Best Unconsciously Poems
Tears of the past invoke frozen footprints
When fears rekindle flares of dire misery
Feeling the ache, straining blood streams
As wrinkles pop up swelling deep worries,
Holding dialogue with sustained poverty
Attempting to traverse shuttered streets--
Bent, but not broken, in grip of tragedies
Trapped in the pathos of agonizing grief
Building escape still, flexing meager means.
When in my solitude, these images I’ve seen
Awaken me hauntingly in frightening dreams,
Grudgingly I go there, where I used to be
And see a child deep in hapless poignancy
Bleeding profusely from veins melancholy
Revisiting relentlessly orphaned memories.
Time unconsciously releases those feelings
When ode to new morn happy robin sings
As sun rises gleefully from deep blue seas
And life illuminates in golden hued beams
Oscillating winds, gleaming through trees,
And I walk with pride on the bridges I built
And thank my bright stars that lit my path
Twinkling diligently to show me the light
When obscure was the face of my dark night.
Silhouettes of yesteryear are purging now
Cleansing dread with vibrancy of spring
And jitters of nightmares in aspiring dreams
Seeing new growth in parched winter land
Like flowers rise through remains of ashes
Confronting what was, with what could be.
I have staged my play to my own melodies
And the rhythms I set to my own music
No longer evoke the prompt life gave me
As I write new chapters, create new scenes
I’m planning the ending as I wish to see it:
The story that was past, my future won’t be.
December 7, 2020
Placed 1st: Catharsis poetry contest by Silent One
There’s a story here,
embedded within
a righteous reef
of broken silence,
where scars remain
engraved on sea stars,
entangled between sand
in empty oyster shells,
reminding me
to breathe until i reach
the surface,
for hope still swims
through the barnacles
that bloom amidst the blues.
These tears mean nothing
and everything
as they define the demons
I disguise through violent dawns,
though my will to grasp
onto faith is slowly wearing out.
Life and its merciless ways
of enlightening
murky waters with reflections
of taunting tortures
endured across miles,
Keep me unconsciously drowning,
uncontrollably,
unable to seize glowing planktons.
With this napkin as my canvas
A word picture I paint
While he drowns out his sorrows
Until he finally faints
The best works he weaves
Are when unconsciously drunk
While sober and thinking
He writes only junk
While he flirts with the barmaid
Thinking about the sword in his pants
The sword in his right hand
On this napkin words plant
When he wakes with this poem
Stuck to the side of his head
He’ll read it and conclude
He’s the genius instead
Instead of getting credit
For these words that I write
It would be more correct to say written
By Jack Daniels last night
So why are the words
Not slurred or mistyped
Because while the lush was all trashed
His pen was alright
So barmaid pour another
For this bum who holds me
And let’s pray he uses his other hand
When he has to go pee
I felt the flow of Summer's balmy breeze
as it wafted in whispers like sweet melodies
We walked on golden sands at twilight,
holding hands as day drifted into dusk.
I was savoring memories of
cherished moments we share.
Tonight, resplendent roseate skies
fill my eyes with their color,
but a bit of melancholy crept in
and unconsciously my steps slowed.
He felt my hesitation and in concern,
he held me close in his arms and said,
"What is that makes you so sad?
I can see it in the mists of your eyes."
Tears flowed as I fought to explain
the pain I'd feel in my heart if we drifted apart.
I stammered the words but got them out,
"We fell in love and vowed it would be for life
but even mountains of stone can break.
How would I live with that heartache?"
He rested his chin on top of my head
and held me tighter to stop my trembling.
Then, he said the most beautiful sentiments
I'd ever heard...
"Whether in this life or another,
no matter the realm we might be,
I promise I will find you beyond the stars,
searching every corner of ebony skies.
On moonlight's path I would swiftly sail
beseeching her to guide my way to you.
You will never be beyond my reach,
for only your kisses sate my hunger...
and only your love quenches my thirst."
He turned me to face the fading sun
as it slowly sank into the skyline.
Pointed his finger in that direction
and whispered near my ear...
"Do you see far out on the horizon,
where the sky drifts into the sea?"
If ever we're torn apart, look for me there.
I'll be a ripple on the water
or a glimmer of stardust in the sky,
searching for you until we're together again.
Have no fear of love's lament, for
our love was meant to last forever."
The moon's reflection shimmered on the sea
as he brushed his lips across mine in a fashion
that made passion's heat rise in my heart.
Each beat crashing as a wave upon the shore...
Beneath flickering stars, we stood side by side
swaying with the ebb and flow of evening tide.
