Best Unaccountable Poems
The hour matters none ... for the energies have exhausted.
In the year of our Lord ... nineteen hundred and twelve, April fifteenth.
Writes a future living star ... wish their joys so he may shine.
'Tis to be a deliberate endeavor ... they call life.
An unaccountable ledger of sums ... know he the worth of it.
For in that great beyond is an opened book ... ere his youth.
There'd be certain measures that wretched body ... once unmasked.
Natures of a retired validity ... that aloof vainglory.
Tarries an elusive shell ... the semblance of human sorts.
A cub sponged in denizens hound ... the spoils of settled earth.
Masques of the poor scores yon ... and indifference spared them from their kind.
Their pain slices him whole ... in this grand finale of truth.
The role he crawl from under ... frees a den's claimed orphaned cub.
He conformed to their ways ... indulgence begets an awakening.
De-sands a timepiece from Giza ... transforms the silent lamb.
Qualities of Osiris ... no longer foxes kinsman.
Without manipulative truth ... mainly defines reality.
Loss crept e'er so close ... as circumstances affront him now.
The iniquities ... recorded in that hallowed ledger,
He lay claim to its authenticity ... 'twas him who'd inflicted;
upon those who were of wickedness ... and the righteous few.
He included self ... in self-afflictions of great numbers,
wherever the blame may lie ... be it concerning his existence,
thereupon points those sharpened fingers ... deserving of it.
Repentance for his sins ... subjugated through crying eyes.
His life for another ... sans a name or a face in lieu of tears.
They shared the deafening silence ... two muted distinct smiles.
One in tears looked onward ... to a face of blessed assurance.
The last boat edges off into the dark ... desperation arose.
A great clamoring ascends ... into the bitter abyss.
The hymn, "Nearer My God to Thee," ... the chaos stops to song.
Ships officer calls out, ... "Abandon ship, every man for themselves."
Lost lamb hopes his roll's called up yonder ... as his last words read ...
"kamikaze"
Isn’t it odd
how you always gravitate back to me,
I circle your mind like a helicopter
you watch me
like a moth
attracted to flames,
lit in succulent tender air waves
the others will state their absolute grievances,
it’s a force majeure for preconceived
unaccountable and unavoidable catastrophes
but We,
persist, We,
kamikaze
all artificial
and unintelligent,
other side of the wall
reasoning
bows,
to Love,
always
Love,
gravitates,
persists,
calls us all in
just as debutantes,
there We are,
our insides shining out,
illogically
semi-public
so un-upperclassed,
We are, barefeet dancing
under eye-glass boiling,
serious insects
quartered illogically
'neath microscope petri'd
kamikaze
Love
calls Us all in
debutantes
illogically
troped
“Juliet is the Sun!”,
espouses Romeo;
little does he know,
She is more
than a
soft black-holed velvet galaxy
She's a
Universe, diamond sharp
turned inside out
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Villanelle : When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
Proclaim citizens who kill under the patrie’s pennant heros
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
Killing for your god even to ward off a remark thought snide
Fellow believers’ll enshrine your name in martyrs pantheons
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
Leaders lie cheat slander even – forbid – commit fratricide
Citizens shrug shoulders and pass it all off as political woes
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
Sick secret service scions see to it their victims all slide
Down the slippery slope of unaccountable anonymous blows
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
And yet leaders and preachers claim peace for all with pride
Their individual charters and scriptures back sinister goals
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
Why then history relegates the greatest actions taken at tide
To memory’s junk pile where fester countries and their heros
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Today is just the beginning
Love keep days to chasing one and other
Your kindness made me stand potent
Though at first I was weak
Smitten at first sight made me inflicted
My heart flied in a fluffy cloud
In longing for it desire
My body swine in aching pain
When I heard am not interested
My head spew up and then
Back to its position like a swooping bird
When I heard get off my sight
Yesterday mark the beginning
Of our love, that was two years ago
Today our love is strong and elastin and cannot
Be tear asunder
I am in bondage of your love also you are in mine
Unaccountable bliss and zest may it pore our ways
Today is still the beginning
Tomorrow shall not be the end
have a special friend---
a third party between themselves &
any conversation or action,
who resides in the sky.
have a special friend---
who they can read about in
books of fiction written by others who
needed that special friend in order to
validate any conversation or action
which they might have or do,
by residing in the sky.
have a special friend---
who listens when they cry, who backs
them when they shout,
who acts as a third party
for others using this same excuse
to gather & pretend
together,
as grown adults in a kindergarten setting,
hoping one day to reside in the sky
with it.
have a special friend---
who gets used as a subtle excuse
when they murder, when they rape, when they
steal, when they burn & destroy
anyone or anything in their path &
when they praise it after doing so,
all others who pretend with them
believe in their hearts that if said special friend
allowed it to be,
then of course it was “good.”
have a special friend---
and they will remain that way
until someone holds them accountable.
