Best Inarticulate Poems
A poet enters a private sanctuary,
A sacred place where the imagination
Dwells with a mélange of emotions
Conceived by aesthetic beauty,
Often divine and esoteric in nature;
That comprehensive longing to
Express through common language
That which is so vitally uncommon.
Words that seek to form a bridge
Between intellectual abstract thought
And the world of the inarticulate.
A way to express the depth of sorrow
While having it become a cathartic
Release, thereby relating to others
In commiseration and heartfelt empathy.
Poetry has the ability to help, to heal.
To reach souls enduring that same pain
May be a blessed gift poetry genuinely
Offers in a nonintrusive manner, helping
Lonely souls know they are not alone.
No-one escapes the loving light poetry sheds.
It dwells inside each of us, realized or not.
It teaches with simplicity, expands the mind,
Ingratiates itself without any effort when
Expressed with forethought and integrity.
It may stir emotions from the most stoic.
Speech itself, lives and breathes, and is poetic.
Acquiesce to that silent voice inside which
prevails upon the heart to be released in verse.
Poetry may elevate our spirit with such intensity
To generate a feeling akin to euphoric bliss.
Poets, honored in past glory with the status of Kings,
Now dwell in a world often misunderstood by the
Masses too busy to take the time to regard its worth.
How fortunate for the insightful who appreciate and
Embrace the ageless, immortal soul poetry provides.
They are blessed and will give birth to future poets.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Inarticulate as the morning air when it flows to and there
this cognitive essence of rebirthing, is a true blessing
this knowledge that perhaps didn't come easily
is lodged inside my memory like a rooted flower of old
enabling the gift that keeps on giving
to regenerate, restore, like a swimming soul
Be it a spring day or a golden Autumn afternoon
Be it a winter bejeweled with light or a summer of sun
This time belt of knowledge has provided
and given me, a place to hang my heart
Onward in a journey both as healer and the healed
giving in to rebirth, time and time again
I ventured forth, knowing nothing ever gets lost.
My petal love
tonight we sing
our souls fill with joy
I poet
have flowers and song for you...
Wine and dinner awaits
a most alluring Spanish moon
has risen over the sea
it is burning
suspended in center of sky
shining on all of the earth...
So sweetly comes the night air
I have roses and carnations
divine for you
small violets with lure of passion
and poignant tone
sweet chocolates for you to choose...
After dinner we shall stroll
down to the seaside
where no one shall see us
and what we have come here to do...
Your voice of fallen air
in zone of wonder in ardent dusk
marches playfully through my ears
as the night falls around us...
It is your orchid my love
my shepherdess of milk white dreams
later tonight my beloved
I will make bouquets of water
kisses upon your breasts and thighs
all with the fragrance of these flowers
I will savor you with joy...
The creator has created you
so you can nourish me
A laying tide of inarticulate air
breaks in front of us
the sea in foam
A symphony beautiful some god has forgotten...
I need your fragrant love
like the flowers need the water
we will see and hear the darkness go
perhaps see the morning light play
come my beloved petal
we live the dream of love tonight...
A bush lark in the Greenwood forest sings.
She sings all day long near the mountain springs.
Is she trilling in notes so plaintive of her missing mate?
Unleashing her heart of its doleful weight?
Or easing the pangs of a heart that starves
For a soul mate yet to come for whom she craves?
Or sending a missive through the aerial route
Sounding in every ear a low melancholy note?
From the covert of dark leaves, her song percolates.
Through the sinews of my heart it permeates,
Striking a cord between two souls equally deprived,
Stirring in me an inarticulate ache, never once divulged.
Placed Eighth
April. 29. 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windscreens cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
On my own terms my life I walk brave,
setting the course on the pathway I pave.
Nameless probing people uncalled, I descry
break the fence of protected privacy and pry,
ask incisive questions to slice my persona they try.
I don’t reply.
Their footprints I follow, they want with pride,
abandoning me for what I am on the wayside,
to exist as a mute formless entity dormant.
Caustic comments they make of me being adamant,
my character traits make on them negative impact.
I don’t react.
In my heart sunk in the quicksand of time weary,
emotions struggle to rise from the unfeeling debris.
