Best Unmitigated Poems
guilty as charged
i stole it tall
every consonant
every vowel
every word
every sentence
plagiarized
the ocean
in its unique shades of blues and greens
combined and blended to create
its very own colour
a tint i call ocean brave
covered in water
topped off in water
surrounded by water
immersed in water
stunning
the ocean
plagiarized
the beach
in unique shades of beiges and whites
combined and blended to create
a brand new fabric
they call it whiskey white
a trillion grains
parts unknown
the total sum of all
unified to act as one
the beach
plagiarized
the cloud
in unique shades of this and that
combined and blended to create
mystery
spin the wheel if you wish
a blank pallet- blush
a perfectly complex complexion- luminous
coloured in soft and titillating to the touch- pigment
oh the touch- intense
light as air
immaculate
the cloud
plagiarized
the living
in unique shades of everything
combined and blended to create
a cornucopia of finishes, stains
combined and blended
the world of the living
with all its bells and whistles
the unmitigated
the undisputed overall
the living
plagiarized
guilty as charged
i stole it all
every consonant
every vowel
every word
every sentence
everything
i see
i feel
i invent
i write
everything
plagiarized
from just a glimpse of you
i am wonderfully, joyfully
sick in love and you are everything i do
guilty as charged
all of it
plagiarized
Quite far we have traversed, in pursuit of goals we chose,
Through troubles and trepidations of seasons in throes;
Sometimes reveling sunshine, sometime in glum of shadows,
Always together~ on barren terrains, or verdant meadows.
In albums of yore, we ruminate now, turning pages of life,
Banishing anguish of feelings-forlorn, fuming in strife;
Reminiscing in moments passionate, of love sublime,
Treasured in memories-beloved, accumulated over time.
Harboring wisdom, inlaid in life’s waning phase, as we age,
In realms of reflections, insights-sapient, now we engage;
Learning from knowledge gained, from choices we made,
Accepting with grace, laments of secrets, as yet unsaid.
Regrets unmitigated, voice remorse of unuttered sigh,
Seeking empathy from goodwill of repentant goodbye;
As life tallies good versus bad, that introspections confide,
Eying a tranquil state of mind, devoid of hate and pride.
It’s time to reflect, it’s time to mend, it’s time to befriend,
As journey of life, beaming content, approaches its end;
Living final days in covenants revered, humbly we penned,
Elevating self, in peace of bliss, to heavens we shall ascend.
Humble this moment under skies of grey
Reading poems of furtive words wrote with you,
Contemplating where you are now this day
With an ascetic mind of times we knew.
The love we shared on a day once like this
A time so long ago the spring of youth,
My heart heaved in heavenly days of bliss
Speaking words of unmitigated truth.
Yet you went away far over the sea
With nonchalant parents on life’s voyage,
Waving with a kiss as you left the quay
Shallow sunset that swallowed the cordage.
I was only eight and you barely nine
Wondering if ever your thoughts as mine.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
The sun shines in perfect darkness, twirling relentlessly ...
as do a trillion trillion other stars, daubed on the blackest black.
Still, life itself seeds and burgeons in the warmth of its precious light,
its particles, the core of an exquisite balance that brings each heart to thrum,
that breaches hard soil in spring, sings the haunting silence of the wilderness,
and bats lashes like butterflies in the wee hours of the dawning.
Some say, a laugh is just a laugh is just a laugh, thus ... and on,
yet, like Great Sol it can plunge any void, dive the deepest sorrows,
wound the twilight, mortal, and pierce the trembling rib of nightmares.
The shimmering joy it dances upon, is the true essence of ALL ...
nothing else so fills a heart or wakens a soul from mourning,
as crucial as breath and sustenance and affection.
Yes, a laugh is a simple thing, a seemingly trivial and mundane expression,
but it is an arrow sent forth from the bow of joyous reality,
a dart of delight, with the capacity to rend the thickest of shadowy veils.
Yet, like the sun again, it is dependent upon its alter-ego -
It is the shadows and dark realms and agonies and regrets
that make joy so exceptionally precious, and so amazingly sweet ...
you can NOT find one without the other, that is unmitigated, absolute.
Feel your pain - your sorrow, embrace the darkness with all you are,
but do so in the mind that until you HAVE, you won't know true JOY ...
or how splendid, cathartic and giggly wonderful ... it can be.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "The Smile At The Foot Of The Ladder" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
Calling oneself a poet takes unmitigated gall and guts
And he or she should be prepared
To throw oneself off a high cliff
Or under the proverbial bus
Whenever the expression of innermost thoughts,
Emotions, ideas or beliefs are concerned
Those who lay it all out on the line often times
Get busted, beaten, belittled or burned.
