Best Unbound Poems
Realities Unbound
Thru realities unbound and transfixed
Elders open gates of Temporal Time
Layering Multi-Verses intermixed
Portals welcoming the new paradigm
Angelic voices transport thru the mist
Forging fires in dimensional drift
Creations of desires that coexist
Nebulous clouds of lust squeeze thru the rift
Orbs of passion set the pretentious pace
Planets of pleasure align with their sun
Celestial beings watchers of their space
Serving emotions spherically spun
Divinities send us back with a shove
As we master the mysteries of Love.
Sept.15.2018
Beautiful mystery Poetry
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Sonnet form only. Ten syllables per line
Placed 1'st Premiere Contest
Sept.26.2018
I'm a ship alive with voice
Adrift on the oceans of time
Sailing through a storm of choice
On waves of verse that need no rhyme.
Never far from harbor or shore
Driven by passionate gales
I have only words for oars
And, only faith for sails.
My manifest is etched on scrolls
My cargo sealed by blood rites
I'm searching the seas for lost souls
Shipwrecked from storms in the night.
I bring relief to those in need
And precious hope to the dying
I search for starving souls to feed
Bringing life and joy undying.
I cure the sick and brokenhearted
While saving lives for King and crown
I'm the greatest ship ever recorded
I am the holy word of God,
....unbound!
Timothy I. Brumley
For Timothy Lee
You are the one and only perfect male for this girly female.
Your body, so strong, manly and taut, is meant for my body soft.
Your hands eager, sensual assails make my senses lapse and fail.
Your manly, intimate onslaughts erase my every thought.
When your intent looms to impale, I soon forget how to inhale.
When my impassioned mouth is caught by your desirous lips as sought,
and your flesh-kisses press lust trails rendering me as velvet wails ...
oh, then ... you perfectly astound as I melt perfectly unbound.
Her beauty draped, a silhouette divine,
The most beautiful woman, her grace defined.
Eyes like constellations, deep and profound,
Wisdom their gaze, a universe found.
Golden tresses cascade, a waterfall of light,
Soft as whispers, in the moonlit night.
Her skin, a canvas, where stories are told,
A tapestry of warmth, in hues untold.
A symphony of laughter, a melody sweet,
Intellect sparkles, in every thought she greets.
Her words, like poetry, dance in the air,
A reflection of brilliance, beyond compare.
Graceful as a swan, she moves with ease,
A dance of intellect, a gentle breeze.
Her smile, a sunrise, breaking the dawn,
In her presence, a symphony of sound.
The most beautiful woman, a blend so rare,
Physical allure, and intellect, so rare.
In her existence, a masterpiece is spun,
For she is the art, the moon and the sun,
Aunt Shirle Moore .
Written: November 24, 2024, For Contest, Sponsored by: Janis Medders Tobechi
_________________________
When darkness creeps on this erratic land,
The weeping of souls trapped in wiry chains.
Tyranny reigns, and hope slips from our hands,
While quiet dulls the echoes of their pains.
The streets are filled with whispers of despair,
As dreams are crushed beneath the weight of fear.
Yet bold hearts rise, determined to declare,
The truth that must be heard, though none may hear.
Shadows drift in every crevice, so wide,
Yet light yields, like a flicker in the night.
For those who resist the increasing tide,
Will fight for fairness supported by right.
So let us join our voices, fierce and strong,
And weave a world where all of us belong.
A beautiful nightmare haunts me,
I am spellbound by her words.
The death of a thousand nights,
the loss of a thousand tales.
Spin me a parable of love and triumph,
wrap me in a fable of pain and life.
Ensnared, I bow to the grace of eloquence
and cry for the mercy of silence.
Tossed in a deep sea and lost…
Forgotten words of little cost…
I stood behind letters never seen…
Hid behind lines that were my dreams…
Thought I drowned in a poetic rain…
Only to awaken without restrain…
A transparent soul no more…
A mind cluttered with rhyming décor…
Speaking in tongue over quiet sounds…
With Hidden messages of faith sent unbound…
Oh, how much I wish...
To be infinite like the space
To not let the frets of life
fetter my freewill
To flap my wings of fantasy and fly high
To feel the blissful blue
and whisper a secret to the sky
To become the sun atleast for one day
shining bright with special kind of rays
rays that spread messages of peace
to every living being they touch
To be free atleast for one day
from the daily hassles of life
To allow my mind to meander
through unknown locations
To be able to step onto
all those places,
to where, like flamingos,
my thoughts migrate
To touch the soils of the lands I reach
To speak in their native tongues
and listen to their untold stories
... to be unbound
Date: 11/09/2022
Writing Challenge - Unburden A "U" Word - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Choose to break away
release the cage of sorrow
Moment of freedom
A transformation;
molecular sensation;
I am one, with all.
A snowy atom, haze
in transcendental gaze,
is freedom for a soul’s ways.
Betwixt the jubilation
and spiritual elation;
mind collects its new momentum…
off it goes to seek new dreams;
off it goes to mine new schemes.
