Best Unanchored Poems
"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words,
after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."
— Mary Oliver
With pen in hand, I readily compose heartfelt lines
filled with aggregations of thought and emotion.
Verses that break chains that bind, setting me free
as if I were a shackled slave in the Land of Goshen.
Freed by my pen, I've been redeemed from the sea,
and each poem a litany, recited on a rolling wave.
Poetry is the seafaring wind that fuels my sails,
navigating me to exotic, faraway places I crave.
I'm unanchored without the burden of an albatross
tied around my neck when I choose to compose.
While tethered to a pen, I'm safe and kept afloat
in tragic times of mourning and sorrowful woes.
Rhyming romantic Sonnets stirs my sensual blood,
for then I am imagining being someone's treasure.
With the heart of a passionate poet, I take part
by scribing torrid scenes of fervor beyond measure.
Writing breathes anima into the chasms of my soul.
I celebrate my poetry as art, a revered tour de force.
Poetry is my source of equilibrium, joy, and peace
when life's adversities attempt to steer me off course.
I ponder my existence beyond the breakers,
Navigating depth’s perils past shallows of youth.
Will I rise with the tides and lift up those near me,
Or will I drift along unanchored by the truth?
Avoiding a solo Melville-penned fate, or wreck,
Depends on my “see man” skills and good attitudes.
Striving to be a vessel of encouragement,
As my life’s journey marks increasing latitudes.
Experience stored as miles pass under my keel;
To have all the answers I surely don’t pretend.
With care and service among my mental cargo,
I am ready to help any mariner friend.
And so it is for all who sail upon life’s seas;
Constant watch on the horizon, helm, and radar.
Make no ties, steer alone, try to stay on course; or
Give the hope and guidance of a familiar star.
Falling into the vortex,
there is no escape
You're sucked in,
getting sub-atomically stripped
is your inevitable fate
No more straight line of linear time
No more clearly defined dimensions of reality,
it all bends and shifts
Space-time gets blended
and folded,
unanchored and set adrift
The future compresses inside the past
You see everything in an instant
before disintegration occurs
You fell into a singularity,
where a new set of physic laws dissolve
you into pure cosmic energy
This is the place where paradoxes
become a byword
Singularity
This is the place where dead stars
have collapsed into their rebirth
Singularity
This is the place where death occurs instantly
Singularity
This is the place where death takes an eternity
Singularity
Falling into the maelstrom,
there is no escape
You're forcibly pulled in,
and molecular disintegration
is your ultimate fate
In here, dimensions bend
and reality shifts
Space-time becomes unanchored
and set adrift
The past compresses inside the future
You see everything in an instant
before reconstitution occurs
You fell into a singularity,
where a strange, new reality dissolves
you into pure cosmic energy
This is the place where paradoxes
become a byword
Singularity
This is the place where dead stars
collapse into their rebirth
Singularity
This is the place where death takes an eternity
Singularity
This is the place where death occurs instantly
Singularity
The creation of time and space
is your wondrous last sight seen
Now as a newborn infinity child,
singularity is your first infant dream
To reach nirvana
Poet paradise
You have to reach the third level
It's a journey to forever
It may take some their whole lifetime,
and others may never get there
It's a quantum leap
fraught with uncertainty
First it takes writing skill,
then an inexhaustible will
and finally, untapped creativity
The first level is easy
Most anyone can do it,
you simply write what you feel and think
It requires no linguistic coordination,
no moral obligation,
just the courage to dive in, unafraid to sink
Some people drown in their own words,
no sense of it all can be heard,
just a rapid ride on their stream of consciousness
If you make it through the first level
with pen still in hand and curiosity still intact,
you can further elevate and explore
But a lot of poets, sadly, become satisfied with where they're at
The second level is much harder
Not everyone can do it,
exploring themes not from your own personal experience
It's a precarious climb
melding a vicarious mind,
leading you sometimes to places that you never sought to find
Some people can't handle it, they cower away
when facing the daunting realm of the unknown
Unanchored from their familiar world view, their confidence be gone
If you make through the second level
with sound mind in place and determination still undeterred,
you can shed the constraints of time and space
But more winnowed poets, regrettably,
haven't the creative stamina to finish the race
The third level is the most difficult to reach
Only breached by a chosen few,
who were born to travel to the farthest dimensions of the mind
They breathe unexplored air,
they speak with authority of being there
Poetic pioneers fearlessly going where others are not so inclined
They are chosen ones who enter a hidden sacred space;
transversing the treacherous depths of the heart, facing come what may
They are timeless souls searching beyond the veiled gray
They've reached the third level
Nirvana
Poet paradise
The nexus of every imagined possibility:
they will be faithful to observe,
faithful to record,
faithful to write all that they see
dinner dark
like blackened corn on a husk
mother hits me with the blunt force of leftover liver
frying pan bled
densely knotted
unanchored from Julia Child cuisine
mother's radical rejection of normal kid food
that punches through my faith in parenting
meal of grievance
tough liver that dents gravity
that requires self sacrifice
unsettling
like imperishable grief
do I let go of my aversion
for a factory-floor meal?
gone to the dogs
(if only I had one!)