The good done to me I don’t acknowledge loud,
but buds of their love bloom in me, I keep under shroud,
porous sensitivity absorbs all the feelings inarticulate.
I don’t demonstrate.
I will do what I do at free will until I finally sleep,
even if you all call me a deviant black sheep,
for life for me isn’t to fit in your measurement.
I would be me intransigent.
______________
April 30, 2023
Contest : Character Traits
Sponsored by : Angela Tune
when he spoke
words broke like glass between his teeth
14 minutes past 8PM 7 weeks after the red river
in his brain ran almost dry
he the acidic and sullen shadow of his youth
turned to me
(one side of his face a landslide of flesh
frozen into freefall
thus i won't mimic the inarticulate sound of it)
look after your mother
and my ten year old self nodding
wishing i were not there
then she who had married this man to protect her
plus one boychild from a condemning Catholic family
and a rabid priesthood
having thus become a widow at 37
being only 5 feet high in her pumps
also as slim as a whippet
turned to drink dying quickly of a gastric ulcer
never mind her failing liver
no wonder
i turned out more angular then an open razor
biting every hand that fed body and mind
thinking that same hand would one day turn against me
as it usually did
but i unable to stop my breakneck race to personal destruction
until poetry found me wandering a bitter earth
it entering my soul one turbulent night wailing like
a hungry infant which i fed and carried for years
not knowing i needed it much more than it needed me
and so
we ate broken glass together until
words bled into red flowers floating upon a river
that flowed through my brain
And there they are
as if it were their duty to bloom
... like slow notes on a piano
from the depths of earth
suddenly rising
to fill the world with grace.
Much like writing a poem
a duty to ourselves
... inspired moments
bare, inarticulate strands
nuanced over time
suddenly rising
bursting onto the page.
"To Touch That Blessed Word"
What is the difference?
how must i know?
but infatuated with your cool glance and clothes
infatuated with how you made me fell wanted,
with your acceptance
pride, and belief in me
Fascinated by you, persisting to
the golden glow in your eyes
the tenderness of your touch
appreciation and devout care
was it but only how you made me feel that caused me to return
is that enough for it to be granted that blessed word
or is it but only my imagination
creating something that years prolonged do search
where in earthliness i am left empty handed
with my head amongst the clouds
i question
through my death would you mourn?
for you said you loved me
but is love, love if not eternal...
How can my lips form these words
when my mind can not articulate
but then have i never loved?
As Death narrows in on the other
to call out its name bringing it to run rather, upon you
for that immensity and power, is the truest of unfiltered love
To lay down fear and step together
amongst the darkness of that inarticulate mind.
determines the hierarchy of this word
in which we persistently search.
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
Bondage was good for us.
"Master-me,
you are me taking me.” She was right,
I would lose myself in her.
She’s related to George Washington,
A man of his time.
A black girl for all times.
George is silent.
Mind brings her to me now
as she arranges
the form and flavors of desire,
her flesh a sensual braille for shaping hands,
limbs a binding chimera,
flesh capturing flowing silks -
a choreography of her muted history.
Inarticulate passions lock us together,
we are deep sea divers
pushing against an erotic gravity.
Somewhere in another story,
an aged Washington shoves his shriveled member
into another young black woman.
Should we honor both?
Dark is the page we now turn.
Truth or not, love or maybe.
Once we were most pleased
to burn down the president's mansion
again and again.
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windshields cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
How Shall I Say I Love You
My Darling Love, how shall I say I love you?
You know I do, but how can portray this to you in words?
Let me try My Dear One—
With a Smile when I think often of the sheer radiance of your beauty.
With Thoughts which I have of you daily and the sweet things you do.
With Emotions ripe and afire when I think of the pure passion we have.
With my Inner Psyche when I get in touch deeply with my ethereal self.
With my Eyes as I gaze into your eyes with noble tears of joy and love.
With my Touch as I hold and caress you in my arms and share my love.
With my Heart which is the driving force of my love and emotion for you.
With my Laughter that helps to lighten even the most trying situations.
With my Prayers which reflect my connection to God and belief in you.
With my Spoken Words which reflect my true heartfelt emotions for you.
