Best Unexposed Poems
I know the land where the lemon trees flower,
where we made love not war, we had flower power,
casual clothes, had an occasional shower
we loved nature, youth of the human race
old generations thought we were a big disgrace,
was our generation, our time to live
a time of change, to forget, to forgive
expressing our love, peace, we were hippies
we were loving children of the sixties,
supporters of peace, all armaments we opposed
protectors of all natures assets, unexposed
end all wars, live and let live was all we proposed,
to live in the land where the lemon trees flower,
land of the free, where every hour was happy hour,
was our generation, our time to live
a time of change, to forget, to forgive
expressing our love, peace, we were hippies
we were loving children of the sixties,
Unfortunately our decade came to an end
our message of love, peace they did not comprehend
into turmoil, darkness and hatred did descend
our wonderful land where those lemon trees flower
is alive in our minds, we will never cower,
was our generation our time to live
a time of change, to forget, to forgive
expressing our love, peace, we were hippies
we were loving children of the sixties.
7/16/2018
Categories:
unexposed, age, conflict, confusion, desire,
Form:
Lyric
"The human heart has hidden treasures, in secret kept, in silence sealed. The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, whose charm were broken if revealed." Charlotte Bronte
Sometimes I've been forced to wear a mask
to escape from people who continue to ask,
"I know you're keeping secrets. I can tell."
Relentlessly, they harp, push and compel.
With accusing fingers pointed, they attack
but I turn and walk away, never looking back
Though none of their business, they're dying
to learn the secrets I know, and keep denying.
I'll never give away confidences I've been told.
It's a burden that I bear, a responsibility I hold.
Gossips try to discover what I keep concealed,
but disclosures made to me will not be revealed.
Protecting a secret is a promise that once made
must be guarded or risk a friend being betrayed.
I have my own secrets that shouldn’t be disclosed.
It's better they stay buried and never be exposed.
Secrets live in the shadowed corners of my mind,
in dark depths they swim, where no one can find.
What's been entrusted to me, I've vowed to keep.
I'm a prisoner of silence, causing no one to weep.
November 2, 2021
"S" Contest
Hosted by Constance La France
Categories:
unexposed, integrity, silence,
Form:
Rhyme
Her naked face
Aroused me.
I was helpless
Looking
To find a
An unexposed seat
To sit down.
Categories:
unexposed, art, love, passion, philosophy,
Form:
I engineered an intricate design,
determined to be action,
not thoughtful stasis.
But, isolate and distant --
a preserver of decorum --
formal, unexposed, and safe --
with bounds determined
by tight, sane strictures,
I did not struggle,
could not escape nor abandon place --
became, instead, a creature
habit-ridden: a cousin
to the circus seal
that honks a horn
for fish.
Categories:
unexposed, allegory, angst, depression, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Silent motion pictures for no one to hear,
Roaring 1922 was the magical year,
Chaplin's fancy mustache grew from ear to ear.
How can motion without sound express love or fear?
Still frames unexposed to the light,
fame within names
cheers within fright.
Til this day a movie screen provides laughter and sadness.
A comedic love story that has to end tragic.
The negative of any captured moment can have a positive feel.
The story may be fictional, but the moments are real.
-Gerald Moise
-3/23/2015
Categories:
unexposed, film, poetry, visionary, voice,
Form:
Lyric
I lose my fingers keeping count
the number of kids lost by murder count
in the eastern districts media houses dread
Patches of brown-black roofs on aerial view
Aunt hills of buildings single roomed
Shoot to kill, a governing tool
Stiff figures of teens bullet riddled
a common thing amongst those
shortlisted by fate to call home
Survival be the theme
U haven't heard of Vumilia
a small suburb rich in thugs
at least that's the word best used
by the papers you so dearly trust
To denote a group of youths
unexposed to a mastery of trades
The elderly in their twenties
those swift enough to dodge bullets
agile enough to survive the batsmen
and have caught the eyes of political dignitaries
war veterans with all due respect
Kim was almost nineteen
died graffited with bullet holes
Sarah was barely seventeen
wrong place at the wrong time
shooter: a blue boy in his fortys
We hath from a vicinity
where weakness is a rare condition
and the site of a parked car
sparks a dollar bill imagery
crowded class rooms, empty bellies
a deadbeat government
a thing called hope
Categories:
unexposed, africa, slam, society,
Form:
Free verse
Every time I read Pessoa I think
I'm better than he is
Salutations to Fernando Pessoa-Alan Ginsberg
Me, the monocled one, with my foppish belted waistcoat,
I'm not unworthy of you, Walt,
I'm not unworthy of you, my saluting you proves it . . .
Salute to Walt Whitman- Fernando Pessoa
Here from a place in my heart, I salute you,
Female as I am, and unknown,
Should I be praising Emily, Plath or Achmatova?
But you started it Pessoa! with your Alvaro comparing himself
to Whitman, not content to admit to a greatness of your own
and now I find dear Mr. Ginsberg confessing to his greatness in
epic manner, name dropping from Socrates to Michelangelo
admitting faults in the same breath-tracking his enlightenment
and if it was written tongue in cheek, I missed it.
How I admire the great poets that wade into the mainstream
appearing where the greatest wrongs appear, risking even
death for their beliefs, celebrated by those who embrace their
point of view, but what of the unknown poets in the world;
so many whose work is equally astounding, yet unexposed.
Musings on every subject known to man, set down in metaphor
and rhyme makes me wonder what brings immortal recognition
Is it from making a devoted study or from mixing in the right circles?
The hallowed halls of academia or is it some -one's tiny jounal
of handwritten poems waiting for discovery, the enlightenment
of the next century?
Poets, don't often, answer to their fame - writing what's inside of them
for those to come.
Thursday, 06 September, 2001
I wrote this poem one morning (Thursday, 06 September, 2001)after I had read a poem by Alan Ginsberg in the 1995 edition of The Best American Poetry.
I had never seen the poem he referred to "Salute to Whitman"by Fernando Pessoa
and today when I found it on the web Friday, March 01, 2002, I was suprised to see how similar our opening lines were.
Here are current links to the poems mentioned
https://issuu.com/hbarbas/docs/1997_salutations_to_pessoa_ginsberg_h_barbas
https://modpo2015.wordpress.com/poems-of-note/fernando-pessoa-alvaro-de-campos-salute-to-walt-whitman/
Categories:
unexposed, appreciation, poetry, tribute, word
Form:
Free verse
In the church are whispers high, so sweet that they defy belief
They wave their branches to the sky, bared warnings to the Autumn thief
And down below in cloistered shade, the hymns of evening bare their souls
Regretfully the echoes fade, as down the aisles their darkness rolls,
And rainbow glass turned deepest grey, touches the heart of evensong
While twilight sacrifices day, two endings that just don’t belong,
Soft bird song peels away the eve, and every single painted call
So beautiful I cant believe the curtained silence slowly fall.
Through the windows heaven high, an emerald essence on the air
And though we were taught not to cry, soft silver teardrops everywhere
Sift metronome like to the ground, within their quiet tiptoed dance,
A peaceful time touched tick-tock sound, that gives so much a second chance,
While wandering in spectral shade, so many living pieces make
A jigsaw that will never fade, a segment of creation’s lake,
So many sighs of breathless green, and many more of perfect peace
The church is a forever scene, a form of heavenly release.
Around the church there are no walls, it’s organ is the stream’s sweet song
And birdsong echoes from it’s walls, angelic wings that still belong
To heaven in it’s many forms, for churches can take many shapes
Those havens from life’s many storms, those corners where the soul escapes
And where life’s poetry is composed, between the arbours of the dawn
So many Prayers lay unexposed, as if they’re waiting to be born
Into the church that I attend, the one that lives inside of me
The church I always recommend, the one that I will always be…
Categories:
unexposed, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
If there were a tomb to hold my thoughts alone
where only those who seek it, meditate,
guffaws would echo on the heavenly green;
ideas will not live beyond their youth
unless they catch the glint of steel beneath
the torch of battle. So
let now be the arena for my wars,
my intellect, my flooding heart to charge
at enemies who rise today
but cannot raise the dust of my posterity.
This very hour I choose to fight
amid the phalanx of the white-robed clan.