Poem composed July 17/2022
The hidden blueprint of destiny encoded in gene
manifests in marvels of anthropogenic evolution,
constructs shifting designs of life’s kaleidoscope,
changing with the time and morphing with vision
of the complex landscape of innate human nature
the architect brain makes.
The unique vast domain,
depth endless, carved out in the nebulous space
where the soaring birds of imagination freely fly,
where the crimson sun of dream rises and sinks,
the floating mind finds lighted way on the wave
the flashing brain makes.
The transient lone voyage,
destination obscure, in uncharted course on sea
when life is struck by the tsunami shock of agony,
when clouds of dementia dispel neurons of hope,
the wrecked life drifts losing anchor in the storm
the turbulent brain makes.
October 8, 2018
“When life traverses the path of pathos the beguiled birds fly to
show the course out of the feeling of being abandoned”
– Quote by Poet
If in the flushing garden path you walk entranced forlorn,
the scarlet sun of the dawn’s seraphic sky embraces you,
you’ll see my heart in the lilac lines of cloud up above,
there you won’t be lonely, for I won’t ever leave you.
If on the waves of the desert dunes you trudge desolate,
trace the melting mirage to the sundown hazy horizon,
you’ll reach the verdant oasis sprawling in my olive heart,
there you won’t be lonesome, for I won’t ever desert you.
If on the golden sands of the satin beach you pace alone,
the rolling waves adorn pearly lattice on your ivory feet,
you’ll feel my heart’s cadence in the cascade of moonbeam,
there you won’t be lost, for I won’t ever forsake you.
If on the surging stream of boundless love you float adrift,
meander the unanchored life on the plateau of yearning,
you’ll hear in murmuring ripples the symphony of my heart,
there you won’t be dismayed, for I won’t ever abandon you.
The child allowed to have their way,
And do whatsoever they may,
Who is not taught to have restraint,
Develops traits that their life taint.
The rule of appetite destroys,
And undermines life’s lasting joys.
It makes the human being a slave,
To whatever his passions crave.
Instead of reason taming urge,
Unruly urges reason scourge.
The man becomes a boorish brute,
Unanchored from his soulish root.
The home should be a training ground,
Where order reigns and love abounds.
Here children learn how they should live,
As parents sound instructions give.
When parents fail their job to do,
Society pays a high price too,
with citizens who lack the traits
That makes a nation truly great.
So many lives are ruined wastes,
Destroyed by drugs that make minds race.
Because of lack of self-control,
Men wreck their lives and lose their souls.
The quest for power, wealth, and fame,
Becomes for some a raging flame.
They live their life to make a name,
But often their life ends in shame.
Don’t let your body rule your brain,
let brain over your passions reign.
Make it your goal to become good,
To be the best a human could.
"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words,
after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."
— Mary Oliver
With pen in hand, I readily compose heartfelt lines
filled with aggregations of thought and emotion.
Verses that break chains that bind, setting me free
as if I were a shackled slave in the Land of Goshen.
Freed by my pen, I've been redeemed from the sea,
and each poem a litany, recited on a rolling wave.
Poetry is the seafaring wind that fuels my sails,
navigating me to exotic, faraway places I crave.
I'm unanchored without the burden of an albatross
tied around my neck when I choose to compose.
While tethered to a pen, I'm safe and kept afloat
in tragic times of mourning and sorrowful woes.
Rhyming romantic Sonnets stirs my sensual blood,
for then I am imagining being someone's treasure.
With the heart of a passionate poet, I take part
by scribing torrid scenes of fervor beyond measure.
Writing breathes anima into the chasms of my soul.
I celebrate my poetry as art, a revered tour de force.
Poetry is my source of equilibrium, joy, and peace
when life's adversities attempt to steer me off course.
November 28, 2022
Poetry is a Life-Cherishing Force Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
I'm drifting on white winds of winter
with tears that are cold and bitter.
