Best Unhatched Poems
Embrace the day loosely don't cling
Let it flow, unhatched, free
As the river rushes or saunters
Ever rolling to the sea
With outstretched arms fly 'pon breezes
Swaying north, south, east, west
Ride the waves soaring the currents
Freedom wakes are the best
"The moment you doubt whether you can fly,
you cease forever to be able to do it."
Quoted and don't know author..
Categories:
unhatched, life,
Form:
Rhyme
When the snout of lush abundance is full and flowing,
when all prey and creature-kind spill upon the verdant swards,
then it is that I worry night and day,
for the stoat, fox and hawk are at work,
they scythe in the whelm and nimiety, they hack and harrow.
The kits and chuckling’s are many, the light too bright;
for then the foragers forgoing fright, are palpable and open.
The long-eared nibblers, hairs on scattered rodents laid bare,
they scutter, skitter and twitch much in the open
greatly prone to be pounced upon;
their paltry pelts all unhidden, and being many,
and not running, they are huddled; yet not strong.
If this slew not ease, if the grabbers not falter,
if the singled-out dither, the glut not wither,
then the green snake will climb to where nestlings hutch -
they all so easily plucked and quickly snatched.
I worry for the wee brown birds; mottled shells still unhatched.
I fear a winnowing, withal a harsh hazard of gorge and sate.
I fret for the freshly delivered, the teeming,
the newly produced, all the bounding bounty
for those too easily found and so, arrived too late.
Categories:
unhatched, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
A poem still in its shell I'm listening for peeps
Categories:
unhatched, bird,
Form:
Haiku
You were a bird
And I was an egg
You left me unhatched
And I was unfed
I was not a pencil
To use on your test
But you didn't care
You used his chalk instead
I was a raindrop
That fell on your head
And you brushed me off
When your heart turned to lead
My soul was a country
I couldn't defend
When you invaded my home
And you burned all my land
Categories:
unhatched, blue, break up, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Today you are seventeen years old;
We have brought to you our lineage gold.
We have brought our swiss vevelt lace
And sweet powder for your cherubic face.
Happy we are you are not a "broodlord":
The broodlords, the unhatched -
They say eagles waft in the air,
They see marauding cobras in the jungle,
They shrug at the pain of laying,
Grimace at the fast of brooding;
Tick, tick,tick; broodlords rot the eggs.
March 17 you broke the wall;
The honey was not spilled, the jar was not broken.
Seventeen years now you are pruning your wings.
Sweet to see you bristling your breast.
Happy birthday my baby girl;
Next year I shall greet you again.
For my daughter, Amogemola, on her seventeenth year birthday.
Categories:
unhatched, birthday, daughter,
Form:
Verse
What came first, the chicken or the egg?
The answer is still relatively unknown.
Which tastes better, the egg or the chicken?
It depends on the person, so really, who knows?
Little baby chickens taken from mother hens
Still wrapped in their little hardened cocoons,
Ignorant to the fact that they are about to die
Slaughtered by plastic forks and silver spoons.
Ol’ poor little unhatched chicken embryos
Bet you didn’t know you’d end up on my plate.
Your parents procreated and made such tasty treats.
Sorry lil’ chickies, you shouldn’t taste so great.
You are so multitalented, you come in many forms:
Hardboiled, poached, over easy, eggs benedict,
An egg salad, an omelet, or have you sunny side up,
Maybe even scrambled for something really quick.
You get me going for the day with you for breakfast;
Have you in the morning to provide my body fuel.
I apologize for eating you before you were able to live.
I sincerely don’t mean to be thoughtless and cruel.
If we should place the blame, it should go to your parents,
To that loud, cocky rooster and that little red hen.
Your taste pales in comparison to the both of them
Because I can eat them over and over and over again.
Sometimes they live long, sometimes they don’t.
Either way, they taste awesome on my plate.
Barbecued, grilled, fried, or on a stick
Boiled, rotisserie, roasted, or baked.
Either way, little chicken, you were born to die
And unfortunately, that is your earthly fate.