It is a field of bloodless strife
where victors search beside themselves
for ripening flaws to extricate,
for keys to open doors
that never should have closed,
and for regrets that festered, unexposed.
Then as a spirit leaves its body to embrace
an unknown paradise,
down at the end of that long corridor
a dying candle flame blinks twice
and gives its rising smoke
to cense the larks above.
~
Categories:
unexposed, allegory,
Form:
Free verse
Enchanted by skylarks I surrender my time.
Day's sun unabated riveted me to broiling heat,
I stew in my skin. Every toxic thought
Pollutes my surface as is intended,
But corrodes and cankers their patron's heart.
The statue has a skin change too: skylark rest,
Merely superficial - smiles surfacing for air,
For culture goes deeper than color here.
Under the statue like a sheltering tree
I stand awed at my eroding liberty.
I count the red pennies, and watch the moods
Of racuos skylarks and people interchanging.
Standing diminished of labor's properties
And even the honesty of facade history,
I am watching skylarks sky diving for bread.
They all have long black wings
And they cry awfully; some say no one sings
Again, that rap is a longing to tell our own story.
I am listening neither rhythm nor art here
But a purposeful cry dense with bitterness.
The pennies I am counting fall, and do not roll.
Birds towering above me, on a sun scarred wall
Survey us ruefully as apart we fall:
Our ideas and paradigms like rubble and litter
The skylarks beyond our vision's fetter
Cry against the unexposed anger, the facade
That marked us polite as we crumble
Like old iron raw in salt mist and nitride air.
Under the statue of liberty the crowd mingles thoughts
In silence. The statue's massive, iron breast
Stilled, as the shrieking skylarks dive and digest
Crumbs of cold, callous film of charity
That goes easily to animals and birds, forsaking
The validity of man. Birds foment in the sky,
Skylarks still crying as the boats go pass.
A shadow with a fleeting cloud shifts and I see
The statue turns green, livid green, green as grass.
Categories:
unexposed, social, longing, cry, sun,
Form:
Free verse
Have you wandered off the beaten path and blamed someone other than YOURSELF? Or could it be that you never walked the path of others, because you were alone and LEFT. Did someone hurt you when you ran from the room in a rush, never telling others how you FELT? Perhaps it’s time you take responsibility and say what’s on your mind, rather than remain STEALTH.
We were made to be inquisitive and to question, but you never knew, because you never asked. You cry and weep inside while something holds you BACK, and you surrender, keeping on the mask. Most of us understand being afraid, but it’s not good to remain in the closet, not accepting the TASK.
Open your eyes, your ears, and you might just see and hear someone new, and discover it’s really you. Even you have yet to know the real you, because like a snapshot UNEXPOSED, you are still ENCLOSED in the shadow of the negatives. You are like a birthday or Christmas present, so beautifully wrapped. Don’t hide or be afraid of yourself or your shades of GREY, because you reveal your true colors when you step out into the light of DAY.
You have heard it said of you, “He’s/She's quiet and cool, so cute and plays by the RULES”. But did you hear when they said, “There is a dire need for social TOOLS”?
Perhaps you have allowed others to define the person they think you are.
This, you must forbid to be so, and slowly open your closet door.
Come on out my friend, show yourself, and have your SAY.
Let’s fly a kite where it’s windy at the beach or by the BAY.
Come on and unwrap yourself, because you have been put here for a purpose.
Unwrap yourself, because no one else can do what you were designed to do.
You have been gifted and touched by God’s hands of GRACE.
Step out into the world and leave your unique TRACE.
You need not rush, but proceed at your own PACE.
You are more than a pleasing face in a quiet PLACE.
Without you, we will digress as a human RACE.
So unwrap yourself, because you are truly loved
cj04102015
Categories:
unexposed, cute, friendship, lost, love,
Form:
Rhyme
“Well now,
I’ve enough dirty knickers to be washin’,
That’s why I never got married”.
Now listen to them talk
For it’s hard not to.
He never got married
or any of that other nonsense
That people bother with.
This friendly meeting at Stop No. 2-
Two warm bottoms nestled upon
The red bench that’s ridged like
Unused strips of play dough-
Has them engaged with heads near,
Eyes scanning the square.
See the pigeons flitting between
All the unloved and unexposed crumbs,
Petty ones mixed with big ones.
Hear the funny truth left behind,
The crumbs too small for big beaks.
No borders with these two,
Only the flowing of words and
Speech without shame.
Thoughts of the day pass
Naturally and unpasteurized,
Rough and ready from the soil,
From one old head to another.
“I never dyed my hair.
No, never. Never will.
I’m an ugly little thing I am”
He hums briefly,
Nods at her words
As he digests them and
Gazes at the ground,
Then quickly up again.
Marriage, hair dye, underwear.
The topics of the day at Stop No. 2.
Then they part like the pigeons there,
Much in the way a flock sets off at once
In mutual psychic energy,
A resonant communiqué
That binds the chaos as one.
This rich stream that flows through
Two old characters also seems to
Flow through another generation,
But one I cannot fathom.
I wish for that flow of words
Instead of staccato formalities,
Stiff smiles, and fear of the strange.
No fingers to point and no
Inflections of the voice.
Nothing.
No big deal.
Just clean empathy and consent
Between two living beings.
So let’s sit here and see
What we can truly agree upon.
Marriage and hair dye and underwear.
Then let us part like two pigeons
After we’ve filled ourselves
With the little crumbs.
Categories:
unexposed, character, city, friendship, humor,
Form:
Blank verse
ART, MY PLATFORM
I art, therefore, I am
Let your life be your Art
Something you paint with your heart
Taking care to make every part, a symphony of colors
The way your feet lovingly graze the earth
Like paint stroking on the canvas
Sketching the soil, each step with prudence
You were born with this Craft, this inner beauty
You don’t need to collect praise
For that Art fills up from inside
Let your life be your Art
Moving and being moved
The totality of mindful moments
Continue to paint your actions unexposed
For it to be, a masterpiece to share and behold.
Can I believe that these feelings can turn into a beautiful thing?
That after the storm, I can see the rainbow glowing again?
Just melt into grace
Cry, scream and laugh
This is where you begin, again
You’re strong enough to let love in, so don’t let it go
Running gently, Screams of laughter
Dancing stars, my golden heart
My sands of time will bring about inspiration
Using all that God has gifted me with
To recreate the promised
I hope my life is never desolate
That it lacks art
That would be the only poverty
I would find intolerable
La vie est une oeuvre d’Art
Un reflet de toi, et un voyage que tu dois suivre
Categories:
unexposed, art, beauty, change, courage,
Form:
Free verse
If there were a tomb to hold my thoughts alone
where only those who seek it, meditate,
guffaws would echo on the heavenly green;
ideas will not live beyond their youth
unless they catch the glint of steel beneath
the torch of battle. So
let now be the arena for my wars,
my intellect, my flooding heart to charge
at enemies who rise today
but cannot raise the dust of my posterity.
This very hour I choose to fight
amid the phalanx of the white-robed clan.
No! It is a field of bloodless strife
where victors search beside themselves--
for ripening flaws to extricate,
for keys to open doors
that never should have closed,
and for regrets that festered, unexposed.
Then as a spirit leaves its body to embrace
an unknown paradise,
down at the end of that long corridor
a dying candle flame blinks twice
and gives its rising smoke
to cense the larks above.
~
Categories:
unexposed, death,
Form:
Free verse
Your Eyes are green as unexposed Mold.
Your Stare is stinging as the morning Cold.
Your Hair is vile as sludge in the Sewer.
Your Lies are filthy as Manure.
You're disgustingly beautiful, so
elegantly foul.
You're even hypnotic in your most
horrible scowl.
I feel as if I have fallen under the spell
Of an angel that has come from hell.
You're disgustingly beautiful, so elegantly foul.
You haunt my dreams; At night I prowl.
I am unable to sleep, to find peace of mind.
She keeps me away from others, confined
To serve her with all I have to provide.
I pray that the enchantment will someday subside...
But until that day arrives, I remain bound.
I am but a slave, controlled by the sound
Of her clear and melodic voice.
I am ensnared with no other choice.
Categories:
unexposed, confusion, devotion, hope, love
Form:
Rhyme