Speaking straight from the heart
And soul typically involves taking
A road less easily traveled
Or mountain made steeper to climb
From those who read but cannot see
Beauty and truth hit them between their eyes.
To write of an ex-lover may tend to uncover
Bones buried deep in the past
Which are better unearthed for whatever they’re worth:
Sweet memories rarely fade fast.
Or perhaps you agree with riots in the streets
And nothing is worth more attention
Than a poet who subscribes
To every person who ought to strive
Towards the greatest good
For self and other friends
While you might think it better
To mind my own business
And stop writing about reality and make pretend…
Penning one’s personal moments
For others to debate
Is akin to placing their head on a stump
While waiting for the blade to penetrate
Skin and bone and taking us home
To a place where no one laughs
At anything we say or think
And our poetry will forever last.
Longer than the blood-letting
That oozes from our brains
While others stand outside of us
Laughing in the rain
As we foolish, fussy writers keep on
Twisting words and phrases
And the world keeps right on turning
Like our pithy, poetic pages.
12/4/2014
I realize
I have real eyes
That see real lies—
~Nearsighted
(rule of law)
~Farsighted
(rule of lies)
~The "ayes" have it
(hidden agenda)
~The "ayes" have it
(secret addenda)
~The "ayes" have it
(hate crimes)
~The "ayes" have it
(critical times)
~Unmitigated truth
(entombed)
~Undocumented lies
(exhumed)
I realize
I have real eyes
That see real lies—
~As the world cries
***
12/13/2019
Photo "Imposter" by Gabriela Ferreira on flickr
Her love was amazing—it encompassed all;
Unconditional—never filled with condemnation,
Despite my predilection toward unmitigated gall,
And unrelenting juvenile reverence for flirtation.
The years did lapse, all consternation lost;
All apathy, on my part, long since tossed,
Replaced by unearthliness, for life’s remaining duration.
11/20/2018
time marches on
reality's fire consumes—
dreams go up in smoke
Dishonest weights, deceptive scales forsake
as chains of injustice rake the flesh
of the preyed-upon bleeding, amid wild
wolves feeding, soft sheep bleating,
protestor's pleading, jurisdictions cheating,
cajoling, wheedling, injustice repeating—
jurisprudence at the confluence
of affluence and influence
~undocumented lies exhumed
unmitigated truth entombed~
They have their thumb on the scale! We
have sussed every detail on the field of
debris, some so fiercely taking a knee,
others shot trying to flee! "I can't breathe,"
"I don't care!" Why don't they care?
Of what justice is meting beware!
One higher than the highest is watching,
waiting to signal the one riding to conquer
and complete his conquest. What's the true
future view? What more can we do
before we become past tense?
tragedies worldwide
flooding my senses daily—
fill my bag of tears
Let’s not forget our calmer gods,
Our babies flooding over our bodies while
Lying on the small and colorful living room rug.
Bug-eyed joy darting into my soul from strange corners of the body.
It’s the lying and rolling and crashing and skin-skin madness they care about,
Because whether or not they’re cognizant of it,
It is what you need, illogically and without reason.
Get dirty and senseless, roll around with the Spirit Quest Gang,
Your children, your future, your breathe of fresh topsy-turvy
Life-affirming activity.
Forget your brain and let them point the way,
To your own collective salvation and unmitigated fun.
10/15/2023
Who ever declared you cannot?
Is a full blown, liar I promise you.
In their lives, they failed at some task.
And now?
The unmitigated gall, to drag you
into heartbreak row?
Do not buy losers' stories!!
To those with fortitude and gall ~
Comes an entirely, different story!
One where there was loss and
then came great glory.
I have experienced this myself
and know the joys of victory.
Odds are many poets are just like me.
Not weeping over lost loves with
a handkerchief under an old tree.
But finding new love, better than
they ever dreamed would be.
Their lives exceeded their original
schemes.
They go on and envision new dreams
Their truest friends stand by them
whilst their phony friends stroll so
casually and heartlessly away.
But, dear friends, know, please.
The dreamers will out do you in every way
With joy and greatest possible ease!
GO DREAMERS!
God never existed don't you
know?
Only fools think it so!
We who write on parchment really
think...
We, are the gods and goddesses
who created it all, with polls of
glistening ebony, primordial ink!
Oh,how we weep over man's idiotic
actions.
We squirm like a paramecium
and have visceral reactions.
Some gods we are, aye!
Refuseniks who give a finger
to the Creator in the sky.
I know poets here who know
far better.
Their poetry reflects God's love
in their poems in each letter.