Within the holy harvest,
I express myself, the artist,
who transcending,
sees between the cosmic folds,
so never ending.
I am you and you are I;
in the blinking of an eye,
how mortality does grasp,
the wandering soul,
within its flight; enters Heaven just
before the closing hasp.
In this leaden chest;
with its insufficient rest;
immortality it teases me
with oh, such cruel jest,
in this eternal night,
upon nocturnal flight.
Oh to taste eternal sweets;
feeding on ambrosia-meats;
the food of angelic delight
upon the palate of God’s light.
My eternal soul celebrates
This glorious night.
How I yearn,
just to return,
to the place from whence I came;
melding with the others,
in the sacred astral plane,
where I’ll rest in peace, one day
and there I will always stay.
All the angels
in their flight,
could come visit me tonight;
take me home into the
omniscient holy light;
it’s oh so bright.
As we weave our dance today
some time slips into being
what is before us
in this glorious dance I love so
as tears fill my eyes with your joy
and recognition
focused in perfection before me
where I can breath them into life
life that we share as one
separate but never far apart
in a life that I love like water
drinking your skin with my eyes
as you sail through canyons of uncertainty
as if tomorrow could die
and you'd be happy
just as you are today
knowing your heart
is not some moment's creation
but eternally woven into being
by the very footsteps you are taking now
and have take since before you knew
you walk alone together with me
as if we recognized some purpose
dreaming we may touch in order that we do
knowing the day will come
when this beauty will abound larger
long enough to light a fire
in the heart of a new traveler
who lay sleeping silent there
in the distant corner of your imagination
until our love gives life again
in a relay race without winner
and our kiss seals their fate
to become their own keeper
and continue our flame
as if they held us
as they do
just as surely
as we hold them
unbound
certain
and true
I am the root.
I am the green fuse.
I am the stem, the bud,
the dry twig,
and the stealthy footstep
that snaps it in the night.
I am the rising hair on the back of your neck.
I am Merlin, the bard,
and I sing of it all.
I am the bard of warm sheets,
and insincere ones as much.
I am the empty gesture,
and the chill that sets upon the pillow.
I am Love itself, and the murderer of Love.
I am the arrow on its mark.
I am the dregs of wine
at the bottom of the barrel.
I am the wrong unredressed,
and the debt long unpaid.
I am Merlin, the bard,
And I remember it all.
I am the vocation unheeded,
the monk with no prayer,
and the lusty nun, alone in her bed.
I am the trickster.
I am my own mother and my own father,
incubus and succubus, one and the same.
I am the milky breath of your firstborn.
I am the scent of his decay.
I am Merlin the Conjurer,
and I conjure it all.
I am the rising star in your firmament
and the wellspring of your dreams.
I am the grains of sand in your hourglass.
I am your merciless mirror, year after year.
I am the green moss awaiting your bones.
I am the greedy worms.
I am your life’s purpose,
and the odds against it.
I am your last chance.
I am all the times you turned back.
I am your fresh start.
I am the gnome, the sylph,
the salamander, and the undine.
I am the severed head, the cauldron,
and the threefold death.
I am the angel.
I am the serpent.
I am the hawk that circles in the blue.
I am each letter of your name.
I am Merlin, the bard.
I am you.
And I sing of us all.
To gaze on your form
reveling in lassitude
ankles crossed
arms cradling a lolling head,
is to know mystery.
Unwritten tomes
etch the surface of furrowed brow.
Eyes arrayed in perpetual humor,
the brawn of chest rising and falling
with satisfied breath
speaks only of peace.
To gaze upon your form
in wonder such a precious gift.
Maleness surmounts you
from the arch of your cheek bone
to the blue black flutter at your wrists.
You shall be used unabashedly
as all artists do
my Prometheus
my fire
my muse.
I pray in a crescendo, a wound unwound,
softly moving ‘round in the sound
found vibrating inside of me;
a variation, a fusion,
a euphony to black
adversity as a requiem
unbound would be –
the stress of chains,
cacophonous then melodious,
black to black then onto a deceptive
cadence with an end-note tremulous,
a nocturne played under stars
with a tempo easily bent
toward the present perfect tense
in a chord seared by sweet lament –
I’m sure you’ve never heard of her –
Her name was Judith Scott.
The cards were stacked against her
So she didn’t have a shot.
Both Down’s and deafness were her lot;
Her twin was not affected.
An institution was her home
Where nothing was expected.
When she was in her 40’s though,
Her sister got her out
And only then did she first taste
What life was all about.
A center for disabled folk
Taught art and Judith thrived.
In sculpture using cloth and objects,
Artistry arrived.
Her colorful creations now
In Brooklyn* can be found.
Together they’re displayed and titled
“Bound and” yes, “Unbound.”
No one knew what Judith Scott
Was thinking while creating,
But she’s the proof within us all
Potential might be waiting.
*Brooklyn Museum