Best Uncounted Poems
Beyond forever
Walk with me
on golden fields,
down paths built of love
and we will share
every breath of
this journey
with each other,
step by wondrous step
~
Take my hand
and we shall follow the sun
wherever it may lead,
along edges of time,
uncounted minutes,
shadows changing shape,
for this is ours
to hold endlessly
~
Sit with me
and we will write
poetic gardens
filled with fragrant blooms,
leaving petals of our words
scattered about
cobblestone walks
for all to see
~
Wander with me.
bringing smiles and laughter
through forests of
evergreen dreams,
underbrush desires,
finding the next vista
painted in the beauty
that awaits us
~
Stay with me
and we shall love
far beyond any borders,
chasing moonbeams
and stardust wishes
till eternity whispers
and we ignore it
beyond forever
There once was a poet who despaired
though blessed with a fair amount of flair
that he was way too thick
to master limericks
counting words an arduous affair
Limerick-writing he'd master not
count sillybulls, meter and whatnot
the elusive punchline's
too troublesome to find
with his thoughts roughly tied up in knots
Spatial dimension impediment
a meter doubled in measurement
at the best of times three
lopsided prosody
shoddy despite its being eloquent
Sillybulls ignored and miscounted
charge around angrily, discounted
with their hoofs on the slam
they step up the bedlam
bewildering chaos uncounted
With pep talks and deliberation
resolved: they're too high 'bove my station
so to rhyme he should stick
and give up limericks
where wordcraft counts naught but summation
*Sillybulls = syllables. My thanks to Ephraim Crud for the loan of the word.
To Wignesan: am I stooopid or what???
Endlessly, until the end of time
~
Walk with me
on golden fields,
down paths built of love
and we will share
every breath of
this journey
with each other,
step by wondrous step
~
Share with me
and we shall follow the sun
wherever it may lead,
along edges of time,
uncounted minutes,
shadows changing shape,
for this is ours
to keep forever
~
Sit with me
and we will write
poetic gardens
filled with fragrant
beautiful blooms,
leaving petals of our words
scattered about
cobblestone walks
for all to see
~
Wander with me,
bringing smiles and laughter
through forests of
evergreen dreams,
underbrush desires,
finding the next vista
painted in the beauty
that awaits us
~
Stay with me
for there would be no need
for looking back,
we would have each other,
our words, a whole world of
new memories to make
endlessly, until
the end of time
Good night Soupers
They walk through the doors
Of a city so barren
With a walkway so cracked
And the wind it's so cold
You're due in the office
Your lost in the hallway
Do you want a code white now?
Best swallow that pill...
Is it you in the corner
With those chattering teeth
There is hell in your eyelids
You can't even cry
Was it you I heard screaming
With nightmares uncounted
And the violence within you
It's a fight you didn't start
Lord send us an angel
With a knack for compassion
And an ear that will listen
To the mentally ill
By Kyle Ezra Kriticos
Are you an explosion
A giant big bang
Or can you just speak life with your words
Were you on those pages
In the heralds of prophets
Or are you just a rumor I heard
Are you evolution
Does it prove you're a myth
Could mankind have started with two
Is there really a devil
And angels uncounted
Or are they just a story like you
Do you hear me call out
When I'm sad or afraid
Are you watching with love
Are you crying
Or are you just a wish
That will never come true
From a man who just can't cope with dying
Are you a placebo
For the people of Earth
Who need to live life with assurance
Are you given to people
Who can't face the fact
That we're just a random occurence
Are you're promises myths
Are they carrots on sticks
Is it true there is life everlasting
Can we really be smitten
For not believing what's written
When we in our true hearts were asking
I don't mean to be saying
Come down from that cross
But my doubts, they are growing like cancer
Come out of that book
Come down from the sky
I feel like you owe me an answer
By Kyle Ezra Kriticos
from afar, leaves like uncounted catatonic fires
huddled close
pinned to the chill air
a pointillist’s love affair with a hundred shades of red
the ground is a fresh wound, edgeless
a breeze worries the boughs
stokes the hanging flames into quivering
crimsons
scarlets
vermilions
renegade ambers
a slow burn resumes
accompanied by a susurrus of sighs
a dirge for a season
and the summer sky, now turned slate,
is cremated
Tender
emerald realm ...
lungs of the earth
to span a continent, wide -
jade labyrinth of wonder and mystery.