Take pleasure in the fact that you are enjoyed
And that my stomach is your final resting place.
Categories:
unhatched, animals, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
I was a comely damsel
Made of fragile fair clay,
Pregnant with unhatched rebellion,
Beclouded with the mist of youthhood,
And on the broad path
Dreaming of butterflies.
I heard a still voice calling;
It was the Prince of Peace,
Oh, how sweet the sound!
So I followed closely.
But the sword in his mouth
Pierced my flesh and bones,
Caused my timely abortion,
And shaped me into fit -
A precious pearl for him.
What else can I say?
O Man of Calvary!
Your love has captured me.
You are my king forever!
(Read 1Timothy 1:12-15)
Categories:
unhatched, cheer up, christian, forgiveness,
Form:
Ballad
You left me in the fist of a
cold night,
when the eggs were yet
unhatched;
a budding love denied.
O that the Sun stole
through the sheild of
dusk-shadows,
and noon stopped the
wind
from spurring me to
spasm,
nature would have
nutured me.
The Rose sprang at dawn,
swirling in pure ecstacy,
broken-heart entwined.
Categories:
unhatched, love
Form:
Verse
Oval
Orange speckled rock
As large as a giant dinosaur egg
Sat in the scratchy field out back
Of our lakeside A-Frame cottage
Next to McLaughlin’s orchard of cherries
Where honeybees are fanned to clover fields
And Torch Lake swings below
From the corners of the hills
Like a hammock spilling of sapphires.
I suppose this giant rock had rolled for millennia
In the blue pouch of a Great Lakes glacier
Before dropping with a thud and a scar
Right here
Warmed in the sun for another 20,000 years
Unhatched unmoved even an inch
After travelling for hundreds of excruciating miles.
I climbed atop this rock as a thin teenager
Cartoon lizard drawn from the crayon of sun
Chest hard
Hair long and curly
Tongue sharp as an elbow
I must have strummed
A hundred thousand chords from my Washburn guitar
Atop that rock
Trying to find the perfect melody
About sex and forever.
I loved a Florida girl named Wendy
Who read her Harlequin
And whistled tunes to REO Speedwagon.
She read my poems over and over
Folding them in her bikini.
Upon my surprise visit today
With my feet clamped in their wing-tipped shoes
And a dick tucked away more like an after thought
The A-Frame is plowed under
Those fields are stacked with empty condos
Honey bees a legend
But Torch Lake remains painted with tall blue sky
The rock still unhatched next to it
Waiting
After all my few years
A lean
Of my shoulder into its unmovable ache
I step from the land
I slide into the lake.
Categories:
unhatched, age, fate, goodbye, innocence,
Form:
Free verse
I portray the mother of dust:
the rattle in our empty nest,
echoing, echoing like the bray
that escapes the moon at noon,
the shrieks from soft white rooms.
These unhatched eggs cry,
crawling to my windows,
peeping in, trying to frost
each dirty sheet of glass
with their shallow dirty breaths.
Is there humanity in this reflection?
I am a factory assembling
cadavers: cold glassy eyed dolls
all wearing the same vacant faces:
blurred, blurred, and terrible.
Their little fingers stain the walls
like the pages of blank novels.
I try to hold them. They go.
They let me go, for now.
I don't fear the darkness anymore,
but it is their tongues of silence
that leave me unhinged.
Remembering is to ache
like a shadow. Mother
mothering dirt, a stranger to health.
My cramping hands pray and
hope my past can eat itself.
Categories:
unhatched, health, loneliness, mother, murder,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The ledge is where it begins
and ends. She feels her slip rise,
her rusted wings quiver into use.
She knows the wind has a language
of its own too. Its trusted wet tongue fills
its mouth. She could never put it back together
in time. She recoiled, unblooming
like the moon daisy at dawn.
The moon remains unconcerned,
her faces stare as blank as snow.
She forgets her past, her future stunted too.
She's seen enough, she's sure.
Her black eyes frail from overuse.
Like the Earth, she is old before her time.
