Best Undelivered Poems
sitting and pondering
drifting into a
silent reverie
but sometimes
solitude is a fragile shield
against ignorant perceptions
leading to somber conclusions
demonic voices act
like harbingers
predicting doom
innocent eyes
plagued into a trance
become emotionally numb
watching the world go by
invisible tears
suppress pain
with time
struggling to eliminate
predictable outcomes
suffering signs of sorrow
go unnoticed like
undelivered messages
spirit screams
STOP TORTURING THE SOUL
but sanity crumbles
like Autumn leaves
and
subtle yet
insincere gusts
blow each one
towards distant
shores
Silent One
Simple Musings
3 October 2017
`
Even in darkness,
when a moonless sky
preaches fear from a pulpit of shadows
pointing elongated fingers…
when walls crumble
into a rubble strewn alleyway
and graffiti issues spray paint threats
on frantic facades dripping sabotage…
and kindness remains
hidden away in sealed envelopes,
unaddressed and undelivered,
discarded in bundles of false accusations
Her beauty shines unending
in effervescent streams,
illuminating in a photograph, poetry
and a kind word from quivering lips
caressing my heart
in watercolor enchantments
and pastel pleasures…
showing me it is not what, but who
for this darkness is hers,
weighted thoughts on soft shoulders
binding wrists in tethered worries
and still she smiles . . . for me
Gypsies
Across a misty channel
Sensor fingers
Stretch
Through foggy, silent waves
Where two souls embrace
In expeditions of speechless discovery
Two minds stand naked,
Face to face,
With wordless words
Each knowing the inner rhyme
Of another soul –
Intimate outside skin and limbs.
Across the barriers of minutes, hours, months
Two silent gypsies wander,
Through heartbeats
They stand, then gaze,
Connected to each other -
Escapees of the spoken word;
Outside the limits of ticking clocks
Two hearts touch
And see the signature of yet another
Self
At the address of the not yet arrived,
Undelivered.
Across the minutes and the moonlight
Pushing past the stealthy march of mysteries
Two fugitives flee holding hands
Leaving footprints
Escaping lines and spaces
Of a calendar;
Two almost strangers stand
At the mystic gates of the unknown -
Today’s unwanted guests
Intruders in tomorrow’s dwelling -
Thieves of time -
Fate’s despoilers.
Across the walls of midnight’s
Crumbling castles
Two wanderers peer into fleeting glimpses
Briefly understanding
The images and ghosts
Taking shape in the mist undefined;
Two stowaways crouch in secret coves,
Hidden from eyes born into mortality
In the warehouse of the borning
To see and not quite
Understand
Young future’s dance.
Across all barriers of time and space
Two gypsies touch outside galaxies to identify
Vague daylight outlines- dim midnight contours -
Embracing imprints,
Acknowledgment of events to come -
Words still unspoken;
Two souls run past the morning
Then return in recognition
For they now stand
Outside of themselves -
Vagabonds of facts
Nomads escaping demands for proof in black and white.
Great minds get the memo.
A sliver of horizon, stiff in hand,
it bears no city, street, or promised land.
No inked direction on its back is set,
a silent promise, a forgotten threat.
It is a vessel built without a helm,
a ship adrift in a vast, indifferent realm.
Its message, trapped within the pulp and dye,
a whispered secret passing readers by.
It speaks of all the words we leave unsaid,
the phantom letters in the heart and head.
The “I forgive you” or “I love you too,"
they’d never find their proper avenue.
It is the bridge that ends before the shore,
the key that fits no lock upon the door.
It holds a sunset view, a painted sky,
intended for a specific, single eye.
Its life is one of stillness and of wait,
a transient object sealed by silent fate.
It knows the sender’s hand, the stamp’s brief kiss,
then plunges into the communication abyss.
It lies inside a drawer, or on a shelf,
a lonely testament unto itself.
A metaphor for chances cast away,
a sun-bleached memory of yesterday.
The postal system, in its structured might,
delivers day and navigates the night.
But this card breaks the code, the golden rule,
a rebel item, a stateless, wandering fool.
It mocks the logistics, the sorting machine’s whir,
a phantom address with no destination, sure.
It is the story told to no one’s ear,
a bell that rings where no one is near.
Perhaps its power is in the void it keeps,
the silent promise that within it sleeps.
For while addressed, its journey would be done,
beneath the gaze of a specific sun.
Unaddressed, it belongs to all of us,
this little card, this wordless, world-less fuss.
It carries every possible reply,
a universal, silent, hopeful sigh.
So let it rest, the unaddressed postcard,
a little piece of life we’ve held unbarred
from finality, from being truly sent.
A perfect moment, perfectly unspent.
It is the poem I write that you won’t read,
the planting of a universal seed,
awaiting recipient, could have been,
a memory in time that no one had seen.
I find myself with just myself
reflecting on undelivered letters
of winter past--
the most bitter front
glazing evenings where a fireplace
becomes a chilled shelter
of sharp, dazed musings :
I travel within time's slow compass
when a season ago...
you left unnoticed , without closure
And my soul burned in the
ragged kiln of night chapters...
not a lint of words crawled
between us,
leaving me searching for
blank pages of despicaple darkness.
The curtain rose on a cloudless night
Once More! the crowd clamored
A lone table across the room, a candle
Flickered
Shooting stars lit the sky like confetti
Bowing to the maestro in the pit
Impossible had no meaning
Fireflies sparked in anticipation
Bus service was cancelled
The daily mail, undelivered
At that moment
That precise moment
The telephone rang
Gently, I lifted the phone off the
Cradle
And heard the words I had waited
So long to hear
04/13/13
© All Rights Reserved
Who, Why, What, Where, When?
Take a meme, and make it clean by belief, engagement,
God meme, Santa Claus or denim jeans are fundamentals,
They offer a magic carpet to all partakers into fulfilment,
When we endorse the concepts behind these credentials.
Like god, belief in Jesus is optional, warranty undelivered,
On two levels: as the son of god, and as the son of man,
The latter being the term more frequented by gospel word,
When he emerged as the people’s hero, up for a ban.
Richard Carrier believes that Jesus never existed at all,
Historically, but he doesn’t speak much of psychosomatics,
Which assumes contemporary phrasing and a high call,
To spread medical remedies and to dismiss ecclesiastics.
Crucifixion was the punishment method used back then,
Just as the electric chair is used today in the United States,
And very many people were crucified each week, like Ben,
Some who’d changed their name to Jesus, or “demonstrates”.
Jesus in the Israeli language meant saviour of the people,
Meaning intrinsically from the Roman government seed,
Trying to figure out how to make progressivism capable,
So they asserted themselves in the court case of creed.
So, if we take the storyline stat, then what does it emit,
Did Mary and Joseph name the boy on their first day?
To call him then by an off the rack name - “Jesus” bit,
Which indicated that he would create medical sway.
If Jesus crucified as god never happened, that's fine,
If Jesus was not born virgin god incarnate, then ok,
But if a Nazarene boy fit the bill as Jesus the myth, rhyme,
Then don't claim that he needed this mould to thus say.
And don't presume you don't have a faith to propel you,
That is, if you believe that a man died for his human acts,
Towards the poor and the sick who upon old age, chase,
Were only encouraged to commit suicide as bad facts.
Reading the text, many Jesus’s were crucified at this time,
So the canonical gospels may not consider just one healer:
Therefore if you think this then life can be not sublime,
And so whether you're called this or that is not clever.
Listen to Me, Listen to Me
Stop! and listen to Me
As tears fall from my eyes, words that seem to dry
Blood Flowing through my veins
Energy Flowing through my brain
Falling from disbelief, My legs buckle from beneath me
I cry
Love Lost
Yet aroused
In the moment of loves mistrial
Compared to an evil
A war unveiled, destructive built
Foundation that fails
Warnings!
Messages undelivered, There was never a receipt
Who can vouch, No one but me
Falling on deaf ears
Shots mistaken for fireworks, I cry!
Receiving no reply
No one is there to listen to me
Treason Reasons
Concreted cracks, abandoned train tracks,
unaffordable housing built like shacks.
Unplanted seeds gardens of weed,
never having enough to satisfy the greed.
Unseen view, is the sky blue?
Goodwill bought unlaced white shoe.
The frontyard seat on ol' bucket street,
cool air doesn't help that kind of heat.
Battles kill, unordinary run of the mill,
another happy mailman undelivered bill.
Where is our morality? What is our deal?
living here in the now is such a reality kill...
bmdavey@
02/24/16
Lately I've been thinking of space, darkness, and the lack of something. How you could travel an eon and be nothing more than a peon until you come close to someone else's gravitational pull and being around them makes you full. Every half lifetime light shines, goes dark and you wonder if illumination will return again. You try to surmise, her dimensions, wondering how you'll fit in. Specks on mountain peaks or the foam that forms after ocean waves crash, could I be the substance of her beginning, more than a misplaced rib? Wonder if she'll be the seconds that accumulate in my golden days. I try to figure out how to define here and now from somewhere out there. I manipulate phrases until the alliteration rolls off the tongue, and she says, "Damn your words touch places that make Stevie's harmonica hum." I find flow in stillness, and remain still in rushes. Forty yards later hall of fame defenses can't touch this. At times I'm ten feet tall, other times, nothing at all. If I wrote my own biography it would bear this theme... Stars and sand and everything. Stars, sand and every part of man. She's the stars and sand encompassing what my feet feel and the greatest part of mental appeal. Imagine how heaven might feel if it were grown at home. Dissecting and intersecting, some connections are covalent. My truest meaning siphoned up like oil in Arabian fields. Enveloping every drop of me, I write letters addressed to places only the soul goes. Postman came to deliver, sent back from Saturn, return to sender. Stars, sand and Arabian land, she's everything I am. Undelivered letters that contain messages of specks and foam, almost home. The evolution of who I am is eclipsed by who she is to me. Fire flickers. A moth's collision course. Impact kicking up moon dust. Love, lust and us.
Dear dad
I doubt you remember the first word I uttered
Having a hard time recollecting your memories in my nervous system
When you are that young, feelings are not altered
You did not pounce on the opportunity of unconditional love
Instead, you let go, you left love unattended
If these words are not bouncing off a shield, that means you never fought for me
All I needed was two minutes
I do apologise if I was the kid you never wanted
God is still having a hard time disposing off my tears; he can't give them back to me
You substituted life with material things; I hope it's what you wanted
All I needed was you, nothing else
Despite your actions, in my heart I still defended you
Paint a picture perfect day I will spend with you
All these efforts to no avail, but I was left staring disappointment in the face
The questions I had dissolved with time
Yes, anger consumed me until I was forced to attend to it
You'll be surprised as to how much pain human beings can endure
By the way, she still loves you, I do not know why
I decided to live for her
She sees you in all of us
Unfortunately that is the love you will never be able to get your hands on again
I forgive you.
Until we meet again
Your loving son
Explosions, torque, the unspeakable
Magnetic force of your weathering
Pulling in through our sweetened bell
Grieved as yet undelivered
Is it foolish, piling dreams upon dreams
And lying among skulls past their due
While refashioning the latest grab
Unprincipled and colloquial
Simply juiced by the lack of you
I still think of you, coming close
So close that we lift
Out beyond graves and gravel
I know I'm losing you
The toothless ascendance of choice
And you're distracted
From comprehening our story in piece
Does delusion spill so grandiose
I'm flying mermaids from coast to coast
Get back in this game
Full born and bright
Following the future
Out of love's dastardly grip
But I cannot shake the mist
Your shadow has me eclipsed
Caught between what I want
and what I can never be:
an animal caged
whilst dreaming of the Serengeti.
A letter addressed,
under-funded, undelivered,
never to reach its destiny.
As a child, naïve, blinkered.
Life was simple,
so easy to comprehend.
Youthful arrogance
my foremost friend
that blew away
in the gentlest of winds:
a soulless character
without the will to win.
An un-tethered Leviathan
with its superficial heart
began to unleash
its psychotic poisons within,
a scourge, an obnoxious beast
wishing me only harm.
My life began to unravel,
a darkness overwhelming;
a journey without sight.
My intellectual capacity
to delve deeply into
the complexities of my mind,
the concepts that allowed me
to rationalise, to grow,
nearly destroyed me...
a gift I so often despised.
Today, I hardly recognise
the person I used to be.
My inner thoughts are my own,
a mind able to function with clarity,
no longer a collection
of misshapen thoughts...
My past,
a welcome companion,
together, we will discover
our veracious destiny.
intensely seeking my furry boots today due to the snow
looking every possible hiding place, both high and low
did you look where the fairy lights glow asked my curious husband Joe
I had to move a broom, two rakes and an old green garden hoe
Found an undelivered Christmas present almost given to a foe.
an Oster bread maker with tiny flecks of hardened tannish dough
not terrific fun to look in the garage with mice running to and fro
I found lots of old things including my daddy’s killer crossbow
found an tarnished copper trumpet, but it no longer would blow
discovered rusty trimmers I use when I am forced to mow
And a broken antler and broken leg on a spotted porcelain doe.
did you find your boots asked my only husband named Joe
no, however, I found many wonderful other things though.
there were many bags and boxes, and a faded red tow rope to show
hey! said husband. What's the black feathered thing in the next row?
his offer to help me hunt mousey garage was notoriously slow.
he was elated to find his great-grandmother's hideous afghan throw
it was a stuffed one-eyed crow, nothing enjoyed by the status quo
are those flowered things starter kits to allow seedlings to grow?
not being a gardener, how in devil’s name would I know?
as for losing boots and mittens though, I am the pro.
Undelivered thoughts
Stuck in a postal limbo
Like lost love letters
With the only proof they were,
Random shouts in solitude