Best Unbent Poems
Today was a good day
Today he walked on legs unbent
And erect spine of a man intent
On stilling the cacaphony of monotony
And smoothing the callouses of convalescence
For today, we both forgot
The wasting rate this cancer's wrought
Today, he teased and squeezed and poked
Fun at his trademark old school jokes
Laughter's remembered warmth evoked
Today he drove his rattling truck
His feet sure on the pedal's pump
And carried boxes of tradebooks and tools
With hands that know weighted control
Today, without a splint or cane
He tamed steps of receding pain
Today, through a briefly calm sea
He is the man he used to be
So today, I can foresee
The luxury
When days like these
Are ordinary.
1/23/21
POTD 23rd Nov 2023
THE WISH
As the softer rose shades of twilight fades
With a heartfelt gravity, darkness descends
Oblivious to the North winds stinging bite
‘Neath this star-speckled sky, his devotion extends
to that quintessential ‘Component of Time’ that stills
surrendering to the moment, most mortals miss
In this mystical flash of sweet dispose
His ardent wish for her ~ An ‘Immortal Rose’
His Mother ~ so graciously accepting her thorns
Qualms have not stolen her persona, its joy
Unbent by toil, a conqueror of storms
A courageous heroine in the eyes of her boy
Why can’t love embodied in rose petals last?
In solemn simplicity, a child’s query gets passed
Swathe in crystalline warmth from a galaxy far
Gifted Immortality is borne ~ on wings of a star
One deep forest day
God looked down where snowfall lay.
Rainbows plucked from sky
He unbent. Then through dark trees. . .
spears of radiance God sent.
For Carolyn Devonshire's
Forest Lights Poetry Contest
She was dancing to the melodies of her life when she accidentally lost her legs.
She then wrote poetry and songs until fate paralysed her hands.
She then started singing her story to the world and time snatched the sweet voice away from her.
One day, the earth found her dead but her life took life in a million hearts.
P.S. - On this International Women's Day, shout out to all those unbent women. With this poem, I would like to tell you, all the women out there, not to turn and walk back. Go ahead, come what may. You are an amazing child of nature. Spread your magic around. Keep smiling, keep spreading smiles and keep uplifting.
This poem may get into trouble,
The world wants identity double.
Attempting to culture commonality,
The world champions individuality.
Theft of language has become all too common,
Yesterday’s use today identifies one a strawman.
Definitions change, words take on other meaning,
Often toward groups one way leaning.
At our language different groups continually hack.
In the case of *****, African American, now Black.
Or European, White, then Caucasian,
Korean American, Indian, rather than Asian.
Why is it that unmentionable words,
You know them, our dialect’s turds.
The use of people demeaned still proliferates,
While outsiders use carry’s different weights?
Color, religion, disability, sex, and age,
All lines in the sand drawn to disparage.
We should agree that race be set aside,
Bound together in one Human pride?
Our world needs new words and labels,
Not old words containing past fables.
Words that create, unite, and rejoin,
Not words that change on the flip of a coin.
Straight should mean unbent?
Snowflake should be heaven sent.
Gay should be a happy feeling.
Black’s big “B” should begin peeling.
I applaud the generation of Ze.
The neutral meaning of he or she.
A word with definition created anew.
A word defining both me and you.
8/31/2017
Within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright
shadows twist obsidian trees torment,
the cypress writhe in blood moon’s bright delight.
The hunter hides his nascent lust for might
and so the doe flees by man’s bow unbent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight,
bedevil not the finer soul, repent,
the destined deed, must feed, man’s plight.
With deadly skill, fletched shaft sheers frosty night.
The horned hart does fall in wonderment,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
And torment flows in drops of crimson sight,
distorting right and light with man’s intent.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight
Into the holy water blood rings light
for life is all and death is but dissent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright,
the cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight.
Men cannot be trusted
emotionless and hardened,
They tend to be aggressive
Then thoughtlessly are pardoned.
Promiscuously driven
With ego swelling large,
They're loud, endowed and over proud
And in your life they'll barge!