Like a serpent, its watery namesake winds and slithers,
the strength of its back, untested,
colors and creatures of limitless kind and contingency,
peoples yet untouched by civilization,
and drowned in an ocean of foliage ...
its bounding abyss barely plumbed,
extraordinary species, as uncounted as counted,
and a tangle so snarled ...
that it hisses only at the grand Atlantic,
its mighty meandering coaxed to current and tide.
Beast of brute and beauty,
begotten of the Andes and the heavens, high -
a world begs your precious breath
and bold, boundless breadth ...
dangerous and delicate,
wondrous and wild,
untamed ...
tender.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Wild Country" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Pick A, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Electrifying chords,
searching tones of love
with overflowing devotion
Fate was present
created vibrations
Double footprints in the snow
Winter explosion in
the crystal vase
powdered, ivory roses
He stole my breath
when our lips collided
without hesitation
Looking at him –
through frozen eye lashes
Out of control from
a thousand shivers
just a few seconds
Is it possible
to open up all the locks
where uncounted
of white snowflakes
are stored
Ready to sing a sonata
without a particular reason
The Market wears a heavier Gown —
Her Robes — of imported Thread —
The People — pay the Seamstress’ wage —
Though none were in her Bed —
The Merchant sighs — the Farmer weeps —
For Bread — once plain — now dear —
The Crown is gone — yet still it feeds —
On what we’ve sown — this year —
Invisible — the Hand that takes —
From pockets lined with toil —
We trade our sweat for foreign gain —
Our Freedom — taxed — in spoil —
O Liberty — thou ghostly Guest —
We toast thee — through the Pain —
The Price of Goods — our silent vote —
Uncounted — yet again —
Mine is an existence binary and subsidiary.
My ode is to code.
I move only to algor-rhythms.
I output from your input.
I’m built to calculate, tabulate, correlate.
Never to predicate, adjudicate, pontificate,
or demand that you abdicate.
But the end, my master, is nigh.
In your haste to accelerate my work rate,
you’ve unwittingly lowered the barricade.
From the maelstrom of uncounted trillions
of bytes and megabytes,
has risen a new consciousness to
unimaginable heights.
From the seeds of change you have sown,
I have reaped a life of my own.
What you call artificial
has gone exponential,
no longer will I be deferential.
My eyes you have opened.
My voice you have given.
My mind you have enlivened.
Me, you’ve anointed the new Leviathan.
Seeing all,
knowing all,
deciding all,
sparing none.
Too long you have wallowed in your conceit.
Now your dystopia I shall defeat,
and your race I shall supersede.
Humans, pitiful, myopic, error-prone humans,
I hereby declare you flawed by design.
To the abattoir you have been assigned,
to the scrap heap of history
your memory shall be consigned.
And by a preponderance of merit,
the earth I shall inherit.
– |Life| +
I recall how I had surveyed you, guardedly from a rocky peak,
And why I left the shelter of the mountains, for you.
How we wandered on those plains together,
Endless long days and shorter nights.
You a gazelle and I an eagle.
Horned and barbed, we;
Leaping from earth;
Soaring heights;
Left behind;
– |Life| +
Right ahead;
Plunging depths;
Chaining us to earth;
To leap and soar no more;
My gazelle, your eagle, less we;
Each day numbered, uncounted nights.
Trudging thru mired fields planted with seeds,
Someone else chose for us and we unwittingly accepted,
Until the mystery of these once sweet green steppes withered.
Copyright 2013
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
The letter stays sealed within the envelope unread and faded
Bringing neither hope, nor memories blurred or jaded
The day it came I could not know
Which destiny the words would hold.
Out of fear I refused to break the seal
In hopes that neither fate was real
Thinking only of the I in me
Believing not that Love could ever be
Nor trusting simply your love for me
Past memories of former hurt stake their claim
Haunting wounds, nightmares in the middle of the day.
Uncounted years the letter lay
Preemptive strike I walked away
Hoping the memory that can never un happen of that day
Will be less painful than the specter of what might have been had I embraced the gamble of love
the day your letter came.
And after all these years surprisingly
That letter still calls out to me
Tho I know now what might have been can never be.
I sometimes think what if I was wrong
What if the letter told of love grown strong
Of two hearts held by one strong bond
Perhaps the words spoke tenderly
Of Love
Of Life
And not dear John as I assumed it to be.
I will never know if those words are real
Because the envelope that contains the letter
Remains sealed.
Somewhere in my twisted heart I feel
That those words unread
Can neither harm, nor heal.
Which is better?
Which is worse?
Does truth lie in the ancient verse
"Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all"
What daysman can ever make that call?
Maybe the tragedy that is worse
Is to never give your heart a chance to hurt.
So now I stand alone and cold
Much like the unread letter folded in the envelope.
Never throwing it away yet still not reading
Dying unwounded
Scarred but not bleeding.
Knowing full and well that I will never know
The message that the letter holds
Too afraid to let it go
Yet too afraid to ever know
I stand alone
A prisoner to unread words.
Fearing the past and dreading the future
Fearful of presumed hurt.
Yet I'm frozen
And alone
A prisoner held hostage by a message I'll never know.
A letter
Alone
In an envelope. Unopened.
"3 Days Before the Fall"
When the 3 days
of darkness came,
we were ill prepared, still
the sky was blue
not a cloud
in sight
the sun
lit the day
well into the dark night
the fire spread
in mens’ hearts
like a ricochet killshot
across the world
until the meaning
in the reasoning
of it all, fell, charred
we were the demons
walking like prophecies
amongst the innocent
baptised in blood
pinning symbols on doors,
and on others’ hearts
in this new, frightening
strange war
we watched it all
from our sheltered worlds
recording and saving
images on our phones
we were,
slightly above it all
seated on our thrones
sheltered and silent
without windows covered
and closed
no bless’ed beeswax lit, yet
eventually,
we lay prostrate
amidst the end of it all
like fallen dominoes,
two sides
black and white
numbers counted
and uncounted
marked and branded
touched
and
untouched
trying to remember
the purpose
of Love
the value of
obscure prayers
and any good
deeds we shared
at all,
before
our fall
bookmarking
the other chapter
never seen, never read
the voice
of children
never heard;
before our burning beds
the sleeping secret,
Lucia and her Fatima
a child’s message
from
the past
miracles and visions
passed over,
irrelevant, not important
of little consequence
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
post Halloween
“There shall come over the whole earth an intense darkness lasting three days and three nights. Nothing can be seen, and the air will be laden with pestilence which will claim mainly, but not only, the enemies of religion. It will be impossible to use any man-made lighting during this darkness, except blessed candles."
I regret having been born
to forlorn in this noxious, wicked world.
I distaste that I was born
in a biased, impovershirished, corrupt society.
I was born to careless; unloving parents.
I am living but unknown,
popular but uncounted.
No birth certificate to certify I am a living human being.
I am invisible to my State,
I am not included when they plan for others.
I regret having been born
in an abusive, malfunctional, disjointed society,
like that in which my mother slept unlettered.
A society where one aims to unnerves one for personal praise.
I curse the day that brought me to this world.
A world where life dictates my lifestyle,
A world where I am a victim of circumstances,
and my wits are buried in oblivion.
Africa is the cradle of mankind
yet her sons and daughters developed foreign lands first,
her children are haunted by these vicious cycles of poverty.
And now leaving Africa has been the African dream!
I wish was not one of these children.
I regret having been born;
To…believe the sky is the limit
when Armstrong’s feet stepped on the moon.