Best Unattached Poems
A soul unites with a vessel. With no preconceived notion of what lies ahead.
A soul, upon arrival is molded by senses, by experiences, by emotions.
A soul is innately adept at navigating the treacherous and tumultuous upheaval
created by conscious thought.
For if not.........
A soul becomes lost
A lost soul acts within a vessel ,yet remains unattached, unaware, and unbalanced
A lost soul can not process its own feelings, its own reality, its own existence
A lost soul has no sense of direction, no sense of reason, no sense of purpose
It clings only to the will to press onward
For if not............
A soul becomes trapped
A trapped soul is bound to its vessel. One entity caged within another.
A trapped soul dwells in circles on that which enslaves it. Unwilling, unable
A trapped soul withers, and weakens, and wonders.............and near its end it hopes
And in this hope the shackles that bind need be unbreakable
For if not..................
A soul becomes free
A free soul is independent of its vessel.Unrestricted, unencumbered and in control
A free soul molds that which lies before it, reaching beyond comprehension.
A free soul has found itself. It does not gain understanding, it is understanding. It
does not seek purpose, it is purpose. I does not fear life, It is life.
For if not...........
A soul becomes irrelevant
The Rooster
He strutted ‘cross the barnyard tall and proud,
away from all the bustle of the crowd;
the other roosters in the yard felt cowed,
to him they meekly stepped aside and bowed.
Rhode Island Red to others he was known;
the yard’s top bird, to all he wanted shown.
One day a pullet walking on her own
approached red rooster standing all alone.
“Dear sir you’re quite the standout in this room
all smartly clad and dressed in bright red plume
and standing by yourself may I assume
you’re unattached and lonely, I presume.”
Replied the rooster, “Dear cannot you see,
that others always step aside for me,
and I’m the one, I think you would agree
that any hen I wanted, it would be.”
“Oh, really,” she replied with snarky grin,
“then why I ask your party seems quite thin,
and I’m the only caller who’s within;
perhaps it’s time that you and I begin.”
“My dear young hen you’re simply not my type;
you’re far too ordinary is my gripe,
and I prefer a hen who’s much more ripe
for I must always live up to my hype.”
“I see you standing proudly in your frock,
and I can see you’ve been around the block;
you’re nothing but an old conceited cock,
and you deserve a nagging hen to rock.”
June 27, 2019
This is a slightly revised repost but which was formerly deleted.)
I climbed the high mountain,
breathed in the harsh high air,
really relished the beauty
of the valley where you lived.
And all because it was a custom
to present a perfumed edelweiss
to you whom I loved
in those days gone by.
But you would have none of it,
rejected me out of hand.
I felt dejected and frustrated
but then remembered the old legend
how a damsel princess of old
the beauty of the vale,
remained nubile unattached,
for none deserved her hand.
Thus to her death she remained single
and all the men who loved her, wept.
They buried her high upon a mountain
and covered her grave with roses red.
But as spring came upon her grave
grew lovely white flowers whose scent
embellished the mountain tops,
and everyone agreed that
the flower should be a remembrance
of their love that remained a dream.
A flower all called edelweiss,
a memorial for eternity.
© Charles H Keys, 2011. All Rights Reserved
Talking anxiously to myself,
Thoughts fresh of the new,
Some deliberate, others not,
Thoughts old and forgotten,
Mostly familiar or so it appears.
Still wondering why
Am I here? Or maybe not.
Is not the grass still green?
And the snow ... white and cold,
Where is this said?
What awaits me down the road?
Empty fascinations with token vague memories of yore
... lost,
Maybe forever, so meaninglessly insignificant
Here am I for what?
There has to be God or
Why else can I be,
If not to taste fresh air
To soar as an eagle - free, unattached into wherever,
Alone, asphyxiated from man-made constraints.
The aroma of fresh baked bread,
Life awakened life to be lived
The beauty of it all, so green and blue
Warm and cool sunned by our creator
Life lived inside and out.
I thirst for inner quiescence,
Beyond the realm of the mundane and the lost,
Far from the useless and
... the hurt from the heartless, of so many so often,
A universe of everything that is ... in harmony.
A Pauper I am, a Prince I am not, tethered,
Mesmerized in the day-to-day nothingness,
Unsatisfied with the uneventful
I am here, pleading for answers
Of life’s painful purposeful ignorance of each other.
The Tree
A tree stands tall,
in the forest is blended
I sit and admire it's strength,
simply splendid
For each of us has had time to take heed
Time to be fruitful,
give, and time to need
The wind picks up
I hear it call in a distance
It's the path I once chose,
the one with the most resistance
Oh woe, to my life of trouble and despair indeed...
as the wind redundantly shakes the branch with one last plead
Storms come and the rain soaks into the ground
The lightning, the memories
flash all around
Like a breath, in an instant
the calm sets the atmosphere
Don't look at the storm, what was
look at what has appeared
Some of the branches are left weakly unattached
It's the part to let go,
the part of the past
The sunlight now shines on the tree,
it drinks the rain
Ready to grow, flourish and blossom;
remembering no pain
At times, the feel of the sun on my whole body is delicious
How warm, how comforting, how addicting
Of the sun's rays I shall never have enough
Why, amidst life's harsh darting arrows
The warmth of the sun is like a protective umbrella!