All this while things will be better
That is what we heard from our forefathers
Exactly from our elders
In our turn, the same thing on the button
When will we stop this affliction?
Africa cessation power from the
White to have full control of their country
Everyday Billions of money is going out
We only heard of it
Without know it payback
Our companies die down of token amount
Our schools is shack
Lantern to light
Our roads is down at heel
We own fuel yet we are still
Suffering for it
Poverty rampant the country
Derelict house is unaccountable as well as vagrant
Everyday they are receiving medals for serving their country
With all their might
Yet it is lie upon lie
They are riding exotic cars and living in mansion
They are using the interest of all as their own gain
When will you stop putting your people in dangers?
Very soon you will fall, you that are
Taint to our nation
The sea of true is as high as mountain
No matter how fast your lie can run
7/6/2015
Words are beads O poet, in your rosary, for counting tears
Who else can but you to make strings of clouddrops of tears?
Promises are fulfilled, days departed, my eyes dried like parchment
Caravans move on, the desert road, who will wipe a bird’s tears?
Let me go back to my island O lord, to live with my people, with peace
Who wants dark days dropping like evils on the lake of tears?
Friends are funny until their claws scratch the widows of my love
Have you got friends those have not loosened your teeth or made you shed tears?
Moon is like a golden dish full of egg poach, fried fish, succulent meat and pulao
Beggars say its god’s wish; they have to keep their hunger aflame; does a fakir shed tears?
Merchants do business and cross thousands of miles to sell their wares
Only God knows how many shadows wait for their return and shed unaccountable tears.
There is nothing worse than love except unloved.
It's unclear why I have been moved from desirable to undesirable.
An unaccountable situation not uncommon in the relationship world.
The issue that one has become uncommitted is undeniably
ungracious and unsuitable.
The fact that my possession of an individuals undivided attention
that has been replaced with uninterested and unclaimed
makes me uncertain of the existence of the love she claimed.
Am I to understand that she became uncomfortable and unconsolable?
I underestimated unbreakable. Undermining the unwilling unknowing that
the price would be the ultimate. Where was I unrelenting in my cruelty?
I find it unsearchable to see what went unchecked or what parts I left unrequited.
I'll just have to let her go so that she will be unburdened.
Better that than her being unfaithful.
LEISURE FROM LISTFULNESS
A long & dreary time,exquisite
delight has passed.A perverse
unaccountable feeling.A moment’s
reflection,a store of recollections
a painful task to concentrate upon.
Questions come thronging my pen,
difficult to convey,a matter of doubtful
expediency,leisure from listfulness,
dreamy,beautiful,inconsistent,reflective.
Passion and affections a mute sense of
attachment,yet gratifying. The end of a struggle
From Letters of Charles Dickens
A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this phrasis on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
MY SIBLINGS' FATHER
JUDGE BURDON
other children feared monsters under their bed
i feared the one living under our roof.
his hair was nimbus black
with a storm's thunder in his voice.
his fists were freight train brown
ball bearing knuckles
frostbite blue was his touch
with empty icebox eyes
his smile untrusted
growling words spoken like tangled spaghetti
he was my mother's husband
my siblings' father
a childhood of baseballs never thrown
bruises and shattered bones medicated with lies
happiness diluted with tears
in a house with screams undetected
when asked what i wanted to be
i testified "far from here"
now, fiber optic home front news
faceless words
cancer eating away at your life
with the fury of a piranha
your disease now my champion
fighting with the courage i was unable to muster
your epitaph written in my adolescence
while plotting your midnight homicide
again you leave
unaccountable for your actions
i'm left to wrestle with the demons
not the strenght to forgive
my memory too scarred to forget
i'll keep the battle lines drawn
your monument
let the puzzle piece fall where it may
good bye old man
you'll be missed like a pit vipers bite
your pain can no longer touch me
from the grave.
