Best Unformed Poems
This Life
Your eyes saw my unformed body,
Yet even then, LORD, You knew me.
In Your Book were all Your plans laid,
You gave me life and I was made.
Before I saw light You were my Light
Each beat of breath, unfolding sight,
And as Your Hands knit me together,
Each bone and flesh inside my mother.
You saw how I would walk this earth,
How I would fall and lose my worth.
This child You made for Your own glory,
You took from darkness and misery.
Made new again by Grace and Mercy
You saved me from sin and set me free!
With thanks I sing, Your plans came to be
From broken to whole, LORD, You loved me.
Now as I see the coming sunset,
This form, this life, will soon face death.
From You I came and to You I return
Till then I breathe, but for that day I yearn!
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.03.16
"For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from You
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in Your book
before one of them came to be.
PSALM 139:13-16
My eyes wide open, all I see is Ebony
A white hot Light, to the left : "to the Past"
A Heavenly bright White Light to the right "to the Present"
I know the path of the past : I live it every day
Holding LENORE’S hand entwined to Forever ,Forever
Her Heart and mine beating as one for Eternity
A Loving Kiss : Heavenly Bliss : Teardrops’ Mist
I walk the path to the right, toward the Heavenly Light
The mirage I see, behind the White Light, unhued colors, unformed shapes
I quicken my pace and run toward the place where I can see LENORE again
She sits there , braiding Her long auburn hair , Emerald Eyes glistening with tears
“LENORE” ; whispered from my mouth , why so sad; we are together again Forever
She puts Her finger to my lips “shh my Heartbeat My LOVE, My LIFE , ALWAYS
You are here only for a minuscule of time, You have to go back It is not your time”
We embrace I feel the warmth of Eternal LOVE : a Heavenly glow on Her Angelic Face
We kiss, memories of a distant past flood my mind I remember the sweetness of her lips
LENORE fades away: No , NO , Noooh then I awake to the glare of Hospital lights
Shimmering off the tears streaming down my cheeks
Let me fly
Let me soar
soar like a bottle rocket
soar like shooting star
star of the sapphire sky
star of the multi-verse
multi-verse of endless song
multi-verse of ballads formed
formed of shatters she's
formed of immortality
immortality unformed
immortality of thought
thought of rainbows
thought of waterfalls
waterfalls of prism light
waterfalls of tears
tears from children
tears from mothers
mothers warm
mothers home
home with yellow clapboard
home with a cat
cat with whiskers
cat with purrs
purrs with cuddles
purrs for dinner
dinner stewed tomato
dinner hot
hot mouths
hot skin
skin nee dip
skin in the game
game to play
game to try
try me
try shusi
sushi pink
sushi rolled
rolled in sesame
rolled in the hay
hay the field
hay Nane Nane
Nane sang
nane piped
piped the harmonic
piped to the star
stars shine
stars explode
explode
shine
*dedicated to Mr. O
I am poetry
An unheard whisper
Shadows
Conspiring
A tear
Soaked in laughter
Anger
Molded in metaphor
Humor
Wielding the axe of angst
Whispering
A farewell kiss
I am poetry
The invisible heart of language
Beating a near silent drum
A quiet vibration
Teasing the moonlight
A cool breath of air
Drawing lovers closer
A metered heartbeat
Quickened in passions petulance
I am poetry
A dream yet unformed
Stirring the ink of dreams
Weaving a wondrous web
Awaiting unsuspecting words
To take a thought and shape a poem
Takes patience, and a clue –
The patience for the diligence
Required of a muse
The clue for clever subtleties
Engaging poets use
To form connections yet unformed
Reveal with clarity
The mysteries that men have known
Throughout the centuries
Unraveled with apparent ease
In fonts of industry –
To trace the riddle of a thought
Decrypt it as it bends
To find epistles in a phrase
And coax it from a pen
One finds a poet at his craft
Plying, with keen intent
The words with which to move the earth
And all the universe
Words on a page, sounds, Mother's calling
soft tones rose from leather tomes sweetly,
through rouged lips they tumble with love.
Lullabies call through the coldest of nights
as frost haloes about the curls, open-hearted,
eager, a child of contested love’s joining.
What would this chimera become now joined.
Oh what would be the result of this clarion call?
Angels wonder at the blend of unformed heart,
as words of Our Fathers resound so sweet
for the thrice kissed lips of child and overbearing night.
May all who come from the light delight in love.
May the child addressed bring comfort, bring love,
grow in service to the higher good and join
the wholesome hearts who warm the darkest night,
for bringing comfort, kindness, and caring is a calling,
which teaches every opened soul of sweetness
and heals the aching angry sores of forlorn hearts.
With words of joy, and a voice full of heart
let her hands touch, and sooth, each pain lovingly,
with the like-minded teachers and nurses sweetening
the balm smoothed upon the brow of man, enjoined
to heed the call, the ancient ever-present call
of majesty in morning and peaceful rest at night.
Each life presents its morning and ends in eternal night.
Each soul stores fonts of happiness and heartache.
Conception buds and blooms, sending out a clarion call
enjoining all who have the healing gift to garner love.
Gentle ones, who plant the seeds, tend the hearts join…
be the humble gardeners of the meek and sweet.
What task could be richer or path sweeter
than that of those who doctor, and nurse, and warm night?
Tender hearts and helping hands come together, join…
in the higher consciousness of he’s and she’s heartfelt.
Raise the banner; fly the unifying flag of healing love,
make this your onward path the Way, the Red Road your calling.
For what is sweeter day or night for each are joined,
heartily we love and live to heed these fine callings.
Birth of A Poem
What can be done with these pedestrian morsels?
I have tasted unformed clay before.
Phrases plead to be thrown into
the redeeming realm of manifestation.
Pushing to be metaphoric,
they will arise and come to me.
From some unplumbed soliloquy.
Kathryn Collins
February 25, 2014
"There’s a Hole in the Bucket"
What an ugly world
when poets turn on each other
life is a bank of territories
left and right and lost in between, isolated in limbo
the revolutionaries silent I’s all outside drawn lines
the inner circles drugged on vitriol
think they know best,
it’s all holier than thou
the white hooded crusaders marked wearing their golem masks
carrying their heaving cement arsenal in loaded holy buckets
thoughts and words are common currency
all is in your face slapped left and right and in between
bullets, knives and bombs - outside it gets real -
understood the nuclear misunderstood
sanctimonious kings and queens
there’s a hole in their bucket
where the great toxicity seeps;
somewhere there are children
who lie captive reading walls,
small minds forming
larger dreams,
for deeper things
they do not sleep
holding their get out cards
and loaded guns
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Thine eyes did see my golem (embryo), yet being unformed;
and in Thy Sefer (Book) all the yamim (days) ordained for me were written down, when as yet there were none of them.”
“This one's optimistic
This one went to market
This one just came out of the swamp
This one drops a playload
Fodder for the animals
Living on animal farm
You can try the best you can
You can try the best you can
The best you can is good enough …
I'd really like to help you, man
I'd really like to help you, man
Nervous messed up marionette
Floating around on a prison ship
You can try the best you can
You can try the best you can
The best you can is good enough…”
(Kid A/Thom Yorke - Optimistic)
“I got a message I can't read
Another message I can't read
I'm on your side
Nowhere to hide
Trapdoors that open
I spiral down
You're living in a fantasy world
You're living in a fantasy world
I'm lost at sea
Don't bother me”
(Kid A/Thom Yorke - Limbo)
It's not because of flood or fire,
nothing more than a desire
that's prompting us to tear apart
all that we've established here.
Tired of treadmill tedium
breakfast always at eight am,
walk the dog by nine o'clock,
skim the pool tick tock, tick tock.
Time to find new closets, in which
to re- arrange familiar things,
possessions, we can find in our sleep
Convenience, imprinted on memory
Decisions now on what we must cull
things we thought we'd always keep.
Oops, there goes the baby grand,
the price of shipping way too steep.
We know of roads we've yet to take,
new friendships that we've yet to make.
Unseen rainbows and unformed dreams,
leaving behind established routines.
Beyond - a new horizon rises
Freedom comes from letting go
Detachment happens from cutting strings
Mix up the pieces - start again
Unmeant meanings
Words keep watch
their eyes in the empty spaces
fingers feel their unformed faces
Can words mean what they were not meant for all by
theirnonselves
even if they come clothed in nonentity
cuneiforms hieroglyphics ideophonograms
strokes signs signals sounds shapes silences squiggles squares squirms suctions squirts scuds screams squelches screeches screams or sickening sobs
words sum up fix errant thoughts
speak for all
though in tongues without jousting knights
errancy will not lead to errantry
Only the blind conceive their shape form posture
the staid but rumbunctious music of stilled hieroglyphs
the pliability of ideograms caressed down rice paper
their squiggly strands
the self-effacing hand-and-foot maidens
of matronly phrases
some leaning awry
the calligrapher’s trembling hand
all all straining upright
the custodians of invested stock
foot-stools of pouting poets
the sum-total of coveted currencies
exchanged stock variables
Who would be hurt knifes himself
with meaningless words
who would laugh
breaks out into song
the sing-song stress and accent of vowels round and strong
learns wayward steadfastness
with his words
with words
with the word
with the world of wonder in
always willing and wilful words
April 23, 1997
From the privately-pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris: 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
My place
There also is my place, where I explore my understanding
Of words that are said and thoughts revealed, interpretations made;
Intimacy shared and dissected, speculations proffered and discarded,
And wisdom is given and received, the acolyte at the master’s feet.
It is my space and, like another place, is defined
By boundaries that keep us within the precincts of confidentiality;
Although I unspokenly stretch these boundaries to my own ends,
And bring my world into the professional arena of supervision.
I look within, to my past and the life I have lived,
And Terence speaks across the centuries to remind me:
"*****sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto", restatement
That I am human, and live and feel as do those I counsel.
We live in parallel worlds, my client, my supervisor; and me,
Who counsels others yet who explores himself, whose
Understandings of others are but insights into his own
Psyche and his struggles for understanding and closure.
Nothing human is alien to me, and I forget my role, sometimes;
And move into my own spotlight, that I may illuminate
Myself with the insights gained from you, who is here,
Before me, my supervisor and unwitting therapist to me.
And you? You also watch, alert to my half spoken thoughts.
A mirror, that bends and shapes the reflection of myself
To reveal unformed understandings, to give them meaning
And substance; a shaft of sunlight penetrating murky
Waters, that both teaches, and counsels me.
Stock
Lines derail trains made from stern stock
shunting worsted words in wagons to and fro
cabins depleted by looters piled on dock
signals distressed faces not any more
forefathers shape not their twisted progeny
when foremothers shunt them out of agony
the fear that might in the grain burst bunds
resides unformed in unwilling face
the dark inscrutable face of race
blood thinning through bastardized sons
forefathers shape not their twisted progeny
when foremothers shunt them out of agony
to guard the rhyme within the quatrain
no end of artifice will make for sacrifice
content lets form intertwine lines in vain
clickety-clack of the train lulls us nice
foremothers never think of their progeny
when forefathers shunt them out of agony
May 6, 1997
From the privately pub. coll. (rev. 2016): longhand notes (a binding of poems),1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Sun-kissed sand seeping warm softness through loose fingers
Gritty bits of sea worn shells clinging to sweaty palms
Endless stretches of churning salty skirts, swirling soft sand offerings
Timeless routine unless confined to an hour glass; then time defined and depleting
I will stay here, one more day, in this moment with you
Billowing wind toying with chimes dangling from a hook outside the window
Weather-worn strings attempt constant purchase on their prized pipes
Hollow tubes and smooth wood dance as if marionettes
Called to action without self-will; blown and battered sporadically to purpose of
sweet note
I will stay here, one more day, in this moment with you
Fragrant formed wax with wick in need of trimming
Sagging brittle edges from last burning yearn for more pliable state
Called to illumination and guardian of the very flame that diminishes
Beauty invoked by warm flickers as shadows dance; knowing that soon it will only
smolder
I will stay here, one more day, in this moment with you
Precious kisses on soft skin and caresses on tiny fingers
Confused pleas of tears and unformed words when communication is elusive
Nurtured as if a fragile rare flower, coaxing to bloom and thrive
Rooted and reaching for the sky; so soon to spread limbs, absorbing and obscuring
the sun
I will stay here, one more day, in this moment with you
Heady thoughts of desperate need, wanting skin and souls to touch and mingle
Uncharted and unrehearsed voyages across deep waters and over daunting cliffs
Strengthened or broken by attempts to fly; stretching wings in unison to keep aloft
Long sought destination reached, realizing now that the journey’s purpose was to
find you
I will stay here, one more day, in this moment with you
life, death and tumbleweed
I have never encountered tumbleweed
in all of its restless rolling glory
never really thought about it
until just now.
if you ask me why now
my mind would appear
as a new page
filled with potential
but all unformed
brown dried skeletal lace
at the mercy
of every wind that blows
crackling scraping
it was once green
leafed and filled with life
rooted into the soil
beneath passing cloud
the motions of sun and moon
in death it moves
with thin fragile beauty
free.
the draw to you is untenable,
unformed yet perpetual,
tentatively checked, indirect,
corrected...
irreversibly defined.
and this distance is appreciable,
pining, yet unspeakable,
wandering dazed and crazed,
directed...
unrequited but aligned