They see vastly different
They see a girl- a prize,
Their honesty is always great
Until they just tell lies.
They'll blame you for everything
They'll treat you as a game,
They're really not so interesting
Predictable and lame.
Hence before you run away
To whatever you have lusted,
Take heed of what I say...
For men should not be trusted.
Now, I could back this poem up
With proof of evidence,
As damages that most men do
Is astronomically immense.
Though I’m sure when they do read this
They’ll hate and much resent
The honesty and forthrightness
From a poetess unbent.
Yes we need to put them in their place
Before problems rise again
Wars and violence amongst our silence
All due to stupid men.
Though I wonder Joe and all that know
Andy and Big Randy
So I’ll admit just a bit
Men can be soooo handy !
And I’m fortunate to know
Good mans’ integrity
The ones who care a very rare
And voice this literally.
Though I’ve generalised and chastised
The ones not up to speed
I’ll be fair and I’ll share
Men…I know we need.
They’re great when they are good
Respectable and kind
They can be the bestest friends
And ease our worried mind.
Baby boys so wonderful
And innocence impart
Uplifting me, will always be
Forever in my heart.
The he whose not corrupted
It’s him I do commend
And loyal I will always be
To a good true friend.
How brothers I have missed you
Through the push and shove
And I am grateful never hateful
For platonic love…
Here here I’m not so sexist
Indifferent, a goner,
As I think of he who strengthens me
'tis he, I love and honour.
I am a ghost in this house
A shadow of the past shapeless moving around you silently.
Carefully stepping on the stair steps that don't creak.
Sliding along the oak floors.
Wearing invisible clothes that don't crease.
Wondering constantly for your warmth to come back.
Grace me with your presence once more.
To be as we were solid
unbent perfection.
You are a ghost in this house
A breeze through the attic window that shimmers the curtains.
The cold side of the bed.
Wondering awake untill we meet again.
We walk circles round one another
Our hands never touch
Our bodies never meet.
I look for you in everything
Room to room but no luck
You am a ghost in this house
You bound up the stairs loudly but never make a sound.
I turn as I think I see a shadow.
Sitting on our bed with your head in your hands
A crying broken man
We are ghosts in this house
One alive, one dead
Moving around one another
But forever looking
In the garden of the heart, where roses bloom, Your beauty awakens like dawn’s soft perfume. Each petal whispers a tale so sincere, A song of love only we can hear.
We are one, entwined in nature’s grand design, Held in a rose’s embrace, gentle and divine. Lost in the sea of timeless grace, Where love alone leaves its sacred trace.
Imagine a world where no eyes intrude, A silent dance, our private interlude. Our love, like roses, blooms unseen, In shadowed spaces, soft and serene.
Our hearts compose a melody of dreams, Each beat a note in love’s flowing streams. Through life’s garden, hand in hand, We find beauty where petals land.
A butterfly drifts on delicate wings, Pausing on roses, where hope softly clings. It ties our dreams with a ribbon so fine, A symbol of love’s eternal shine.
In this garden of endless bloom, We cast away fears, make room. For roses teach us to live with grace, And find harmony in every space.
The mist of feeling, tender and pure, Dwells in each rose, where love is sure. Let light dissolve the deepest night, As roses flourish in morning’s light.
We weave sunlight into our days, Finding balance in love’s warm rays. Each dawn brings a rose, bright and true, Guiding us through the quiet blue.
Come close, my love, and share this view, In the garden where hearts renew. The rose, eternal, a sacred sign, Of love that’s pure and forever entwined.
As shadows deepen and daylight fades, Roses endure in their graceful glades. Their fragrance tells of love’s sweet call, A bond unbroken, surviving all.
And when petals fall, their colors spent, The essence of our love remains, unbent. For within the heart’s eternal glow, Our love will thrive, as roses know.
So let us cherish each bloom we find, In the garden of the heart, so kind. With every petal, our love grows strong, Singing forever in roses’ song.
blue planet water
blue sky just scattered sunbeams
dusk's red, unbent light
Brian Johnston
July 28,2014
Poet's Notes:
Isn't it great? Three wonders of nature explained in 17 words. It is so much fun
sharing my love of Physics with others. Lay people in general have no idea the
treasure they are missing. Of course Religious Literalists are the most deprived.