I believe that writing is like spilling blood out of the carotid
Onto a canvas of sponge
This sponge can never be satiated
It takes generations and trillions of miles of neurons
Just to make a stain
My marrow is strained in such a glorious fashion
In attempt to produce even more lovely RBC's
So that I may contribute but just a mere speck
On this ethereal construct
Today I saw a man with hollow eyes buying homes with the skulls of rats
These homes onced belonged to living souls
The money machine came rolling in with the disinterest of a cow chewing cud
Masticating the precious juice from the canvas that once served
As a font of energy, an expulsion of electrons, something sacrosanct
To those who felt alive in a world consumed by dead, ridiculous intentions
Now
All of the canvas-blood-sponges have dried out in these places, and
As a result
The universe seems to recoil back in on itself as if in fear of
The disasterous implications
The dust seems to layer the meninges ever so slightly
Until I realize the fact that by doing so, I allow the miscreants running
This synthetic freak show of media pogrom and unheralded greed,
To stand in Pyrrhic victory
Somehow this is all
Compounded with an unaccountable need to accumulate as much
Material nonsense as possible because it helps fill
The inexplicable void
I just want to keep pumping blood out onto this convoluted stage, and
Scream in the ignorant face of the man arrogantly cutting others off
During rush hour as though where he needed to get to was so much more
Important than everyone else's destination
The disconnect is here
Look into the countenances of those around you
Thankfully there are those rare souls you see periodically
With some light left behind those orbs
They haven't been made grotesque by the modern world
They have been spending time with their canvas
To presume to write to someone about courage
and not complaining, don't importune or make dying people cry.
I've always said Leave me alone with autumn.
Don't stand around my bed, I won't be in it.
Over 7 years after he died, I finally looked
through my father's papers. Couple of unclaimed insurance policies,
savings bonds, our genealogy and on graph paper in an engineer's
block lettering quotations from The Seat of the Soul.
Reincarnation and karma are the chicken soup of the soul,
the after life is the reward for our colossal imperfections.
Along with banking instructions, he'd underlined
this: Your soul is immortal. It exists
outside of time. It has no beginning and no end.
Every time you ask for guidance you receive it.
If we are not at home in the world, contributing purpose,
we lose our desire to stay here -- ?and we die.
The physical world is an unaccountable given in which we unaccountably
find ourselves and which we strive to dominate to survive
or it is a learning environment created jointly by the souls that share it
and everything that occurs within it serves our learning.
Sin is activity directed toward self rather than toward service
to others. Sickness is sin. Almost any condition can be corrected.
You are part of God, therefore, think in a godly manner.
If you cannot accept this, forget it all. Do not even begin.
The first act of free will: How do I wish to learn?
If we participate in the cause, it is impossible not to participate in the
effect.
We shall come to honor all of life sooner or later.
Until you become aware of the effects of your anger, you will continue to
be an angry person.
Walking is the most commonly suggested exercise. Also, breathing.
"Thy will be done." Concentrate on that!
These expressions of certainty, conjectures and guesses
were inscribed by him in block letters on graph paper.
What I miss most from my youth
The spontaneous, combustible
Unaccountable insanity to
Will, thrill myself and others
To heights and planes
We cannot see
Or ever see again.
(8/2/09)
FLOWER IN THE POT
Young girls,
When God made thee
He made thee with the richest soil of the earth
Where the remnant were found in the Eden
He now planted a glorious flower in a flower pot
To dame you when all man shall stand up for you
When the world shall dance at the party
In the celebration of your regeneration.
When you are fast asleep in thy teens
Thieves came in the form of date
And uprooted the flower out of thy ignorance
Now thy husband is asking
Where have all the flowers gone
When God shall ask for thy account
How the dame got missing
I searched along the corners of dating
And researched the hooks and crannies of the street of love
Where i came late to ask in a date
About the flowers planted in the dawn of thy form
When your cry brings excitation and shouts of joy
Flowers are no more, honours are dented
The beautiful ones were all gone
In the way of unaccountable dates
Remember! Matrimony held deep respect
When flowers in the pot is exchange with
A rings of holy matrimony.
Going against his own promises, Donald Trump's administration deported the first DREAMer we know of—someone with the legal right to live, work, and study in the United States under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program. His name is Juan Manuel Montes.1
Will you join me by signing and sharing my petition demanding that Secretary of Homeland Security John Kelly take immediate action to return 23 year-old Juan to his family? Click here to sign the petition now.
Return Juan Manuel Montes to his home and family immediately.
Sign Greisa's petition
On February 17, Juan Manuel was walking to a taxi stand in his hometown in California when he was approached by border officials who asked for his papers. Though Juan Manuel was legally authorized to live and work in America through the DACA program, he was deported to Mexico just hours later.2
This is a direct consequence of Trump's mass deportation agenda and an unaccountable agency. Juan Manuel, who suffered a traumatic brain injury as a child and has a cognitive disability, must be reunited with his family in California as soon as possible.
Another Trump blunder