My cousin shared her wishes and dreams,
On our star gazing night, she whispered them so sweet
As a shooting star glided down from the sky,
She said, I wish ….. I wish…. all I wish are these tonight
Someday, I will marry a smart, rich and handsome guy
And have a grandiose banquet on my nuptial rite
We’ll be dancing like a lovely prince and princess ,
With all my wedding sponsors on their best suits and dresses
All in pink ,that’s the motif I will surely request.
She kept into her dreams as several years passed by,
Still searching for her prince charming who’s hard to find
Unconsciously going beyond the age to give birth to a child,
In a hurry at age of seventy, she took a rich ninety years old guy.
The wedding was held after a day or two,
The guy seated on his wheelchair with rheumatism on his toe
She headed slowly at the alter to accept his shaking hands,
Two nurses followed, so with sponsors dressed up in printed brown.
The highlight of the wedding rite started at once,
They held tightly with a nebulizers on the other hands,
But the words of oath, they took time to pronounce
False teeth were both misplaced and nowhere to be found.
Reception followed grandiosely in the guy’s mansion,
I saw many old men and women still eager to dance on the floor,
With hunched back, shaking knees, they twisted rock and roll
Then, sweet music played and my cousin danced with her groom.
But, we all wondered how did he stand alone?
He’s so heavy , I knew my cousin couldn’t help him at all,
With our great surprise, his nurse was at his side like his crutch
Everyone thought , he’s really a smart guy! Was he not?
Then, everyone followed them so happily on the spacious hall,
And in trio, they held each other so tight and moved like a fool.
Written: Sept. 15, 2012
First Place
Contest: My Cousin's Wedding (funny poem)
Contest Judged: 9/30/2012
Poet Sponsor: Joann Grisetti
The Adjective Twin: A Poem of Pain
I am "presumptuous" -- and with my brother, "arrogant"
we are the adjective twin of "gentle" blame
of "gentle" wounding, of "gentle" continued "colonization"
constantly in an "unconscious" search for unsuspecting names to attach to,
so that we can remain collectively unconscious of our shadows.
We were born (and are constantly re-born)
from the culturally "unconscious" womb of (even "progressive") white privilege,
with the help of "pre-judgment" the midwife who abhors "decolonization."
And heed this warning: We do NOT like mirrors, because clear mirrors tell
(at an uncomfortable-making non-white-privileged "pace" of needed transformation)
the kind of "decolonization" truths that inconveniently bring to consciousness "well-intentioned" unconscious "Orientalisms,"
("Truths" that could potentially flourish into "Reconciliation" healing--IF allowed mirror-full-ness);
and these kinds of truth make my brother and I really (mostly "unconsciously") uncomfortable,
because we don't resonate with mirrors, with reflection,
'cause rather than truthfully being "set free"
we like to be comfortable in our privilege.
When we, the adjective twin attach ourselves to unsuspecting names
(who expect standards that befit real civility, real nonviolence, real caring)
Mother Earth's mirrors of tearful eyes break in 1,001 pieces of feel-goodist "progressive" self-deception,
that "gently" kill peace--on Earth.
Don't blame us, though,
(and definitely, but "gently" DO silence the wailing sirens of inconvenient awakening)
because we are the adjective twin,
and the "progressive" harm we cause is ever so "gentle" and "well-intentioned," you see?
By: Moji Agha (Mojtaba Aghamohammadi)
Monday, March 26, 2018
Boulder, Colorado
A night in Venice (in sotto voce)
Moonlight shimmers over the Adriatic sea
Stars dancing on the waves in perfect symmetry
We talk of ancient adventure and gallantry
Masquerading dancers begin to fill the street
Smiling as they parade by, shuffling their feet
Unconsciously, we both are swaying to the beat
Inside the trattoria*, the music man plays
Vivaldi's concerto #4, in piano forte
We whisper murmurs of love in sotto voce*
As Casanova visions keep flooding my mind
Vivaldi's music syncopates in double time
Decoding my glances, your eyes begin to shine
We took a water taxi, back to the Hotel
We kiss under the Rialto bridge, passion swells
What we did the rest of the night, I'll never tell
Our night in Venice was a passionate affair
Put on your black dress and pearls, and take me back there.
*trattoria small dining establishment not a full menu like a restaurant
* sotto voce in an undertone, literally low voice (pronounced vo chee)
December 14,2016
Melodic passion, lilting harmonies lull my slender fingers,
when I play with the stringed keyboard, I sink into the mellifluous music, can feel the gentle keys under my fingertips softly as the alchemy notes cadence spasmodically.
Swirling colours lost in time, chimes of the electric waves rhyme, repetitive sonorous beats one after the other replete the very ambience with cancerous, calm vibes.
The reverberating strains of those sacrosanct, subliminal-sounds' ripple effects lull senses with esoteric mellow polyphonies and my secluded, aesthetic-self, unconsciously submerges in those polyphonies silently.