They literally live in the stone age (and the rock is all between their ears!)
Physics is not a replacement for God in my mind, but rather, like a beautiful
sunset, another way of viewing Him, of experiencing His love for us. Physics is
just a different perspective of the same mountain as it were.
God is mysterious (but he is also accessible) . He is a humanist (loving us as
He loves His own son) , a mathematician (the underpinnings of Physics) , a
musician (think of the joy we experience in all harmonies, even discordant
ones) , an artist (the waiting beauty of galaxies far exceeding the imagination
of man) , a humorist (who besides me doesn't think that it is extremely funny
that the Jews, as His chosen people, behaved no differently really than non-
Jews - God granting special favours clearly does not make us better people.
'Just do this for me God and I will never stray! ' Really just hilarious!) , and on
and on.
Really, as usual, Einstein had a very interesting perspective that I think we
should all embrace, 'Reality is an illusion! ' And so it is folks! The only posture
appropriate in the presence of God is one of extreme humility (and gratitude) .
Let me quote one of my own echo poems here, Echo: Alone Too...
Alone….. with the lost! Are prayers ever answered?
Alone….. my heart overwhelmed. Could that be a prayer?
I look at the rainbow as summer squall passes
And find that I'm grateful that I am a player.
Aren't all of life's problems, in the grand scheme of things (if we are honest)
really little more than a 'summer squall? '
Dragon Slayer! Dragon Slayer! Just say it isn’t so! Just Look at that cutesy face!
Behind the scary teeth, fire, and smoke… Choke…Ah… he’s gentle to embrace!
Moody, sulky, get even-ish, is truly he. But to have him, is so cool… and so hot!
And, I truly do mean Hot! Fire retardant suit’s a must, as there’s fire… often, a lot!
He’s just a baby, waiting to be taught. I tried to teach him, how to fly me thru the air.
Instead, he dumped me in a treetop, it took all day to get down, until I despaired.
To help me down, he lit the tree afire, as his wings errantly fanned the roaring flames.
I jumped, and he smiled a toothy grin, because I was safe, he steadfastly claims.
I’m on crutches, nearly bent his tail. But he loves me, you can tell, see he puffs at me!
Grandpa Troll gives us time out, when there’s a tiff, as my dragon, is petulant, you see.
At times, he sits across the lake from me, blowing fire and smoke ¾ across the lake.
He’s such a sensitive thing, he took my couch to the lake, upon sitting, it did break.
I got upset and called him fat…he tried to steam me, as fire is such, a No- No.
For, he had learned to not throw fire… at least when Grandpa Troll is, there, tho…
He needs to be first, the center of attention, seen in his cunning life’s plots, galore!
He taught my Trolls a happy dance, while waiting their first boat ride. Silly Dragon!
They sunk my boat! It's believed, he was getting even for being last in line, you think?
And he stomped off, perturbed, when told no more rides until the boat is unsink-ed.
He’d been last, for breaking my roof for another (fourth) time, but it will soon be fixed.
You see, he gets lonely, while waiting for me, to come outside to play, the little minx!
He CAN be hard on insurance, as I got cancelled and my bills are higher than a kite!
And when the Supreme Leader of the Universe, came to our picnic on a motorbike…
Dragon, accidentally, released his Dogs of War, while sitting on his Harley Bike.
Honestly, the flat tires can be fixed, the body unbent, and the spokes were given back.
I explained they weren’t HIS toothpicks… he truly looked sad as sad can be, at that.
Never fear, we caught the Dogs of War before they had time to… do great harm.
You can just imagine how great this dragon will eventually be, when all grown up.
Dragon Slayer, indeed! Grandpa Troll gave him to me. He’s sweet as sweet can be!
Hoping everyday there will be a vicissitude in your thinking.
Irritation and repose.
Waiting.
For a text, a call, reticence.