We can play God all we choose.
And if we do?
We are unmitigated fools.
Drunk and lying in self-adoration,
hellish pools.
October 7, 2019
The air is heavy today
And sits on my chest
A crushing reminder of unmitigated loses
I will labor to breath in and out
While the weight of miseries pushes down
In unwelcomed pulses of desperate cries
Millions of voices raised in revolt
Millions in hunger and strife
And only me to hear
I want to feel less
But if I do not see and hear
Then who would know
Who would know the desperate struggle
Of holding on to hope
While trudging toward nothing but hopelessness
Who would feel the burn of hunger
And the frantic pain of sickness
That are drowned out by weak promises of help that never arrives
There is no bread
There is no hope
The sick get sicker
The dying get dead
The poor stare at me in my nightmares
And I stare back, helpless
They will still be poor and so will I
Dying together under the weight of secrets
The untold stories of the people
No one wants to see
Clawing, ripping, fighting our way through the days
Only to fall and weep and burn
At night when no one sees
The silent scream in the shower
So no one can hear
The inhuman sound raging from your soul
Begging for help
For scraps of left overs
The mention of our names from your lips
The uncomfortable truth
Buried under your comfortable lies
And shining institutions of greed
I see you
And you see me
And I know that you know
You can pretend for a while more
You can cast shadows and distractions
And still I see you
You can put on a show
And give your alms
And still you see me
A silent reminder of your selfishness
A glaring rebuke of your holiness
A fire burning that will not be put out
Who ever declared they cannot?
Is a full blown, liar I promise you.
In their lives, they failed at some task.
And now?
The unmitigated gall, to drag you
into heartbreak row?
Do not buy losers' stories!
To those with fortitude and gall ~comes
a different story.
One where there was loss and
then came glory.
I have experienced this myself
and know the joys of victory.
Odds are many poets are just like me.
Not weeping over lost loves with
a handkerchief under an old tree.
But finding new love, better than
they ever dreamed would be.
Their lives exceeded their original
schemes.
They go on and envision new dreams
Their truest friends stand by them
whilst their phony friends stroll so
casually and heartlessly away.
But, dear friends, know, please.
The dreamers will out do you in
every, conceivable way and with
the greatest possible ease!
GO DREAMERS!
November 9, 2019
Sitting this moment under skies of grey
Reading some old poems I once wrote with you,
Contemplating where you are now this day
Sharing words our collaboration knew.
The love we shared on a day once like this
In times so long ago; the spring of youth,
My heart heaved in heavenly days of bliss
Speaking words of unmitigated truth.
Yet you went away far over the sea
Your parents taking you on life’s voyage,
Waving with a kiss as you left the quay
The horizon forever more my bridge.
I was only six and you only nine
Wondering if ever your thoughts as mine.
©Harry J Horsman 2014 ©Mandy M Tams 2014
Things begin turning around and very
slowly they take a nasty foreboding twist
as Hell's Dragon has not breathed yet
a deep burning fire melting red his eyes
dripping blood upon fury and destruction
pumping inside the uncontrollable fire
equal to that of a thousand steamboats
and only he sleeps in the dark dungeons.
Chained and suffering in utter Hellfire
chained in untold torment and anguish
unleashed he would burn your heart no less
in a flash—while scorching all to nothingness
fried black from the deepest ashes falling
cold silently sleeping with wings on fire and
chained to love’s weakness as the dark fables say:
Do Not Call Upon This Beast—He’s The Devil’s Own.
Hell’s Dragon stirs inside with tongues of flames
lashing with the pains of hate to strike all now
leaving hottest cinders and funeral pyres a plenty
it’s now the Devil’s very moment to unleash His Evil,
His Demon Dragon upon the saintly and the pure
and the precious doing their good works and all
and unsuspecting of the malevolence awaiting them.
The Devil enters afresh the earthly plane once more and
releases His Dragon to inflict harm and to upset
God’s celestial equation of peace, harmony, and light—
bringing death, destruction, and retribution to all in
its flight path while breathing out the harshest and
cruelest and hottest flames of fiery perfidy in the
name of Lucifer—Himself laughing boisterously at God
all the while not knowing the coming angelic answer.
The Almighty Lord works indeed in the most mysterious
of ways and He will not let his Fallen Angel Lucifer (or
“The Devil” on Earth) have His way by murdering
innocents through His Dragon proxy only too willing to
serve His Master to bring horrible hideous death to all
of mankind who fall within its flight path and intention
to inflict the most treacherous and dastardly plan of
of unmitigated death and horror ever to be unleashed.
Continued burning flesh 2
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 28, 2014)
(Free Verse poetic format)