we shouldn't even try
for one of us is more alive and so the other, dies
continue on without the weight of me inside your thoughts
my hands are holding nothing but the air that I once fought
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Feigned innocence
Chaotic purity
Ruby trickling down her sacred lips
And he shivered
Breathing
Swollen and raw
Dark marks on impure skin
Golden blood running from ancient veins
Immortality
Silence
Then screaming
Echoes
And fading
Until secrets are unwoven
Like cloth unraveled on crooked forms
Throats pumping
Vulnerability
Danger
Love
Obsession
Ruby trickling
Ichor strings
Sharp teeth
Sharper hearts
Glass shards
Wholly heaving
Shudders
Pupils staring
Starlight
Dizziness
Thrilling
She bit
He cowered
The king
And his queen
She was the one who ruled
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 4:52 AM UTC
For many seasons I awaited your return,
restless on the shore of a great sea,
hair blown wild by brackish winds,
my tapestry unwoven.
For many moons I searched the distant line
where Neptune's hand slices through the sky
beyond the eye's perception.
How frenzied my hands became,
sifting for mythical remains
of boat, of flesh, of washed bones.
From carved crib to wrecked vessel,
your realm was all but stolen,
Then lifted from night's shadow,
on a zephyr's breath, you came
to heal the fever of my sorrow,
my heart grown heavy with longing.
I recall that fateful day, how I wept
while you unfolded wondrous tales
as we lay in half-shade beneath our tree of life.
Between its leaves shines love -
the eternal light,
burning in the heart of Ithaca.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
I miss those conversations,
Those threads of thoughts that knew no bounds.
Am still searching for the right words,
To weave us over again.
Dangling like corpses, these severed threads,
I try to bring them back to life, in vain, oh hell,
But I found no word from you, you left
Leaving me with this string,
Another unwoven thread of ours...
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
I wear
your grey
woollen mittens,
the ones
you can make
into gloves
by pulling over
the fingers
to make complete;
soft, thick,
but warm; neat.
I can sense you near
with them on;
an imaginary pulse
moves along
beside mine.
You felt the cold;
although didn't say
as such
or not
over much;
your hands
and fingers
seeking shelter
within the wool,
rubbing against
the fibre, skin
on softness,
warmth like
a kind of drug,
seeping in.
I wear your grey
woollen mittens,
my fingers fitting
where yours once did,
the feel of you
in the wool's soft memory;
the fibre’s hold,
keeping you warm,
my son,
keeping to warm
against the cold.
The mittens seem fresh;
not worn thin or aged
or coming unwoven
as some things do.
I wear your grey mittens,
have them close,
neat and touching.
I wish they were you.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
Dust specks-settle,
cosying up to the ribbon bound notebooks
bearing your initials.
Burying this artefact,
flawed, fractured there will be no map
to guide you back to this mirth, no breadcrumbs to drop on the earth.
It will be no more than a prologue, a seam unwoven to grab momentary attention
until I sweep all away with steel grip on an exuding artery.
Is Hubris not a deadly sin?
As it lays in tatters at my feet.,
Foolish, foolhardy to have believed that all was a world of Thornfield or Pemberley
more apt is naeive.
The disparate views,that were sent by you undermined by certainty,unhinged the very bolts and nuts that held my infastructure.
Transfixed. Transfigured. Transformed into this 'new'.
Alas the day, arrives anyway the lark sings a merry tune and it thunderstorms, drops leaves life leaves the dew.
To be candid, I pocess within me one last spark it splutters and at times can ignite, for teaching me an invaluble truth.
Unrequited love, This partisan
bear with caution- leaves a scar- a victim.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
White sheets flutter...
they dance around the room
they whip and crack like storm-kissed sails
I cower in fear, my bed is empty save for pillows.
I rest my head
I'm nearly dead
I ache with dread
I crumble, like abandoned bread
and the table we set
is unwoven by time.
Splinters, like loose thread, pile up as do bones.
We are no longer held together by compassion,
we are butchered by sharp tongues and piercing glares,
for shame! We thought it was a funhouse, but we revel in slaughter.
White sheets flutter...
they wave like sleeping flags
they wave like quaking lands
then they settle and I hear the white sheets whisper
and the whispers haunt me
are they soaked by old lovers
tears like oceans raining into the sky
blood like rivers escaping the bed
bowels of deceit coughing up their secrets
let us drink all this vile bile and be drunken by horrors.
Is that the only way we can escape?
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
I put apart the yellows and the blues
fix my blemish, curl my hair and got new shoes
zip the skirt up and on my tiny waist
with trimmings of white and some expensive lace
I wore grand mother's pearls and a diamond ring
I wore a smile and a purse with a sling
My lips red and sparkles in my eyes
I wore a voice so sweet it never dared to tell lies
"she's really a beauty " they whisper and say,
"I think it's cause she lost all that weight."
nails all polished, clasped hands to pray
"I really hope they will love me this way."
I've gone too far to be something of your fancy
I've turned into pretty but it's me you can't see
those days carefree, those days i miss
but you will never love me like this.
you will never love me when
the yellows and blues I can't seem to put apart
but I pride myself for having a bigger heart
when my curls have faded and my shoes are broken
and the trimmings and lace run loosely unwoven
I want you to love me when
I speak of pieces I hold
the stories and truth from surface unfolds
like pearls that held memories of my dead grandmother
and a big diamond ring from an unfaithful lover
Cause it's hard to love me when
my lips are dried pale mumbling rude curses,
and I only really buy second-hand purses
my eyes only sparkle cause I'm holding back a tear
and my voice may be sweet but it could lie too, I fear.
So i guess im back to putting on a pretty dress
Stitch up the laces and clean up my mess
Keep a sweet voice with something nice to say
Cause maybe you'll only love me this way.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
Eyes fall limp
Heart sinks low
Mind so high
Body so worn
Numb and broken
Cheap,torn and unwoven
Nausea
Migraine
Fever
Ill
Because of you.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC