Best Unplayed Poems
Life & abusive substance
Power too.. 'Misuse' in abundance.
Strength to choose is inside us
The keys to use beside us
Darkness pervades,
Conspiracy is it a truth?
Are lies more feel?
Or 'good' really a factor?
Here’s to morals!
Remnants of character,
The stages of opportunity
unplayed as yet..
And leaders aspiring unto
The integrity of actors.
©Joe Maverick 9/12/2014
The past always returns to haunt us
Old debts demand to be paid
The very best hand
Of many a man
Stays un known
And remains unplayed
Some men wish to be
In alliance with Angels
But alas, e’en more opt
To owe a debt of allegiance
To the dark…
And deep within those sad souls
Lie haunted black holes
Absent of light
Not e’en a scintilla nor spark
They yearn to return
To a world once spurned…
But once the die is cast
The past holds fast
And Fate and Karma decrees…
For lack of their wisdom
They be trapped in a prison
A prison made of
…memories…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today. - Abraham Lincoln
Silence gathers like dust
on the piano lid—unplayed songs folded
into brittle paper wings.
The hummingbird feeder hangs empty,
sunlight glinting off dried nectar.
Each day our hands relearn
the slow syntax of stiffness.
Morning pills rattle accusations
in amber bottles. Who will read
the warning labels when our eyes retreat?
Childless. No daughters to decipher
our fading ink. No sons
to steady the wobble
of ascending stairs. Lincoln’s shadow
lengthens across the porch:
Tomorrow arrives hungry.
You cannot feed it yesterday’s excuses.
We scan horizons for villages
built of shared tremors
where neighbors become
soft euphemistic nouns—caregiver, listener, stayer~
before the light fails completely.
Reason is a tool,
it can not escape the boundries of calculation as oxygen departs from blood,
logic operates on the body of algorhythems thumping along trails of faceless fates,
reason is a scavenger of possibilities matured into conclusions born from imagination,
without formulas to navigate the maze of Life's elasticity reason becomes music unplayed,
reason needs it's parent of the playground so to construct a kingdom worth caring for,
provided with an objective it can flourish as seed to stem, highlight the heroics of heaven,
Love is a hope,
confidence to dream is what it encourages, to orchestrate talent into the physical dimension,
love is the currency paying the mercenary of reason for a fort captured or erected properly,
schematics of soul lust, blueprints of God's sandbox gives direction to the 'chain reaction' of destinies,
where would purpose go to if denied sojourn in the mansions of love's capacious creativity,
love is the roadway feeding the logistics of our egocentric reason, the part of us seething for results,
tragedy is when love fails to convince reason to trust in adaptability, when smiles fail to persuade tears -
J.A.B.
"Wise Monkey"
I am tired
I am so so tired
Just sit for a while
See no evil
Hear no evil
Speak no evil
Shut my eyes
Listen to emptiness
Don't speak
Shhhhhhhhhhh
I am tired
I am so so tired
Just sit for a while
Watch my world
go bye
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Stone in Focus" / Aphex Twin
https://youtu.be/q86g1aop6a8
"Just Fall Asleep" / Aphex Twin
https://youtu.be/2gNtuY4VAOA
bye.
Definitition.
Bye1
- the transfer of a competitor directly to the next round of a competition in the absence of an assigned opponent.
- a run scored from a ball that passes the batsman without being hit (recorded as an extra, not credited to the individual batsman).
- one or more holes remaining unplayed after a match has been decided.
Bye 2
mid 16th century (denoting a side issue or incidental matter): from by.
Bye 3
Exclamation:
short for goodbye.
Bye 4
prefix
bye- 1. subordinate; incidental; secondary.
"by-election"
There are no postage stamps that send letters
back to England three centuries ago,
no postage stamps that make letters
travel back until the grave hasn't been dug yet,
and John Donne stands looking out the window,
it is just beginning to rain this April morning,
and the birds are falling into the trees
like chess pieces into an unplayed game,
and John Donne sees the postman coming up the street,
the postman walks very carefully because his cane
is made of glass.
Father looked 'round his house one day
Nothing unusual, beauty abundant
Mothers voice rang with laughter
Children's games, merry clatter
How beautiful this is, murmured to self
Chest to burst with gladness
Clouds ever near, hung from past
Lingering near hearth, pain on earth
I must ensure such beauty
My prize must not be lost
Search the world o'er
peace must be found
Find those wiser than I
Surely they must know
One day he found it glistening
Steeples pointed high
Tales of victory o'er fear
Praise of saving amongst sky
Tired of his travels, sinking into pew
Family listened carefully
Dissected every word anew
They rid themselves of this
that and the other
Exhausted themselves in newfound
clutter
Voices were told to not be so loud
To save oneself it seemed
was quite truculent
Nothing was good and small things
could be repugnant
Quiet eased in, though no small task
Games went unplayed, too much was at risk
New books were to read, upon ideas abound
Ingenuity suffered, upon this frowned
Now all is quiet, upon heaven he waits
Children have flown, broken wings
heavy gaits
Mother sits still, she mustn't be a bother
Tears fall from heavy eyes
God, help our human suffering
Just like this familiar song
That was never sung in tune,
Tell me, “Where do I belong?“
Scrolling this random playlist
Unplayed in my memory,
Bringing weight on my crumped chest.
As boring as this classic melody,
Everything became stodgy--
Music stopped in tragedy.
