Best Unfinished Poems
Unfinished Love Affair
It's been so long since I've seen you.
Don't know how or why you remain,
At the forefront of my memory,
But you do and will always remain.
Time has passed, and the years have aged us.
What can replace the time we spent,
In our younger days.
Talking, dreaming and planning a life.
Laughing and hoping as time passed us by,
Our friendship would be never-ending.
Well, the years have passed,
We have all gone our separate ways,
But the talks we had,
And the dreams we dreamed still linger today,
As unfinished dreams and incomplete endings.
The dreams we shared,
Still bring joyous tears when I think,
How time has slipped past.
But yet I see your face as I did then,
Beaming with life, smiling and carefree.
Those were the days of happy tears,
And unfinished love affairs.
[ a nette onclaud collab ]
As twilight moves through the glass of dawn
I catch my shadow hiding among trees,
like ripped gauze from a withering leaf,
that slips into the brazen darkness
weary from cracks of brittle tears,
alone once more
looking for souls who are not there ...
and I weep for unfinished dreams
upon a mute moon,
while begging for fate’s new postscript
to hurl the way, a different song this time.
Unfinished vows left behind, on this night,
I cast light from the sterilized room,
matching shadows throughout the twilight
something of dreams creeps below the pillow
searching for peace and serenity
numbers become numb
I can't breathe, knowing I'm incomplete,
trite tears longing to be together
lyrics become darkness,
the sun makes laughter once more
leaving a plume of dreams above the sheets.
A Poet Destroyer Collaboration
..........
Contest: Collaboration Celebration
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer
Youth
I remember you well
The happiness and the perfection
A lifetime in which to dwell
No worries to block my path
Playing make believe with my dolls
Unaware of the passage of time and age
Oblivious to hate and cruelty
Happy and content with my thoughts
No nightmares to disturb my peace
Teddy bear pressed to my cheek
Friends to laugh with
A Mom and Dad to hold close
Boyfriends that came and went
A long life ahead
A career, love, marriage, children
No rock left unturned
Elder
Do I know this reflection
This woman who bears my name
Where did the little girl of yesterday go
And the woman that was me
She only resides inside nowadays
My hair has lost its sparkle
My cheeks are hollow and pale
Eyes that are too dark and empty
My beauty has faded away
Many deaths have left me alone
Nightmares rock me to sleep
In the dark I weep
I fear the end and wish it also
The pain of old age pulses in my bones
Dear God, take me home
Death
I lay beneath the green earth
In peace I dwell
Here I watch the changing sky
The rain drenches me
The snow is beautiful as it lays upon me
The sun soothes my bones
The cool earth wraps me in her arms
Filigree clouds drift by dreamily
I listen to the wind in the trees
I hear the voices weep above me
I gather each falling tear
Death is not such a terrible place
I want to say to those above
The youth of yesterday was fleeting
My elder years were long and painful
And only death has loved me well
Now I reside in Paradise
My only regret are things left unfinished
________________________
June 21, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/Unfinished
Copyright Protected, ID 16-487-491-21
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Submitted to the contest, 100 in a Row #2
sponsor, Poet Destroyer, Judged 2013
Sixth Place
______________________________
Written for the contest,
Talking To Yourself, Judged 2013
First Place
On the Potter's wheel
I am clay -
sticky, messy red clay,
being kneaded like bread,
'till pliable.
In firm but gentle hands
the Potter molds and shapes me into
a vessel of honor,
a vessel worthy of a King.
God is not finished with me yet.
A diamond in the rough am I,
A chunk of rock.
But, as the Master Jeweler
chip, chip, chips away my impurities,
bit by bit,
I begin to sparkle, I begin to shine,
'till that final day when I'll be transformed
into a pure exquisite diamond.
A diamond fit for a King.
God is not finished with me yet.
My life is an unfinished tapestry.
Day by day my Creator
carefully, deliberately
weaves a thread here,
snips a thread there.
When my life comes to an end,
the tapestry will be complete.
I will be perfected.
Until then,
God is not finished with me yet.
9/23/12
The poet tells his story
As he writes it with his heart
His feelings, his inspiration
Is where his poem starts
He tries to help us understand
His suffering and his pain
His pen and paper, his only voice
As he tries his best to explain
He labors for what seems like hours
For the words to pierce our souls
He's ever watching his meter
And the rhythm that it flows
The perfection he seeks is elusive
For it's all a matter of taste
But knowing that the words he used
Could never go to waste
For now, his soul is emptied
And his pain, somewhat diminished
He knows his relief is fleeting
And his poem remains unfinished
You see, the poet is a prisoner
To the words that fill his heart
From where his first poem ends
Is where his next poem starts
There's epinephrin and love rushing through your blood
Never been kissed, never been kissed
Now you never thought it would be like this
Never been kissed, never been kissed
Now that we know each other a little better
This sky can't get high enough for us together
I'm exactly what you needed a breath of fresh air
And who knew for you it would ever happen like this
Never been kissed, never been kissed
He rose
She watched
He paused
She gazed
He twitched
She sighed
He packed
She froze
He waited
She turned
He glanced
She shivered
He moved
She whispered
He paced
She sobbed
He freaked
She called
He frowned
She pleaded
He kissed
She wept
He turned
She knew
He left
People tell me
To just let it go
Move on without
Looking back to
A time so long ago
But I can't just do that
How am I to get
Over a time
That only happened
In my mind
There's so many things
We had planned to do
Dreams unfinished
I wanted to
Fly down to Rio with you
Now it all vanished
Into the dark
Life has torn us apart
You are going places
I am stuck in my heart
I wonder if we
Ever get to be
Together again
To finish what we
Once began
My taut pen scratched paper on
paper--- speaking to you among
tangles of weeds, a wailing through
love-filled notes kneading pain and longing;
Envelopes devoid of a zip code, of
stamps, rimmed by spider webs.
Tell me now , can I bear the weight
pinned by unfinished drafts
inhabiting our room?
Your wool jacket dangles tonight
on a hook accumulating debris
and stale mint,
while spring floods our garden
with radiant foliage--
Papyrus of my ardorous thoughts
lay on deserted tables,
and I'm orphaned...alone by myself.
Failed to complete
Project abortion
Fragments of dreams
Scattered, portions
Forgotten pieces
Abandoned parts
A plan was in place
Before I lost heart
The thought was clever
But never matured
Now it’s just clutter
From explosions, occurred
Bursts of desire
Litter the ground
Minus fuel for the fire
To nail one down
Remnants haunt me
Each way I turn
What bridge is next
I’m ready to burn
Six Unfinished Lunch Bags
(A collaborative confessional-witness lyric by Anne Winter and Daniel Henry Rodgers)
The memories of my childhood linger long,
With imaginary friends, my strong bond.
Echoes of loud and clear domestic violence,
Grief, tears, sorrow and unbearable silence.
Six years old—
six wax bags lined across the black-and-white table,
Sweet Lebanon bologna sandwiches
spread with Kraft mayonnaise.
My hands stayed pinned behind me—habit—
he reeked of beer; the metal post blessed my skull —
everything went dark.
When I woke, the basement joists
hung over me, unchanged.
Cold concrete floor.
The scar on my knee —
first thing I saw.
I cried, then finished the lunches
chips wrapped into waxed paper.
I should have died—
Why not.
No closet, no corner—only the table and all six bags.
Tomorrow, I journey into the lost woods—
blue-black comics tucked under my arm,
the only safe place my hands didn’t shake.
Flashbacks of alienation in some crowd,
Achievements accolade-worthy, no one to be proud.
Razed rage, lurking loneliness seeping stress,
Here I confess, my childhood one chaotic mess.
Adolescent to adulthood soaked in existential crises and
Decades spent begging for love and screaming with my favorite band.
O life, O dear life, what do you have for me?
If you don't care then please set me free.
Help me escape back to the lost wood.
Six unfinished lunch bags.
We are all there in memoirs that live on
An unending story that's long bygone
We’re the result of someone's love story
The produce of shared love amatory.
Those whom once made wishes upon a star
Wishes that made us become who we are
In the Garden of Eden long ago
Where temptation lit up romances glow.
Our happiness, sorrow and heartbreak too
Maybe a dream that did or didn't come true
We are all characters in history
The wonderful book of life's mystery.
As time goes ticking by, the pages grow
Each one of us helps the magic to flow
Whilst making footprints along life's highway
A journey leading to Heaven's stairway.
However long your love story may last
The memory will remain of what’s past
Love flows through future generations too
Those who will be a little bit of you.
Love is ageless, love is what gets us through
All trials and trauma we ever knew
Continue to write of each stage of life
The unfinished novel on which we write.
my shoulders are broad
my back is strong
maybe I was born to carry all of this
maybe I was never meant to put it down
All poems are unfinished
Only those in sonnet are finished
Completed, done, and terminated
A poem can still be edited
Revised, retouched and rewritten
A poem is a powerful tool or weapon
Leave alone my unfinished poems
These are my spices, my stars, my emblems
You don't understand their symbols
And the words used to fill up the bowls
You just have to read my poems ten times
To fully comprehend them. Ignore the rhymes
To pay more attention to the vernacular
They are not bizarre; they are just particular
They are not regular; they are unfinished
They are not strange, they are simple. Kabish!
Copyright © July 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
You were nothing.
Closing any chapter with you feels like heartbreak,
The small crinkle that the crack makes,
That little sigh my heart takes,
You, oblivious to the stakes.
Hoping you only look this good in my arms.
Hoping you only miss me when you’re drunk.
Hoping for you.
Wishing you understood; you were poetry I wove with my own two hands.
You were ordinary but in my mind you were magic.
My love turned you into flowers blooming at cemeteries
and rain filling up crevices of drought.
But
You and me;
We’re a living testament that loving someone is not nearly enough.
The pain won,
But I hope you know, to me,
You will always be worth the inconvenience.
I will always remember you;
In little flowers behind ears
and rearview mirrors,
In Parked cars conversations,
and last minute cancellations.
You were everything political
You were everything painful
You were everything heartbreaking
You were everything beautiful
You were everything I once wanted
You were everything mine
You were everything.