White space on paper.
Empty.
I drank your wine.
I reveled in your game.
Laid nude and bent over your couch while you created rudiment on the floor beside my foot.
Vessel.
Held my breath, eyes shut while you finished yourself.
Watched you cook steak on the grill.
Men get hungry or sleep, you were hungry and I have told you;
I don’t eat red meat.
You tell me to retire myself from cooking because our duties are equalized though our genders are not.
I ate the steak.
Copious house, sizeable paycheck, exiguous man.
Microbic consort.
Missed appointments.
“You should have reminded me….” you say
But I know anything important is worth remembering or writing down.
I am sullen.
In life I am compensated to remind men of various appointments.
“Could you jot this down…….remind me on this date….”
Though it’s not my berth, my disposition to succor puts me in this bearing, and in my own dash, I don’t find gravity to prompt a man that we have a reservation once every few weeks outside his couch.
I won't ask again for what I demand in whole; time, allotment, an epoch.
Time spent unbent over leather couches in precarious manners, minds soused with wine.
I am letting you go.
I am detestable, inconsequential.
You are pulchritudinous and astute.
White space on paper.
Someone is waiting to write me a poem.
I think the rain has to be my muse.
Sheets of unbent rain does fall.
Threads of silver drifting down,
Flowing through my pen effectively
To quench my poetic thirst through verse
Impressive an unpredictable, it is,
Just like Mother Nature's moods.
It's so romantic and enlightening,
Or so raw and dramatic in it's fury.
The only thing predictable
Is the unpredictability of it's swarths.
05/26/2013
For Francine Roberts's contest, 'Rain Rain Rain'
In the fascinating life journey of a couple
When clouds darken in their midst all of a sudden
With murky grey shades in their relation purple
Many a storms begin to twirl their souls ‘n burden.
Clouds of hatred billow inside them both,
Nights are full of creaking noises ‘n uproar
Howling winds spread in hearts taunt ‘n loath
Respect is tarred ‘n no rapport is attempted to fore.
Startled winds of ego and jealousy begin to roll
Through enraged corners of mind and heart
Gales of dominance drive faster uncontrol
Thunder of anger spooks their animal spirits apart.
When their egos remain unbent and both do not yield
They tear each other unresent and blow off their tops
Relations start to break and love gets cartwheeled
Pitted against the perpetuating gale of hatred it pops.
Bolts of lightning rip their worlds poles apart
Even gods seem furious and trigger the landslides
Reverberating with ire, the unsettled hearts begin to smart
Drowned in their desperation they lie low in their glides.
After the brutal dazzle, a torrent of tears beat down their cheeks
Drowning their muddied worlds in sorrow and gloom
Flooded, they somehow lose energy to add more obliques
Storm when it weakens later, it gives them some legroom.
After clouds poured empty, they let open up the sky
To both it dawns it would be silly to ignore nature’s reprieve
They pull up themselves and decide to make another try
With whatever bits and pieces left after the storm to retrieve
It is easier to get over nature’s storms of wind and rain
But difficult to revive sunshine of relations once sullied
Not easy to repair vivid scars of the stormed souls that remain
Hope and renewed love of twain may get differences buried.
Date: 1/7/2014
Contest: Storms by Shadow Hamilton
What's that robed in gleaming emeralds rare,
Among the so-called dark-hued junkets plain?
So in blackest nooks glittering gems do glow,
Where prejudice would like them labelled vain?
Bravest arms that swift swords in virtue wave,
Cry for the very plunder their rawest valor gave;
Lying hands that didn't any valiant battles fight,
Claim the loot and push its owners out of sight.
Who is that warrior in harm's way yet unbent,
In peril's fierce path still going fast and stout?
See with what peerless conquest unparalleled,
The fitting patriot fags foes with fearless rout?
The country-loving martyr in clammy attires red,
Misses the full liberty into which his bravery led.
The country-hating bigot with faint fallacies bleak,
Takes all glory and dubs him an undeserving freak.
If Nature herself can't her succinct laws rewrite,
Don't tell me that Black is not as good as White!