At other times, the caress of the wind is arousing
It tends to guide me towards adventure
It tends to bid me to listen to its call
To imagine that somewhere, on high grounds
It can take the form of hot air balloons and just swipe me away!
More, each time, the touch of the rain feels soothing
The flames that inhabit my body die out
And cooled off, I can shake my toils away
And smile at life
As if I were its own queen!
And of course, the wet and cold grass is inviting
On it, I do feel like reclining
For as long as my free time shall allow me to
Grass, smelling like the paths of the other worlds
Bid me to smile, at nothing and no one in particular!
Pray, to enjoy the display of nature
I have chosen to remain unattached
And carefree
Unburdened, even if this implies
That I shall have to be penniless!
Yes, there, scotched on the mountain side, I get to dream
Of flying like birds
Of flying without wings
Of swimming in torrid waters
Of touching the moon, while keeping my feet on Earth!
Pray, I shall not get home tonight
I shall sit and wait on the mountains for the moon to show up
Who knows, I might turn into a werewolf
Or meet a romantic vampire
Who knows where my nature-bent imagination shall take me?
Pain, Loss--
A part of life;
Move on!
Onward
You grow stronger,
Reborn;
Born new,
Like butterfly,
Lively;
Living
Free, unattached
to past;
Past ties,
Ha, holds you back,
Cut loose;
Loosen,
You liberate,
Relive;
Live up,
Rejoice and be
Happy!
~Richard Lamoureux 'Mussetle Train' contest
With his fingers is how a blind man sees
Letting his touch relay the imagery
Now saunter over here next to me
So your beautiful face my hands can see
Your skin is as smooth as a porcelain doll
My fingers trace over a bountiful smile
Your lips are full and subtly wet
A coquettishness I seem to detect
Your nose is carved with perfect symmetry
A button nose, described it would be
Your cheeks are soft and round and full
A little heat suggests I am exciting you
Your eyes are large and mostly round
Your brows, sculptured and curved I found
Eyelashes tickle the palms of my hands
Like butterfly kisses from a dreamland
Ears are hidden beneath long silken hair
Unattached lobes with diamonds in there
My fingers are in love with what they just explored
Now my lips are aching to see some more
When my knitting queen aunt
Feels that needlework pull,
She starts knitting some squares
Using leftover wool.
They’re rectangles, really,
With colorful stripes,
Their patterns and stitches
Of similar types.
Then when there are enough,
Using needle and thread,
She will sew them together
To cover a bed.
If no blanket’s requested
By someone she knows,
To a charity’s stockpile
That handiwork goes.
Though some unattached pieces
My aunt did produce
Found their way to my granddaughter
For a new use.
Now her dolls all have blankets,
Two interests in sync,
Crossing ages and miles
In such a sweet link.
Friendship in a Covid world. (C) Arthur Abrahamson January 2021
My Facebook friends photo stares back at me from the blue tinted screen
A 13 -year-old photograph, the hint of a smile, looking cool looking mean
What do you look like now I wonder, older?wiser? angrier? calmer?
Prematurely aged perhaps by life’s little dramas.
“You can choose your friends but not your relations” an often repeated mantra from my father
who was as right as he was contrary.
Our real friendships oil the wheels of our lives with friends, lovers, husbands and wives,
they age with us and care about us as they would a sister or brother, we are their cherished sibling
unattached by blood.
My Facebook friends are regimented on my screen like dissolute soldiers in various stages
of readiness about to march onto some unknown battleground far away in the ether.
They have funny names Krafty Q,,Lucy Luck, Donald mouse and Mickey duck,
Send me a PM they say but I’m not Whats apping today, I won’t get back to you right away.
Face-to-face in real time I can see the glint in my friends eye, a sudden smile chased from their
face as the conversation moves on again,
Real friends can see my gain, my loss, my joy, my hurt my pain
They ring me at unexpected times, we chat, we sigh, we laugh and cry they’re familiar voices
provide a source of comfort to me like an old favourite jumper I’ve worn for years.
We chat about the highs and lows of our times together, telling each other cherished jokes and
stories that are the markers in our coveted relationship.
They are real, they are the people, although not always seen, who are there in spirit to turn to
when I’m emotionally bereft, or lose a loved one to a Covid death,
They, who I move towards when I need a cuddle when life at home becomes a muddle.
A wall of silent photos on my computer screen I have 396 Facebook friends,
I’ve only ever met 22 the rest are silent never ageing, still in particular poses
I much prefer my real friends who I can see to embrace and hold when this horror closes.
light penetrated dark, sound birthed
the Word ~ p o e t r y
a superlative emitting that which changes
emerging when ripened as verse
speaking to people faraway
unlocking alphabets from minds
to glide, fast fly, jump or slowly crawl, landing
at destined places, swords or aces
I am Poetry ~ weep or whimper not for me
existentially dancing, enthralling, glancing at
blank paper to be embroidered in ink
ruby red, black or olive green
free flow I from fingers fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only for joy or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
I, P o e t r y ~ sequins of Love convoluted or rayed, in service
purifying emotive sentiments conditioned, romantic, missioned
Heart is my home where rest my letters, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered intelligence visioning dreamscapes
divine, liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
alive is my Supersoul breath giving voice to electrons
protons, neutrons which fleetingly capture
essenced life through observed elixirs
as Poetry, I witness action followed by pure
stillness ~ transcendental whirlpools in orbits
my limbs reach language lyrical or plain
burnished and wise
cherishing recitals in sacred spaces
I activate thoughts and visions remaining
supremely unattached attuning words
for Grace ~
undulate imagination in perfect waves
misty, clear or intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, sizzling in my own
fire or ice
I, Poetry, consummated
voice the W o r d
Filtering through the empty broken balconies along the rivieras
are the waning cacophonies echoing monotonous songs,
“Merciless they are to us at the breaking of dawn”
Where life once thrived, we arrived in the city called the strip,
an open-air prison, an amphitheater without any spectators
insight, although the world is watching
We trudge onto yet another camp
The sun brings nothing, not anything more than light
that shines upon a smokey sky
I see more of nothingness, space, void, rubble
Everything is foreign and everyone has changed
All are cold, scared, and hungry, we walk aimlessly
In the hands of anyone unknowing if he or she's sane
There is so much fear, I am no longer safe
A new reality has come upon me
To the smell of death should I adapt?
A new day has dawned, morning has broken
Echoes pick up murmurs of others tears long spent
sifting through these ruins where I hide
Unattended unattached, no time for a sigh,
cry, or yawn, I am zombie like
The unrest of the last night has begun again
The recent blood red scenes now past
Yesterday's echoes filter one more reality
Will it be me today?
Turn Back The Clock
Six months have now passed since I learned of your death
Still grapple with the reality that you no longer draw breath
Taking your own life left me feeling bewildered and shocked
If I could make a Genie's wish this is one reality I like blocked
Hanging yourself at just forty four with so much soul to give
If only I could turn back the clock and make you want to live
You kept many secrets from me , sadly depression was one
I know if I knew there was probably nothing I could have done
It explains so much, the lies, the absences and why you drank
Holding tightly to your secret instead of being morally frank
Whenever you saw me, you hug me so tight and tell me you loved me
Bursting into tears at grocery store realizing you again I would never see
I miss your emails sent monthly with heartwarming pictures attached
Pleading with me to give us another chance if I ever became unattached
Ironically I learned of your death six days after breaking off with other guy
Lives hand dealt swiftly and harshly as from heaven I'm sure you seen me cry
So many incredible happy memories of you I hold dearly in my heart
I feel you around me, you're with me in spirit even though we are apart
I hope your now at peace and happy that Kim and I are chums
Please be our guardian angel and protect us until our time comes
RIP Lee aka Bam Bam .....Love, Pebbles
Banish listening, and teachings end.
Between "Yes!" and "No!"
How much spectral difference is there?
Between healthy "live" and "evil"
Is the difference not normally 50-50?
That which we fear
Is indeed to be feared;
That which we love
Is indeed to be beloved;
But, alas, distant, yet also at hand, is this dawn of awakening
toward loving to be loved as
fearlessly unafraid of Beloved Climax Community!
We merry-make today,
self-congratulate while sub-optimizing,
As if consistently absorbing redemptive nutrients,
As if playing Mountain Warrior in Springs redolent climax;
I alone am mildly wild with harvesting unemployment,
Like a new-born babe that cannot yet smile,
Unattached,
neither grasping at joy nor averting lost identity,
contention with dissonance is like one without a zero home.
History's prevailing culture has enough and to spare,
But I am like one left out,
behind marginal invisible boundary,
my heart and mind must be that of buttless comedy,
Being as muddled,
ambivalently equivalent,
nebulously coincident!
Left-brain dominator cultures are knowing, luminous,
strength self-fulfilling and prophesying futures;
I alone am dull, confused, equivalent.
Egocentric culture is clever, self-assured;
I alone, depressed, repressed, suppressed,
not impressed, pressed, pressing, birthing.
Patient as the sea,
Adrift, seemingly aimless tipping points.
We all have purposed meaning,
teleologized ecological faith;
I alone appear stubborn and irrelevantly uncouth.
I appear to differ from SuperEgo Culture,
In optimally valuing succulent sustenance from Mother Earth,
universal natural systemic polyculturing in/out-formation.
Fall
foliage dying
free flying, unattached
uplifting, glowing, eye candy
colourfulf