When Holding your Hand at anytime on any day for no particular reason.
When Walking with you day or night at anytime, anyplace, or anywhere.
When Writing Poetry since you are always my special inspiration and muse.
With my unbridled love and respect for you as a warm and loving person.
With my warm inner feeling for all of the special things we do together.
My Final Thought: As imperfect and inarticulate as I surely am, at times—
My Darling Love these are some special inner-felt notions and emotions
reflecting always my view of you and feelings for you as the most important
person in this world to me. My true love always and forever.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved – June 5, 2015
(Free Verse)
*A very special tribute to my wife and eternal soul mate.
"Words are all I have, but they are the very tools I use to paint my thoughts
and feelings on my inner canvas of emotions."
A Cowboy is lean, tall, muscled and an inarticulate mass
Of loyalty, independence, pride and downright Western class
He cocks his hat to the back of his head and lets loose an infectious grin
Testosterone overflowing he’s masculine from boot toe to hat brim
He mumbles “Ah, Shucks”, ducks his head and charms the ladies
He’s saddle born, ranch raised and calls his palomino horse Hercules
A Cowboy kin drink, git drunk, cuss and dance a mean square
He kin hunt, trap, fish, and if put to it, outrun a riled–up bear
A cowboy spits, chaws, farts, smokes hand-rolled and sings off-key
He shoots, ropes, hogties, brands and whistles at cattle in high “C”
He’s an introverted soul, shy, gawky and tongue-tied in society
But ranch owners’ virgin daughters are eager to marry him
After doing hanky and panky stimulated by 100 proof killer gin
The shotguns hang on the fireplace wall, but the Cowboy ain’t gonna give in
Thinking, “mebbe It’s time to git gone and ride out like a swift blowing wind”
And into the sunset the Cowboy eases away without a backward glance
Looking for a cattle ranch that needs know-how hires and give him a chance
To punch cows, shoe horses, drive cattle and harness a gal into a new romance
Cowboys choose, lose, win, and wander here, there, and all around
Unless a right-smart gal he diddled in the stable of a small cow town
Is a hardheaded Cowgirl who hogties him when his pants are down!
Being in the mind of a savage.
All I know is how to act ferociously.
Manipulating the minds of the weak, fearful, and the victims.
Beating them into submissive.
Emasculating the strongest, just to see him break.
Dismiss him of his role, and never to see his family again.
Being in the mind of a savage.
I destroy, divide, and conquer.
tearing families apart.
Over yonder, as they scream,
begging to be saved
but nobody hears them.
Breaking the spirits of the koons, mannu, aunty, sambo,
and the uncle toms, as they all have a common factor.
They're all nostalgia.
The animal within me is untamed, uncontrollable, and inhumane.
I'm superior by nature, at least what I see.
Being in the mind of a savage.
What you call crimes are white privileges to me,
justification, rationalisation, & beliefs
set me free each time.
All I know is to kill, steal, destroy, & reverse the cycle of genetics.
I changed their culture,
to fear, tough love, attitude, punishment, violence & a career.
Sabotage the mind, break em' down, then bob the builder em'.
When you stop em' for believing in themselves,
oppression appears.
Being in the mind of a savage.
Other savages, keep em' isolated, uneducated, impoverished and oppressed. There's a few who escapes but we own them too.
We love to be entertained, as we mock, advertise, and stereotype em'. Less sensation and lacking sensitiveness
in the terminal fibers, keeps me acting viciously.
Unintelligent, laziness, frightfulness, ignorance, backwardness, violent, inarticulate, sexual frustrated, hunger, inattentive, unable to control themselves, & in care of, are all the signs of a n****.
Created a cultural matrix of positive
and negative feelings for me,
and each time, I justify my actions by logical reasoning with em'.
Ohhh, forgiving are they. Just to do it once more, and that once more became many more.
Being in the mind of a savage.
If any shall become bold, intimidating or become a threat, we shall lynch you.
Propaganda, genocide, & economics are all profits for the savages.
Paternalism plays a major role as
terrorizing and restrain are easily justified.
Keep em' from achieving social equality
as they become more bumptious on the streets.
Being in the mind of a savage.