Vivacissimo
guitar
sitting unplayed, unlearned
beside its counterparts:
piano, saxophone, koto,
soon to be joined by a banjo
a silent quintet
untouched, unheard
why do I not put my hand to them
why do they sit in this orchestral mausoleum
is it because there is no music
within me,
no euphony bursting from inside
that must find expression
in the movements of my fingers
is it that I fear
untamed chords and notes
will come of the tumult
of my mind,
cacophonous sharps and flats
that refuse lyrical composition
and what if
the clefs line up and Aeodean
beauty and grace emerge instead,
flying from me in a frenzied vivacissimo
how much more frightening
is beauty than silence
The telltale signs I'd seen
So many, many times
And yet, somehow,
I always played the game
But now the game is over
And loser that I am
The cards, they still remain
My hand unplayed
Have you seen such a thing?
Heard it, tasted it just the same,
found its rhythm, found its bang.
Only later to figure you forgot the name.
There is no shame in this,
for in between beats and jives
We find the time to mingle, and migrate.
Re-kindle past conversation, take a smoke in cold breeze.
For the music stays constant.
As smiles, and vibrations.
The floor grows slippery with spilt beer,
as my feet lose traction,
but the beat does not halt one step.
They will play on, you best never forget.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Let the music take you, let it calm your inside.
If only tonight, or these few hours,
ease yourself a riff,
with a step to which you find such boogie.
For the music stays constant.
As smiles, and vibrations.
Passing faces seen a few rings prior,
a shake, a stare, a hello.
You know. You know. You know.
And the places we go after,
are nowhere in the frame of my minds fabric.
Too cleared, to be filled by music.
A tick, towards another tock, and the clock hits 12.
Its a new day, the next today.
Where tomorrow, was just that.
But now means yesterday.
The music played, never went away.
I heard the voices, the cries, stomps, and chants.
Freedom, peace.
Charisma makes the heart of it.
Winding down towards encores, and ending sets.
Now when guitars unplayed.
Drums left unbeaten. Words left unsung.
Must not ever forget, the music stays constant.
REQUIEM FOR A DREAM
A time will come when pace will stop and numb we will become
When home will be your cage and survival the only privilege
When touch will kill and people turn into venom
That my friend is a satan dream I once used to think
But now as they say that truth is stranger than fiction
Corona has surpassed truly all imagination
Had u ever in your wildest thought,
that this will be where the world will be brought
Down to its knees even fearing to sneeze
A mild fever catastrophes to drive in top gear
Maintaining social distance is the motto now
A cliche a taboo in time forgone is the new wow
All tech gadgets and gizmos we used to exalt
Now a flu virus brings our science to an abrupt halt
An age old adage we used to hear
Let nature take its course but now that's a lot to fear.
When the air is serene and the water pious
We can't step out, frantically my heart cries
A child unplayed, a song unsung
Mind restless and bodies hung
When life is scarce and death aplenty
Devil laughs unabashed in twenty-twenty.
An eternal optimist the human mind
Thinking that nature will be forever kind
Unscathed untouched was his soul
Now just Left with brazen hole
I still think what Tagore today will have to say
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
It seems now a distant cry
I want to play I want to dream
Go out and splurge on vanilla ice cream
These all will become folklore
Our greed has made everything so sour
But again we will rise and rise like the Sun
with profound brightness and all these viruses will burn
Hope is a good thing, may be the best of things
Let's all cheer up for that's why we are called human beings.
Unremitting responsibilities
Aspirations tampered by reality
Relentless quest for more
Beautiful wife, children, home
Cars, boat, vacations, clothes
All requisite trappings
Abundance of wealth and success
Colleges, tuitions, mortgages
Debt free, substantial savings
Old age, sickness, infirmity
Dusty, unplayed
Fender Stratocaster guitar
Silent strings, once vibrant song,
Melodies hushed, where echoes belong.
A master's touch, forever stilled,
Rajeev Taranath's legacy is forever chilled.
Dancing fingers, now lie at rest,
Ragas unplayed, a silent test.
The wisdom passed, a lineage strong,
Yet music's heart now grieves the song.
Traditions held, a fading light,
The past is preserved, yet shrouded in night.
Improvisation's flame, a flickering spark,
Leaving a void, a lonely mark.
No more the sound, painting stories untold,
Emotions were silenced, and a heart turned cold.
The human canvas, draped in gray,
Taranath's artistry is forever at bay.
Challenges faced, a victor's crown,
His passion's fire, forever unbound.
Souls untransformed, a melody unheard,
The sarod's silence, a weighty word.
No loving caress on the waiting string,
A maestro's life, a broken wing.
The past honoured, a future unclear,
Taranath's memory was a precious tear.
Though death may claim the maestro's hand,
His music lives on, in every land.
A final note, a whispered sigh,
Rajeev Taranath, forever nigh.
chakra shot, aura ignored
inner peace left unexplored
feelings sans a sounding board
blest I’ve left the mindless horde
friends, none that lie to me
or neighbors that like to see
a banshee wailing jamboree
self-reproach is absentee
no dogs, cats, or swimming fish
little is left demanding wish
lunch mirrors a petri dish
the future passed with reminisce
up every day at the crack of noon
to nosh on candies and macaroon
suck helium from a red balloon
entertained at the Shambles Saloon
the postman left mail today
junk and clutter some might say
bills and debts remain unpaid
life is better left unplayed
beds splayed displayed
clothes unwashed too deep to wade
dust layered is carefully laid
happiness is now homemade
the sun set that never rose
reflections must I suppose
account, compound, and then depose
neatly rowed in juxtapose
lying down at last to sleep
importuning God will keep
me whole, sweet, and replete
whimper shall not well or weep