Best Unready Poems
Pevec in Czech -
a poet in our tongue,
and I see him there, composing.
His poem is about the sea,
and how the crabs are dancing
slowly to its rhythm -
side-going to the end of Southend Pier.
Pevec in Czech -
a poet in our tongue,
and I see him there, composing.
His poem is about his Love,
and how she is dancing
in the evening's cool,
twirling to the end of Southend Pier.
Pevec in Czech
and all his words
cannot describe his feelings...
He gives up, and instead
applauds the dancing...
She hears him not, and with a devilish cry
hurtles to shocked, unready sea.
5/6/15
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Featured poem of the week
commencing 5/8/22
little lips, little kiss, leading down, down,
suckel on the tender nippels, moans softly let out,
fingers trailing, lips following, still leading down,
jeans receding, blood is beating, hard into stretched skin,
tip of tounge and tips of lips, teasing gentle head,
show some pleasing, cloths dropping off the edge of the bed,
ready screaming, still whispering, so no one does awake,
hands are touching, eyes are seeing,
skin thats perspiring,
passion feeling, night is falling,
still we're seeking, evermore,
that feeling, that extacy, screaming more,
tounge tickels gentel skin,
small fingers gently guide,
then its in,
"ready" question asked,
lips connect as an answer fast,
like ocean waves, got the movement down,
passion sweating from the crown,
rocking incidently to the heart beats sound,
ohmigosh, now screaming out,
quietly screaming out,
unready nevermore,
eyes seeking eyes in the dark,
lips connecting with flying sparks,
skin melting, a mix of one,
tears spilling, the reason: none
unspoken words released in gasps sworn,
yours to please, evermore
Keyhole dreams floated out into the world
Butterfly wings, powdered sugar, dots of monarchs
Faerie magic might have brought this on
Even the fey were not certain how it happened
The world was unready, confused, consternated.
Keyhole sent out the colors orange yellow and pink.
Reminds me of the sixties, someone said
You are starting to get there, replied another.
Peace signs and tulips arrived in hot air balloons
Unicorns and faeries floated out into the ether
Cinnamon and sugar arrived on rolled out crust
Keyhole dreams floated out into the world
Regrets strung across the rope of half a lifetime—
I hang upon it the rising ache of lingering sorrow.
The courage to gently cure an unready death
burns brighter than a freshly opened peony.
A quiet wind, bearing seasoned migratory birds,
waves farewell to sixty distant peaks.
It offers a cup brimming with the time to come,
and with a steady gaze, says: now, walk your own way.
In time an arms length away
I flew into the bird cage
Seeking a nest, following the others
As we connected and made it homely
The bars changed into windows
And doors
Then a place where we were all happy, together
Now, after two years of friendships, new and old
The cage-turned-community, near-sighted
Closed its eyes and turning away from the inevitable
Then the day hit 25
Everyone, dressed up
Dancing our hearts away
Turning blind eyes to the looming warmth of hottest season
Then the lights turned on
And the music stopped
Our hearts stopped too
Our eyes losing their lids, forced to witness the end
Our hearts, reminiscing
One by one, each bird left the nest, heavy-hearted
All unready, some with resignation, some with acceptance, to migrate so soon
Some flapping off together in search of new things
Others flying off to new nests
Even some soaring off alone
Leaving the hollowed nest
For the next generation to find and transform
So even if we meet new birds and find a new nest
We will never forget Our Nest
Jesse Forbes
1893 – 1911
Black Canyon.
Now, there was a place to be!
It is true I was born a brute in a Quaker Town.
Born a bad-tempered brute of a boy
In the two-room digs on Bailey Street and Comstock..
My father fathered two other families,
Unbeknownst to his wife..
And I was the first one disowned.
But my father was a great believer,
And I loved the man like a fool.
I took up the milkin’ business at fourteen,
And made my morning way from Orange Drive down to Penn Street.
Delivering the dozens of clinking milk bottles.
Delivering the dozens of morning salutations,
To neighbors and friends in the glad and dismal days.
I had but one romantic interlude in my short stay,
Just one futile attempt at Carpe Diem.
But was left slapped and standing by a disheveled Ethel Hurst
There in the dark shade of Black Canyon
That inauspicious August day in 1910.
Ethel Hurst did not accept the entreaties of a 17 year old brute.
Did not accept my wild stares
Or my insanely puckered lips.
It was to my surprise that I died.
Died so young and so unready.
Still desiring the perfumed kisses of Ethel Hurst,
Still desiring her heart-quenching embraces,
There, in the dark shade of Black Canyon.
The times have fallen hard now, to scenes played on 'unmade' roads
Without my volition, and despite intentions, goals;
Indifference took precedence; a lust of life was part,
The key to understanding then, as now,Was placed a piece apart;
Carousing life held quietude.?
Whilst roles to play stood by, as unready future partner,
For when times would come rushing, all arrived..!
I've striven with understanding, and carried in part its lode,
Found 'light years' were really heavy... .’
Did some things that I was shown.
Now still I face an uncertain future, as a world in conflict roils,
Self-interest & self-importance, still… the poison in its ‘coils.’