As a graffitied flower, she feels impure.
in her forever empty nest
the ghosts of unhatched eggs press their
little faces to the window, their shallow breaths
trying to frost the glass. She is the mother of dust,
draped in cobwebs thick as dirt.
She slips it back. She has known the outside
too well. At last, she tries to fly.
Categories:
unhatched, life,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A tapestry lay in an ancient sun,
Basking neath a ventrous day yet unspun,
Colorful hues of ocher and saffron,
Draws aqueous fumes that moist production,
Every eye, blossom, unhatched egg, greet, opens,
Fortuitous bounty spreads emotions,
Gathered, skins, feathers, and scales, 'bout all strewn,
Harken a flightless prayerful dove a tune,
Invocates breaths to cite a liturgy,
Jolts loose a cloak of boundless energy,
Kingpin meanders its righteous release,
Lifts a poised sky veiled like an altar piece,
Mirrored echoes o'er a restless domain,
Naked beings wild, nay wear traps of vain,
Oaths show side-by-side, generating warmths,
Pleasant touch between life, light and air, calms,
Qat leaves pools a creeks hold, stirs brew a tea,
Raven espies to hover, pecks a spree,
Symmetry fulfills in a baseless realm,
Tenacious wanton rhapsody days' whelm,
Universe descendants be a joint trust,
Vast spectered spectrums spirals to adjust,
Webbed stars a new sky, quietude abound,
Xenon fades into a nulled swarty crowned,
Yielding yawns, surrenders lids to be froze,
Zzz's orchestrates descents towards a lulled doze.
Date: 06/01/2019
Categories:
unhatched, beautiful, day, earth, imagination,
Form:
Abecedarian
A red-throated hummingbird, betrayed,
begins the annual rite of packing up his nest,
in response to the mercurial spinning of winds,
and the twisted temperaments of weather.
Distant friends once conspired together, chasing sunbeams,
beak-seeking nectar beckoned from blossoms' tease,
thoughtful temptations from the breeze who taught him to fly.
Without warning, save the predictions of history,
the wind turned her shoulder, hiding the cold,
smell of snow on her breath belying denials of inclemency.
Taking only what he needs, tucking it in next to his breast;
an odd stick, a tuft of newborn lanugo for the sake of nostalgia,
unhatched plans of a portico he had intended to build.
Red bird perched on bare branch, in morning bids farewell,
takes flight on desolate breath, his load less heavy now,
having left his heart with the unsteady humor of sylphs.
Categories:
unhatched, angst, bird, farewell, nature,
Form:
Personification
Valentine's Day 2021
Yours truly not necessarily
romantic fellow at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
maybe accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated
noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.
Once upon a time I
bouncing up and down
analogous to yoyo
rode proud on his high horse whoa
considered himself, albeit kiddingly
as pure as the driven though
fell prey to basic proto
human barking animal propensity
desire under the Elm you know
all to well that biological urge
goading species to reproduce
when consummated minus
utilization of prophylactics
to aid and abet begetting embryo
unborn or unhatched offspring
in process of development,
particularly human offspring during
period from approximately
second to eighth week after fertilization
(subsequently termed a fetus).
Back in the day
gathering rosebuds while I may
thy pure motive to lay
me down with barenaked lady
futile (yet Prince Valiant) attempt
to placate seething hormonal secretion
surging testosterone seemingly went away
(I strongly suspect absent libinal longing
courtesy side effect half dozen medications)
bodes ill with spouse
marriage doth severely fray.
Categories:
unhatched, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Time is of the essence when playing
The field is wide open to the opportunist
Love is an engine fueled by lust
Many eggs remain unhatched, untouched
Undamaged by the trust you bring
There is no deposit no return on virgins
There is only one woman in the world
That one opportunity for you
Intimacy is a dream elixir
Exclusively designed with you in mind
I trust you will find her before time runs out
Before the opportunist takes her away
Makes her one of the many merry
Perverts the purity that once was yours alone
The one and only touched by no one
Categories:
unhatched, absence, abuse, age, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse