Best Unimpressed Poems
Tomorrow's dawn will start the longest day
When summer takes the torch and starts to run
He'll summon all the children of the sun
His followers that love his warming way
They'll laugh and celebrate in outdoor play
It is the greatest time for water fun
Each claiming to be summer's fav'rite son
Absorbing every ultraviolet ray
And when the sun lies down to take his rest
Their celebrations go in to the night
Cavorting with the moon, who's unimpressed
He knows they only like him 'cause he's bright
They'll fall asleep their backs toward the west
As children of the sun await first light
by Daniel Turner
Miltonic sonnet #2
She felt his presence by her side
Her first reaction – unimpressed.
She turned her head, a toss of hair,
The situation she assessed.
Maybe it was the dauntless smile
Perhaps the wicked twinkling eyes
The self-assurance in his poise...
Do warning bells ever suffice?
She sipped her drink and options weighed
He praised her looks and wispy gown
His flavoured words - delicacy
Her guard she weakly lowered down.
Till late at night beneath the stars
They danced to music, hands on hips
If ever doubts had crossed her mind
Erased they were by burning lips.
She found him suave and debonair
His face, ethereal, divine
Attentive eyes looked deep within
His lips still tasted of sweet wine.
The music played; he held her tight
Each sense alive and needing more
She whispered breathlessly to him,
"There's more to me you must explore."
Behind closed doors, he lay her down
And kissed each part that he undressed
Before her nakedness was shown
Her face he tenderly caressed.
"I will not take what is not mine;
You will not be a one night stand."
"My love," she said with bated breath,
You'll guide my life; I'll guide your hand."
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
The kittens found my bag of words
And in their furry glee
They tapped them with their tiny paws
And wrote a poem for me
The mouse, a house bound hermit
Used its subtle tail
To add some punctuation
Lest the meter fail
The dog sniffed idly, unimpressed
For he was wary of those three
For he’s the only one it seems
They send outside to pee
So, if you’ve two kittens and a mouse
Hide those words inside a barrel
Or bear the brunt of what they do
For poetically …they’re feral
He was a big man
a gigantic tall man
a large imposing brute of a man
a do whatever he wants to do man
He was a
I can do anything man
a you better get out of my way man
a stand up walk shake the ground man
a ready for battle boisterous man
a several severed heads on sticks man
Then one day he faced
a somewhat small man
a not very tall man
a gentle weak looking shepherd man
But this was a special man
an I’m with God I can do anything man
Still Goliath was a mocking man
laughing at the small stone twirling boy man
Unimpressed with that steady on shaking ground man
That not backing down weakling loinclothed man
One big one small
oddly paired historic men
Destined born to come together men
Who changed the course of history men
Story recounted retold from back then
Scribed by Scholars with paper and pen
Rock against sword one bigger by ten
David stood with God his nation to defend
on simple armor he didn’t depend
With odds against him one hundred times ten
In the end it was Goliath that would never stand again!
She felt his presence by her side
Her first reaction – unimpressed.
She turned her head, a toss of hair,
The situation she assessed.
Maybe it was the dauntless smile
Perhaps the wicked twinkling eyes
The self-assurance in his poise...
Do warning bells ever suffice?
She sipped her drink and options weighed
He praised her looks and wispy gown
His flavoured words - delicacy
Her guard she weakly lowered down.
Till late at night beneath the stars
They danced to music, hands on hips
If ever doubts had crossed her mind
Erased they were by burning lips.
She found him suave and debonair
His face, ethereal, divine
Attentive eyes looked deep within
His lips still tasted of sweet wine.
The music played; he held her tight
Each sense alive and needing more
She whispered breathlessly to him,
"There's more to me you must explore."
Behind closed doors, he lay her down
And kissed each part that he undressed
Before her nakedness was shown
Her face he tenderly caressed.
"I will not take what is not mine;
You will not be a one night stand."
"My love," she said with bated breath,
You'll guide my life; I'll guide your hand."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
The happy sound of the coffeemaker.
Or of a welcomed friend’s voice!
Using a real phone, not texting,
You sense her in real time, a true joy
Maybe it is his sensual deep voice?Hmm?
That hungry baritone, whose voice moves
clouds.
Or a toddler’s feet, prancing on the rainy
soggy, ground.
Be so glad you can hear the rain melting
snowflakes on rocks.
Or the street, maybe the loud noise of a
lawnmower, by a fit young teen wearing
emblazoned baseball socks.
How about the music of the late and great!
Steven Sondheim, the brillant song writer
for “West Side Story?”
His lyrics make me feel like I am touching
the magic underbelly of heaven in all my
earthly glory.
Here is something, no poet should ever miss.
Have a poetry lover read to you, one of your
poems aloud, it’s like a hug and a kiss.
I had no idea whatsoever the power my
poems held.
I can tell you, I honestly cried when to
this auditory treasure, I fell.
For me by my poems, I am so very
unimpressed.
Till they were read to me, and my soul
and emotions were undressed.
1/1/2022
The events of last evening were such
that I awoke this morning to find
I was beside myself—
not metaphorically,
but in the most literal sense:
two versions,
one body short.
The mirror caught us first—
a flash of double movement
where there should have been one.
I blinked.
He didn’t.
Or maybe I didn’t.
It’s hard to say
when glass begins to lie.
We shared a glance,
the kind exchanged between commuters
who suspect they’ve boarded the wrong train
but are too polite to ask.
It seemed prudent
to seize the opportunity
for a discussion between ourselves—
a kind of internal summit
to determine the rhyme and reason
for our dilemma,
and sketch a path
toward reunification,
assuming it was worth the effort.
The other me—
slightly more rumpled,
possibly wiser—
suggested that last night’s self-reflection
had been too honest,
and that dreams,
when left unsupervised,
tend to rearrange the furniture.
We debated causation,
as one does:
Was it the unresolved metaphor
in that unfinished poem?
The hat and the boots,
still waiting for closure?
Or the quiet betrayal
of pretending to be whole
for the sake of social ease?
Outside, the morning
was already making demands.
Inside, we negotiated
terms of reentry—
no apologies,
no revelations,
just a mutual agreement
to pretend we were whole
until further notice.
I stood to leave,
feeling the weight shift
as the double lingered behind,
stuck in the mirror,
arms crossed,
expression unreadable.
The other me was unimpressed.
Unimpressed, she sits alone watching
There high above the river flowing
Sharp, keen eyes always scan, protecting
Her eggs are safe, awaiting hatching
Alone watching the river flowing
Jet air planes and speeding cars go by
As she watches from her perch on high
Then with stunning grace, she leaps to fly
Gliding, soaring, master of the sky
From her perch on high, she leaps to fly
The bald eagle impressed me that day
While watching her majestic display
As her kingdom there, she did survey
Turning, circling, choosing her way
Choosing her way, impressed me that day
©Donna Jones...an attempt at Eileen's form for her.....:-) :-)
*we have bald eagles winter here along our rivers and build nests..it is awesome to go watch them..
Watch me creep upon your virgin abode
without a husbandry humping request
to take what is mine from no/mo/mojoe months of
exsocietal solutiservititude of sexlessages unimpressed.
Finally, the the universaladity of our fauxphysicosexual spirits melding
into a one promiscus misspromise delegated by past powers
at be to a false fulminate the sexual prose prowess that we hide
in the nether neath of neutral neuder nuisances hopefully negating
turn raging torrent treasures into mystical monument molecular
memories into that never non-known nil complacent coiture of everpresent
For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge destitiute desires, drearily socialsoft
shifting freefall forever orgofaked fawned populace pleasures deso
designated by an eager ego-stential ergo everpresent freudian fliked flaked frail fixed feverent list of lost lucid loveless latent ladies and gential guised gilded gentlemen to go gonad gender hide a post penal predisposition to pissed off passionate penetration for the sake of wifeful wishes and mistress missed moments of heretofore hideous hiden and psuedo sexual seek/sought preluplentitudes to the other side of a risky/retro recreational ripe respite religiousness that alter states the sociosick
sanctioned **** covert severences, residue that fecal foments our current agast crestridge a----ffairs.
The TimWeiner takes all is fair in love and Warr-----anties;wishful textinking.
E X tendedness will costco create yr penalpussypoliticoplentypiousness. Third party poster plates plenititudes procrastinating???
Fair and balanced banalaties beliguered by biased bigot blogosites. Get Real and How love stinks?
She meandered through
new spring grass, startling bugs
shortening their lives, taking her fill
seemingly unimpressed
with grandeur displayed
solely for her benefit.
His swagger almost took him
airborne, his tail feathers spread
into a fan of splendor
his princely prance seemingly
not even a blip on her view
Our appearance on the scene
assured his utmost strut, trumpeting
at us as we laughed and mocked
his silly gobble
Yet his strategy succeeded
She now sits on her nest
at the edge of the yard
under the hickory tree, just beyond
where the mower runs
Sunset, occurring daily (and as such, no miracle by the nature of the word),
calls me again to it's evening forum, where I, though vaguely moved to testify - again, only watch.
I watch...And as ever, am left rippling with the quiet swell of majestic privilege felt from inception (I am certain) by each and every oak tree born of ancestral crops in earths red canyons - Intrinsically original, yet universally indistinguishable from it's likewise peerless brothers.
A part of the whole.
I myself am human and in so being, have been much exposed to the impossible pink of a newborn day and to the breeze of sky blue it becomes with age. But this ongoing cycle of singularities leaves me unimpressed...
It is the sunset I await.
The sunset, who, unlike it's younger selves, is fast running out of time. Yet, who each night still requests my audience and waits patiently while I (no miracle myself, by the nature of the word!) valiantly attempt perfect attendance.
Tonight, though I am only here as a bystander, the sunset, now in it's twilight moments, asks a few words of me.
And tonight, I speak...
For I have long awaited the day when, at it's end, I could tell the beautiful sunset all that it has meant to me. And thank it for the elegant gift it has been my honor to accept each and every evening of my life. This being so, now I stand and my face awash in it's molten light,
I whisper to it from my reverent pew...
And the story I tell is one not only of it's own magnificence
But also of mine...
There once was an old hag named Dawn
Over a married man online she would fawn
Though she fancied him often
They had nothing in common
And her comments made him wan
When he politely turned her down
She sat, with an acid frown
But there is more to this picture
You see, Dawn was a spinster
And her schizophrenia was akin to a loaded round
She fancied herself a prophet of God
The scientist she was pursuing was hardly awed
He lived it up online with his friends
But her stalking behavior with others should portend
His sense of security would soon be trod
Dawn had a penchant for delusion
("Don't all 'prophets'", suggested the atheist's conclusion!)
And as her warped mind played its tricks
It conjured up a scenario so sick
And none could distract her from her intrusion
She stalked him, day and night
Posting threats and his address online
She decided he was pretending to be other people
And her invective turned so lethal
That some she accused of being him were in quite a fright
As months became consumed with her obsession
Her poor husband and daughter lived in depression
She got fatter and fatter
And his friends' comments on these matters
Accelerated her ego's aggression
She threatened him with scripture
And cut the head off of a belly dancer's picture
But he remained unimpressed
Happily married, he stressed!
But on her rotten mind, he was still a fixture
If you sit tight, and promise not to spite
I will tell you a story, when I was not in my glory
grade one, a new chapter
who knew my teacher would be a captor?
that’s right! I said it!
a washroom run, she did not permit
there I stood
as still as I could
but I couldn’t help wiggle, then jiggle, and out popped a nervous giggle
first I got a casual stare
not two seconds later, a frightening glare
Oh no! I thought
a quick exit I sought
I could feel the rush coming
my small feet started drumming
how could she be so cruel?
this has got to be against some rule!
and there it went
the warm stream I could not prevent
I could tell she was mad
but I had to go SO bad!
she pointed the way out
boy! Did she shout!
“go to the loo! You twitsy-poo”!
Oh. So you thought that was it?
why don’t you take another short sit
to the principals office I walked down
sporting a most shameful frown
she also looked unimpressed
thank goodness, I was wearing a dress
my underwear was wet but my clothes remained dry
if I had to wear lost and found clothes again, I surely would cry
I pictured Mrs. Marriotti as a belly dancer
while she called mom for dry underwear, but there was no answer
I was vexed, with what happened next
you’ll never believe me
the travesty that was caused by my pee
not only was I humiliated, and my new teacher I did annoy
but the underwear I had to wear for the day was made for a BOY!
Diana-Marie Bombardieri
January 30, 2012
CONTEST - Dr. Seuss is on the loose (G. Rix)
I stood tall in front of the head stone.
A bunch of cheap flowers in my hands
Were given to me by my uncle.
I felt all the discomfort of the world.
What was I doing there, staring at a tomb?
I was told my mother was buried there.
I had never seen my mother, I felt no bond.
Evil tongues said she died of an overdose.
Ashamed I never wanted to know of her ever.
Now on my eighteenth birthday
My uncle made me visit her tomb.
So I stood emotionless, just staring.
My uncle told me to mumble a prayer,
To whom? To this supposed mother of mine?
She had died ages ago. Eighteen years?
I did not know nor did I want to know.
She was dead. Let her rest in sacred peace.
After all I wished her no ill will nor anger.
I tossed the flowers on her grave and turned to go.
My uncle stopped me and silently handed me an envelop.
Written on the large missive were just a few words:
“From your mother.” Inside was a letter.
I turned on my uncle, but he was gone.
My first instinct was to throw the envelop away.
Who could say it was from this mother?
But curiosity got the better of me and read:
“Dear daughter, I saw you being born as tears fell
Without control, for I knew I will never
See you grow up and learn what life has in store.
Your father disappeared as soon as I got pregnant.
Giving you birth was painful but worth it.
For you had to live, and I hoped, live to the full.
For me life is now at an end, for my tumour
Will surely kill me, as all doctors said.
They gave me just one solution, that to abort you.
Then they would remove the tumour that will kill me.
But I refused. Why should I kill you?
What wrong had you done to deserve death?
So I preferred to die so you could live.
May God bless you and keep you whole.”
I read the letter twice, faintly unimpressed.
Then I saw there was a photo in the envelop.
A perfect picture of my mother, very much like me.
Then tears fell.
Then I knelt down and prayed.
29 March 2021
Mother - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The fiddler crab waves his giant claw
A rival crab has got him beat
Small clawed female watches in awe
The fiddler crab waves his giant claw
Small clawed female stiffles a haugh
Unimpressed watches his defeat
The fiddler crab waves his giant claw
A rival crab has got him beat