Best Unconscious Poems
If the unbearable lightness of being has pushed you to the brink of catastrophic meltdown,
walk to the edge of our flat two-dimensional existence
and take a leap of faith...
You may drift through space for quite some time
eyeing the stars, the planets, the galaxies
that make up the great and boring universe beyond.
Eventually you'll come across darker, scarier territory,
unseen with the naked eye
yet comprising 95% of all matter,
and all that matters,
otherwise known as the unconscious.
Some day you'll feel safer in the void,
more secure,
at peace.
With not one mirror in sight to reflect your self concept,
everything and nothing make perfect sense here,
for they are one and the same.
You are the only observer
of man's true final frontier
and his one and only mystery.
Series of daydreams blind me,
reality seems dull and bland.
When awake I'm still fatigued,
It's time to take a stand.
Reality is all work,
striving to provide.
Elaborate dreams of success,
projecting deep inside your mind.
In your dreams you can be successful,
doing what you do everyday.
You can make an infinite income,
and have everything your way.
The average human being in reality,
makes a decent wage.
Still, most struggle to survive,
trapped in life's invisible cage.
No limitations in the fantasy realm,
your mind sets the stage.
Choreography by the unconscious,
horizons spread a distant gauge:
***I own a little cottage on fifty acres of land.
Fields of vegetation and a lake made by man.
***A beautiful model bride to exemplify true love.
Another on the side I just picked her up last month.
***A private corporate jet with my own attending crew.
To do with at my discretion, "Sir, what can I get you"
***An over-sized garage with every car my brain produces.
This is definitely a mirage, oh how my brain seduces..
Jared Pickett
12/21/05
Asavvy1
I forgive the stars sleeping in nothingness,
too afraid to embrace eclipsed spheres…..
In the midst of sweltering gloaming,
I ascend, obscured and tarnished,
like a tainted trinket lost
in the tangerine haze.
For I’ve long been burning
from the coals of stigma~
stamping labels upon troubled torrents,
using malignant metals,
mirroring the fear within lichen eyes,
consumed by ancient
arrows of anguish~
from the era of Hercules and Midas.
But if only they knew, there is
no remedy for the jaded jewels that
refuse to sparkle,
for my purity remains unseen in
growing darkness,
oblivious to the liquid gold
that flickers compassion,
as they see not
beyond their fractured vision.
O distorted colors of the sun,
I’m not your perplexed perspective;
I breathe in hues of humanity,
infused with luminous lavender.
I’m not a Medusa siren luring you
to serpentine rocks;
I swim in chromatic, evanescent streams,
brimming with blissful bioluminescence,
illuminating my way under the midnight sky.
I’m not the suffocating wintry winds
freezing oxygen in your lungs.
While it seems your tongue is silenced
and tied to the twisted strings
of broken instruments,
I ink words of hope and
empathy upon your cynical skin.
I am more than the blind rage
seeping in fury.
I’m not a heartless harpy
screeching into the emptiness~
drenched in despair,
pushing boundaries to
the ends of the earth.
I am Atlas holding the world on
his shoulders,
I am the glistening stars aching
to touch the silver ring around
the jasmine moon.
But life is like a helix fixated
on unconscious bias,
constantly critical of diverse dialects,
watching me struggle to stand
under the weight of pressure,
knees buckling as your assumptions
lacerate me, breaking me down,
burying me in your ruthless riddles.
I feel rumbling dirt beneath
my bleeding feet.
My sarcophagus is rising,
built from your putrid ideals of me.
Losing footing, I refuse to fall into
the seething seas of sorrow.
So remember, I was never
the soulless monster hiding
beneath your ignorant bed.
But I am now the skeletons
etched within the cataclysmic
aftermath of your
shallow misconceptions.
Written: September 08, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He has blue eyes and lovely blond hair,
Curls rose above his pink and pretty ware.
Do not mention his background or affairs,
With Africa by people who settled there.
His father's family tree has extensive roots,
Has Swedish, Cajun French, and British limbs.
Grafts from Choctaw and Cherokee wood routes,
That got some black stems from long-time whims.
His mother comes from a Creole background,
Descendants of a native African tribe.
Parentage from France and Spain was found,
And mingled with Bayou Indians and more vibe.
Because intolerance and hatred confine,
They also obstruct the expansive plain.
Therefore, bigots are vindictive and supine,
It is only clear to observe the gutter drain.
There are no pleasant views of the spleen,
There are no cloverfields or rolling greens.
Restricted minds lack the ability to see,
a breathtaking panorama of the scene.
And biased men with pretentious pride,
While in white, they become narrow-eyed.
who despise Blacks, Jews, and Native side,
They are completely sealed and closed inside.
Religion in the public square is becoming an endangered species. - Mathew Staver
the lavender moon, in silhouettes of blue
paint my thoughts in melodies,
hues of grace and gentle peace, silent flow
tulips, roses, lilies blowing in the wind,
who breaths her hope across the meadow,
laughing, dancing, singing wistful
in trembling verses, stirring the delicious
vision of gifted words, healing
hopes that break away from the past
shatter the shadows with an overcast sky,
burdened by melancholic gray,
broken by the memories who prey
on the spirit, the soul, the wisdom of a knowing…
dressed in aster’s kiss, flames of gold
hesitating, burning away the doubts,
flavoring the heart with a feeling,
flowing beyond the still, cool crispness
autumn’s elation, praising, amazing
chanting to the moon, the stars
blessing the thoughts of those who hear her,
whispering, rustling through September,
passing by the rust colored truths,
embracing the silence and erasing the fear,
who comes to those hearts
listening to the rarest crackling of a tear,
edged in grief, distant calamity…
testing the waters, challenging the thoughts
who hear her mysteries,
unconscious bias, darkening the wings
who soar over the dreams,
fighting back the urge
to forget the joy that sees
through the catastrophic brink
insanity, the folly
beneath the doubts, the fears
tears blended with salty songs,
quietly pleading, praying, praising
because He is never wrong
His love leaves the moment calm,
soothes away the distant panic,
replacing her phobia
with assurance… He is silent,
while blessings fall over the spirit,
in secret promises, forever
written on the heart who sees Him,
in the secret places, always
saving souls from the darkness
of eternity without hope,
eternity without love…
unconscious bias tells me, forever
I’ll sing the song of thanksgiving
because, with this love He reveals
I know what it is to be fulfilled,
I know what it is to be assured,
I know what it is to be loved,
with love that is my soul’s joy,
love that is the moment I knew
the light of the world,
the light that is pure,
the light that glows so I know
the wonder of reflecting the love
that grows and grows…
so I know – He is living, deep in my soul!
In the tissues of the dreams are all the threads of life
braided together into a mysterious image
She will love without shame,
for the man who wakes up in the man somewhere
Outstandingly beautiful, let go of the imagination
Guided by what the heart understands
Physics sets no boundaries
The night opens for a whole new world,
of unknown dimensions
Spread these dreams over high mountains
Obtain strength where it is to find without fear
Feel the sun warm even when it does not shine
Beautiful and emotional in a fate of mankind
The roses of life are born on a new day
23.05.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
unconscious he lies
near playground laden with snow
struck by fallen branch
The first blizzard of the season lasted a day and a half! Snow is piled up three feet high and schools and offices are closed. The power lines are down due to high winds and ice- not unusual here on the east coast this time of year. Snow drifts hug the window panes and tiny faces peer through, eager to go outdoors. They're excited to see the first major snow fall. All they see is the beauty. They could not know how deceptive it is. I, along with the neighbors spend the afternoon cleaning cars; clearing walkways of snow and ice, along with fallen branches. Later the kids bring out their sleds which they’d already taken out of storage and loud screeching and laughter ensue. I'm keeping busy helping to build snowmen and dodging snowballs then slowly, my anxiety begins to fade like the high winds that deposit these fantasy gardens. However, that was only temporary. Time for a while seems to past swiftly for me; still,Jim hasn’t returned home nor has he called. Calls to his cell phone are unanswered. No one has heard from him. Friends suggest he must be taking the back roads. They head out to search, while I can do is pace, make hot chocolate and call to hospitals
~*~
01/25/13
Perplexingly puzzling world,
Finds fault with things truly good;
Exalts evident evils,
Where sadness of madness turns gladness…!
Individualism wins,
While humanism stands in Queue;
Altruism alters always,
Feminism in female feticide...!
War seems ethics of the day,
Fight for rights; Fight for mere fights;
Lazy weapons needs testing,
Ukraine today; Russia tomorrow...!
No time for us to star-gaze,
Dreams turn frightening nightmares;
Nights turn days and vice versa,
Sleeplessness and somnambulism rule...!
05 March 2022
LIND30NR Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Unconscious bias can upset one's heart
if kin or friends might shun your written art-
to look upon good poetry as play-
negating words that might uplift their day.
Some think of poetry as silly writes
that jumble words and do not meet the rights
to be upheld as literary worth-
with any thoughtful meanings to unearth.
Perhaps poetic metaphors give pause
and render writers void of earned applause.
Ambiguity somehow dismisses sense;
unconscious bias- inborn to commence.
Most poets may unveil views quite obscure
that sometimes deems their sanity unsure
by those who harbor this unconscious fact-
and hold back ways by which they should react.
We're thankful other poets read our art
with no unconscious bias on their part.
They understand the nuances displayed
in chosen thoughts so artfully conveyed.
It’s what you think as much as what you say, although…
If one is careful not to shout racial slur…
Then you cannot stop them thinking it, not so?
This issue is stereotyping, corrupt the flow…
Not by heavy handed punishment…
Or jail house confinement…
But by education and awareness, to understand it’s causes…
Let’s teach the new generation racial tolerance…
Because unconscious racism can exist in all of us…
Getting to the root of the problem…
Needs to be discussed and not to be afraid of them…
It’s not whether you think he/she is a racist or not…
But their racist opinion been inside connect the dot…
People’s racist opinions about another of a different color haven’t changed…
So let’s tackle the cause, and the reasons, ideas we can exchange…
Because, he/she is no different to English Football’s Luis or Terry…
Just as we all are unconscious racist, scarrrrrrrrrrrry…
©Copyright November 2012 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved
I remember all my houses.
I relive all my homes.
I conjure, cottage conscious,
my dreamscape flickering poems.
I easily abide the dream doctrine.
I rub grainy textures,
the memory of my earliest cabin.
I summon my first adventures.
I begin impetuous, scribbling every wall.
I explore sensation with little heed.
My dwelling becomes a stew of scrawl.
My touching tapping tests often bleed.
Later, I occupy the Winchester Mansion.
Edifice under construction, I feel safe here
until I find my wraiths doing the expansion.
Their treacherous handiwork stokes my fear.
My being so unsettled, so unstable, I must flee.
Adrift on the River Styx, I espy a twinkling domain.
“Love Ranch” reads the neon sign beckoning me.
Will this love sate a soul? Is it sacred or profane?
Carnal candy in dank chambers feeds a moment.
These hetaeras thrill me at the prompt of an algorithm.
Not at fault, their commodified love can’t end my torment.
My swirling turmoil phantoms take over this asylum.
Deep somnambulism now carries me to the house of mirrors.
Here, I behold my container, my proprium from every angle.
Curved and twisted glass reflects my contorted terrors.
While smooth, flat surfaces repeat my animus anima tangle.
After all these trials, I accept my multiform essence.
Accumulated psychic scrap, I reimage it in every dream.
This doctrine reveals we are never a single presence.
We impart mental habitats, our revised collections in an
endless stream.
It's a rather complicated experience to explain
on paper, but I shall make my best attempt.
Some years ago, there was a Presidential candidate.
I shall make my point without any identifications.
So much of who we are and how we think lie beneath
the surface and often go undetected by us and others.
Case in point. For no apparent reason that I detected,
a friend, thinking that I would be biased toward a certain
candidate made a baseless and prejudicious assumption
and informed me why I should not vote for that candidate.
My friend did not realize we were supporting the same
person, never bothering to ascertain such valuable
information. She was not mean-spirited and felt close
enough to me to allow her such freedom of expression.
She never realized that her attempt at pointing me away
from what she considered to be the wrong direction was
in bad taste. I think that because she was much older,
I decided not to confront her with the issue.
To be biased is blinding. By definition, it is to have an
undue propensity for something. I suspect that if her
assumption was a legitimate one, her mission to change
my way of thinking would have been justified.
However, she relied on the historical data of the media
and placed me in a certain category. In so during, I became
a statistical entity and not a personal friend with a mind
of his own. Ironically, she was blind to my lack of bias.
Are our dreams linked to those travelling stars,
or to unseen things with which prophecy connects?
Our destinies are assigned to each natal sign
as dreams of the unconscious mind are revealed
at night when senses are overtaken by sleep.
Dreams of embellished forms subdue me entirely
and contained in a space of restrictive movement,
I float to the multi-colored cosmos like clouds
pushed by active forces in the low stratosphere
and land wherever they command me to dream.
In that black hole where more stars will form,
there's no awareness, only a conceivable fret
and exceeding the limits of other universes,
not as small as ours, my longing is to return.
And the unconscious mind travels though long bends
and spheres of intense brightness and immense stupor;
Earth appears as a glowing dot seen from a million of miles,
there I still lay sleeping while the warbling sounds of awakening
larks bring me back to a visceral consciousness temporarily lost.
Red, the colour covers my arms
Deep within are glass shards
Show me no mercy and send no regards
Don't stitch me up and cover my scars
Cut my lips, tell them I'm smiling
Every day, I keep on lying
Dishonesty quickly gets very tiring
I'm slowly rotting, slowly expiring
If anybody actually cared
Would I really be pulling my hair?
Would I really be cutting my skin?
Pulling my tendons like puppet strings?
Would my heart really miss him?
As I try to pour out all my sins
If sins were black, all would be darkness
An evil void, lonely and heartless
Choking on sadness and blinded by madness
Isolated vastness, I am feeling anxious
Razors are paintbrushes, skin is my canvas
If it's not depression, then it is malice
Before I lay in my coffin
You see my blood glossing
My eyes water as I see you panic
And my existence slowly vanish
I observe my bleeding wrists
Moving towards the sleeping mist
On bloody notes, I weakly reminisce
Wondering of my needing to exist
My skin is burning but it is not incinerated
My vision is blurry, my mind is intoxicated
My body is hollow, neatly eviscerated
I choke on rose petals, I am suffocating
The long, open windings of the dusty road
Seems absurd, like the empty yearnings
Of a parched soul
Which wills to dangle haywire
And be so lackadaisical
Leading to the unseen infinity
In the timeless steps
The egos marching to and fro
Battling by the storms of life
To subside in the zero
Enveloped in the impenetrable ocean of solitude
Where all seems a singular, dark mass of fathomless despair
No beginning, no end
Just a void standstill of the 'I'
That's submerged in the dark glittering darkness.