My pain is deep
and I'm losing sleep,
but you let me slip away
the day you decided to stray.
You've left me jaded from your broken promises,
I'm full of wasted tears and compromises.
Now I'm unanchored in a storm
without your arms to keep me warm.
Our last kiss, did you feel my pain?
Did my suffering keep you entertained?
Our love extinguished like a flame in the wind
and our romance has come to its bitter end.
ALesiach © 9/25/2015
(part 2 informal poetic)
In a poem by Rumi,
In a 24 hr laundry mat,
in a silent cry for innocence,
In a fractured skull reality,
in the bottom of a pit deeper than self,
I found it in the strangest music, such has never been heard before.
It still has yet to be written; breathlessly waiting for a creator to
move in and bring air to the lungs of its form. Every now & again I awaken
to a more easily collapsed reality, knowing even then it is still immortal,
So I found it!
In the tombstones of ancestors,
In cavernous cavities leading the subconcious to the physical brain.
In unanchored dreams that once led to oracular screams,
In barbaric acts of vision,
Transcendental eye like,
A diademic explosion against her thighs,
So I found it!
Sizzling across the palettes of children
ready to look the future in the face,
Chin up, Speaking into the alchemy of form
Everything that we can be.
So I found it!
---------------
I'd rather sail the sky
Than a stormy sea
Or ride on a rainbow
Not some bumpy, blue thing.
I could climb a cloud
Or move moonbeams
But I'd rather blaze the blunt
I'm toking on with you
I'm the blunt blazer
Stoking one for two.
Let's see saw on sky scales
Or swing off an unanchored star
Navigate by nonsense to
Where our soaked senses are
Saturated more by
A milky shroud at night.
I better hand on this bong
Or I'll inhale it whole.
I better hand it on
Or I'll inhale a whale song.
I took a wee detour
Past a flaming meteor
She spun me, the shaker
Then skewered Leo’s heart
Between a creeping crab
And a garden raker.
Pass the blazing blunt…
Doh! Bong… back over here.
Go on, pass it here,
Some where.
How the feral feline
Roars with righteous pride,
Caught, yet more alive
On the inside
Out where he remembered
How to lose control…
And let the good times
Go on, roll… another one.
Let the good times go
Off, and on and on.
The lunaverse keeps spinning
Cobbed webs of thought
Watching us weave
Basket faced cases, book
Marked in virtual places
Beyond where God knows
I left that stash
It's time to crash my meteor, right?
God knows where I left that stash
My meteor crashed tonight.
When I was seven I felt the urge
to capture an enchanted being.
I caught him in the gentle grasses
of our side yard.
Cupped in my hands
he waited,
his antennae gathered signals from distant worlds,
his cold eyes measured
the texture of my skin,
his armor sparkled
in the shadows of my fingers,
his legs were unanchored tent poles.
I held out my hand
straight as a diving board.
He sprang
with power and grace --
a green arc of parabolic escape.
He was blind to what he left behind:
a bonfire in my chest,
a salty koan,
the memory of a trinket
I had to let go.
Unanchored
Nonchalant
Concrete
Ongoing
Negotiable
Direct
Inevitable
Tenacious
Intimate
Overlooked
Nonviolent
Aggressive
Ludibund (playful)
Submerged in the flood of maddening crowd,
I see a verdant valley carved out
within the lonesome me drifting away,
displaced from the still stratum of sound
of converging cacophony loud,
I dream attached to the unanchored mind.
In the precinct of the pristine sprawling thicket
I wander on the convolute contours of life.
As the rising sun of promise bursts with colors
on the calm canopy of hope with golden beams,
the leaves sparkle in the spectrum of splendor
in the sea of silence where I sink within serenity.
In the embracing breeze rippling enticed,
the enchanted boughs dance to its cadence,
make mystique motif with light and shade lattice.
The foliage weaves for me the tapestry of ecstasy
for my dormant dreams to be embellished
to perform the kaleidoscopic show of joy.
With the forlorn life ambling listless
across the amber wilderness of destiny,
I’ve to take a long journey alone.
From the cool cradle of the dense copse
I’ll garner the grandeur of its emerald sheen,
in my marooned mind I’ll strive to stow,
create in my pallid heart a jade meadow.
Walking the last mile in the twilight zone
in the remaining hours of fading glow,
I’ll seek the shade of rest for the last time,
stepping into the waiting woods once again,
see my dreams return longingly enwrapped
in the lengthening shadow of memory.