The lyric goes on and on while immersing my soul,
the world seems calm from every harm on those ambrosial moments, once the last crescendo is struck, the enamoured silence of tranquility generates an utopia of its own,
yet, an art of magical touch of each pitch to the subliminal conscience and existence in sublime solitude can't be captured by interpretive ink
Can sense the calm after playing the stringed keyboard in solitude;
the exalted gadget is the catalyst to inner peace, a feast to the soul, what makes the esoteric journey complete, her dreamy rhythm makes my heart beat .
© Silpika Kalita
What is it about me that gives you the impression that I am just your average
sleazy, easy, breezy, from the hood who can't possibly get ahead in life unless
you are by my side.???
Is there a note written across my forehead that reads:
"Warning,
do not respect
always neglect and,
never expect any goodness from this creature unless
legs are open and ready for business?
Does my azz have a "grab me" sign stuck to it
or is that what you would allow a strange man to do
to your daughter
to squeeze your mothers breast or are
the words "touch me" tattooed
across my chest?
Do my eyes unconsciously tell you to come over and try to slowly
slide down my panties
with your,
ridiculous lies
heard too many times
from too many guys
who've more than once tried
to get in between
or better yet inside
my thighs.?
Don't get me wrong, I'm being so sincere
I just wanna make it clear that
there is something that you hear
if my body tells you action like the movie genre
or do I look different in every scene like a world
premiere.?
Is bich my name in another language or,
do you see hoe somewhere on my birth certificate?
Am I not worth more than a single letter?...Ay!
or did I somehow give birth to you? Ay Ma!
Do my features confuse you or would you really prefer
a man...."Man".
How can my body speak a language that I have yet to hear?
Well before you get the wrong idea, let me make this clear.
When my azz say "grab me", that really just a lie
If my eyes say "come here" they really mean goodbye
Don't guess my name just ask and I'll let you know
and whatever my forehead region reads is just a bad typo.
It should go something like.... Always respect, never neglect, and only expect
greatness from this Queen no matter what her pulchritude screams.
The media degrades her as society points its finger and laughes
all the while she's searching for your support
the support
of her father
brother,
her son,
lover.
Why? Because she is yours....
Your mother,
Your Daughter,
Your sister, and
Your Lover.
So...why not?
Love her,
Honor her,
See her for who she really is and
not for what her body says.
I had seen - her calm, cool, composed - like a soft soothing breeze,
Though she could turn tempest or tornado or weakly wheeze;
Like a formless cherub in an endless garden of love,
She covered the earth while racing on cloud-Morgan above…!
Lovely you are! I said to her, Love's living conqueror!
Aren't you, yet, noisy nomad, gypsy, or mere wanderer?
I am vagrant sure, she said, and a tireless traveler,
I have jailed you, yet, in my sachet, like a prisoner…!
It was when I moved much away from the maddening crowd,
And when pondered over her bewildering words aloud;
Enlightenment dawned in me like the wisdom of Buddha,
Many great truths got revealed slowly like Brahma Chakra...!
True as very truth is my brief existence in the breath,
Who on this earth exists, devoid of her, from birth to death?
She murmurs, whispers, commands, demands, like Divine Spirit,
She creates! Destroys! Takes to zeniths! Grants highest merit…!
Soft, serene like nectar secreting in a rose flower,
She sleeps in; grows glows like a flower on a green bower;
Consciously conscious! Unconsciously unconscious! Solace!
Plows through the interiors, like Yacht through water, flawless…!
Shifting my state of mind, working like a leaven within,
Sleep, wake - like my mother - in feasting and fasting she's in;
She is the beginning! End! Center! Whole! Totality!
She is the starting and ends of the whole humanity…!
What an engulfing like a fiery inferno and smoke,
What an empowering and overpowering soul-stroke!
What a change, like unique bloom! Great is the life-giving breath!
What Calm! Peace! Tranquility! Bliss! Awesomely saving meth…!
With her, no stress! No strain! No phobia! No mania!
Her free-blow within free from frightening insomnia;
Abandoned to her eternally evolving Spirit,
Body and soul reach zenith beyond the mundane limit…!
Growing high, I gladly come to the realization,
That I'm part of the classic universal cognition;
Wherein my inner unity freely fondly extends,
And to the external eternal harmony, it tends...!
Knowingly? Unknowingly? Willingly? Unwillingly?
Breath has adopted me - calmly, cutely, and cautiously!
Has made me a flute, lute, melodious rhythmic consort,
I play on! I am played on! Till I reach restful retreat…!!!
16 September 2021
Did you even note;
an imposter is in our midst!
And our beloved Tube is the originator.
Faithless beast, merely nipping
at our consciousness for many years
and now the unsuspecting weather man
is the infected carrier, flipping forth
without a care--unconsciously,
the old ageworn and frazzled fellow
practiced through the decades, now
hallowed by the dapper dans as
respected common fare. I give you
the uncelebrated, very frequent and
Unconscious Obstinate Cliche.
No, this not a sexist accusation, boys.
The fetching weather bunnies
will not face indictment by my pen.
Though often glorified as chief
among the holders of degree
in meteorology, it is the men most prone
to say, "As we make our way into...."
the weekend, or such travels
that we helpless viewers take.
But politics, not weather news,
may have the honor of origination.
Sixty years ago I first became aware
when a network commentator told us
of a president, no less,
"making his way" down the aisle
to deliver his thoughts on
the state of the union.
"And us", you say?
Well, I for one may make my way
into oblivion
with just the right amount of
claim to fame. That I (ahem)
duly noted, dedicated, scribed and launched
a new cliche upon a very
celebrated list for all of humankind.
~
I sit at the table looking out the kitchen window
drinking the autumn warm golden shades
of red, brown, and orange leaves descending and walking through my yard.
My mind swims with thoughts of seventy autumns,
yearning to purge into words that storm within me.
This old encrusted frame kidnapped the child I once was,
in tears this heart thoughts flow reflecting on the past.
Unconsciously holding my breath,
my wizened hands shake slightly while I write.
Like the ocean at the mercy of the wind
sweeping away by the demands of everyday life,
I write pages and pages of weeping words.
Waves rush in and around, losing myself
in a wakeful dream as I hear the distant chants.
Love and be loved
a rhythm of my soul too still the storm within me.
With hope of once more, to be young in the embrace of my love,
for now I open the door of my heart and let him continue his journey.
10/5/2017
The brain is an incredibly efficient computer
Compressing trillions of bytes of information,
Registering every impression we encounter,
Analyzing concepts from formation to causation.
Compressing trillions of bytes of information
In milliseconds without hesitation, unrelentingly,
Analyzing concepts from formation to causation
Remarkably, it even functions unconsciously.
In milliseconds without hesitation, unrelentingly,
It processes the continual intake of our senses
Remarkably, it even functions unconsciously,
Outlining proposals, formulating our defenses.
It processes the continual intake of our senses,
All while regulating our involuntary responses
Outlines our proposals, formulates our defenses
Even evaluating the most complicated nuances.
All while regulating our involuntary responses
Registering every impression we encounter,
Even evaluating the most complicated nuances
The brain is an incredibly efficient computer.
Written May 9, 2022
I hold it up again today; the world,
Pregnant with magical dimples
Of a child's reckless abandon,
And look at the face,
Then I look at the deep cut
And the pain it inflicted
I look back at the unpaid ransom,
The whips, hands chained to the back
Faces buried deep into the cold wall,
The so-called wall of the world, soaked
By the tears of our raped eyes.
I have seen the world through and through;
The sweet bitterness of living and dying,
The joyful agony of getting and losing;
The memories come clear like crystal
And the weak world whirls by unconsciously
Taking us down its untrodden alluvial depths
And scattering silence nearby and abroad:
Those are the world's worth!
Who amongst us does not have a story?
The world is killing us, thinking, perhaps
That there is sudden rebirth in each death
But those we lost are gone forever
And we bite our lips and rub our eyes,
Alas! Another phenomenon has been lost.
Like a cherished effigy
I hold it up again, the wild world
The nuance feeling surges like thousand waves
And I listen as different sharp sounds
Of cries, nay, moans pierce my ears,
The tears fall in torrents like a waterfall.
The earth, our unconcerned world is killing us,
Like little ants...it kills us with sledgehammer,
Hypothetical villain lurking by street corners
Waiting and waiting, almost impatiently.
But we love the world, and so much so
We cling to life, despite the odds
We want to live, love and be loved,
We want to experience and explore the depths.
We have been heart broken again and again,
And each time we heal
We lick our wounds and clean our tears
Trying to protect our battered ego.
We hold it up again and again
Like a cherished effigy, smiling
Notwithstanding our heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Our not-to-clear future, our unheard cry-cracked voices,
Despite the rigours of the trite rituals
Of our religions, our creeds, our norms;
Despite the guns, the bombs, the blades
That cut us clean and shatter our unborn hopes,
We still cuddle our earth like a cherished effigy
Dressed to pattern by virgin children
While it takes us down one after another
Jubilantly like a well trained military marksman.
Alas! Another phenomenon has been gone.
Now it all seem blank
and words refuse to flow from this pen
wisdom to think, i even lack
even greatness at times i doubt, and i ask when?
often unconsciously, i sit in this plank
looking back and forth, now and then
And it all started after that sickness,when i started going blank
and some memories i have to keep with a book and a pen
All i see is black! black!! black!!!
Who would get me my inspiration back?