I have observed full many persons from cooks, to magistrates...
Who have introduced first their credentials,
The institutions they'd attended, then put on the desk their brass name plate.
No, the magistrates, not the cooks..!
I’ve seen it happen thus, and I see it with world leaders, and the media making fuss..!
The Olympic Torch was taken to heaven; yes they showed it on TV..'
I wondered at the gestures value, for Gods sun gives all the light we need?
Still I 'spose he must have seen it, and all the 'special peoples' smiles,
WOW look at what mankind’s achieved yet still raw conflict boils..!
Perhaps a little more understanding..? And a lot more less of 'ME'
Coupled with acceptance of human mortality, and His death upon the tree..!
©Joe Maverick 30-11-2013
Rowing from sunken hell
Back to forgotten lands
Legs unready for earth
Slamming genius poetic art
So go tiny minds
Lost in central thought
Unaware of truth's reality
Making love to mirror
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
How surprising can a being gush out blood from another?
Or can the teeth of one taste the raw of his fellow's flesh?
How bad can a body with a soul rape an unready poor damsel?
Or can a working heart mastermind the death of millions?
It is unbelievable and cruel for a sound mind
to create and nurture the idea of ethnic cleansing.
We are ranked on top, in the Animal kingdom
but already becoming the least in actuality,
these soulless beings are now our fore-runners and love’s advocates
exemplified by the gratitude of a once wounded lion
to its human savior from the claws of death
and the cute mutualism shared
between an Elephant and a Dog.
Oh! we shamelessly should learn
from these less intelligent creatures.
All wars both religious and political have come and gone
acid poisoning on humanity through slavery is a forgotten episode
we now suffer in the horror of greed and wickedness
where one person sinks into his home, the treasury of millions
while the love of animals grows and cuts across different species.
Some of us of same race and even history
slaughter the other like a delicious meat.
The terror of Al-shabab, Al-queeda and ISIS
make love seemingly unattainable.
We bring back history's stains through wars
never learning from its lessons to avoid the stings.
We are beginning to lose touch with human kindness
as we flatter material items with the love
ought to be extended to our fellow species
leading to the one deep question
Is humanity evolving?
Alas, those days are gone! So long Argentina!
Deprived by vaccine law! Must do or be fool-dead!
Viral fear so rapid, the gene-techs’ in fast rev
Ending the long debate, big pharm governs mandates!
No talk of tried and true, gene-play is in fashion
Though it has been decades, with research showing naught
Usurping panic won, in careful thought’s adieu
RNA induction, into cells muscular
Everyone producing, proteins of a microbe!
Spike me with this logic, for I’ll become hostess
Stranger no more to me, I make the antigens!
Of nucleic acid shots, none are like polio…
Now the scientific fad’s gene manipulation
Even in infant phase, unready for the stage!
(12/21/2021: Meridian 342 Bethel Island)
A thought swirls
lingers, then vanishes.
As a transient sashay,
*fleet yet enthralling.
A manic pen
ravages innocent white
in beautifully futile effort
to eulogize her passing.
Salient words,
scarcely whispered,
drown in a cacophony
of propaganda anthems.
Unready to part,
desperate fists clench,
holding fast to nothing
but a bitter yearning for truth.
Which might change it all.
09/30/15
*used unconventionally to convey the idea of something that appears and disappears very quickly...
-A musing on reality.
not so funny, brother
when the bitter pills
of undue death
hit the rain-leaked roofs -
when the bomb-buried legs
shoot out
fearing for the unready burial -
when the pregnant woman
in dying curses the unborn
child from afflictions
& impositions of poverty -
then 'tis then
that a toad runs at noon for naught!
Life’s Timeless Driftwood
Peering back at the shadow stretching,
continuance knows well the peaceful silhouettes from horizon's light,
ancestral sequences having frequented one’s shore many times.
All is as it has been.
One’s longevity holds firm,
like isolated fingers protruding in protest
from sequestered driftwood blanketed by sand,
unready to move on,
just yet.
Just as sandpipers scavenge wet bubbles along the beach,
furtively running zigs and zags,
avoiding swooping wings overhead,
we too avoid termination,
with luck.
Destiny continues to lap the shore,
its gentle hands tugging
into tomorrow’s warm waters.
man’s stubborn endurance.
So mighty…
This evolving limbed-strength,
accepting of journey’s tempest,
willing to ready again for the next leg of one’s odyssey.
Even as…
White caps thunder applause,
at the elongated shadow of remaining branches
fading into the day's dusk,
signaling a tide ready to lift
to carry to the next shoreline and beyond.
Roots have withered,
growth's ever changing leaves and bark
have become morsels of love and loss,
an existence mixing peacefully toward ghostly remnants.
At some point…
The water rises,
the fiber and strands of resistance soften,
dissolving into a new connection
as birth's salt and brine prepare the next iteration,
the next surge upward,
another tenacious wave of purpose
exploding its final power
into a mist imploring remembrance
before the oneness of completion
cycles again into its new existence.
Such is the gift of time and space,
the requisite condition for permanence,
where presence once created
evolves unfettered in perpetuity.
A man reached me at the market that day.
He lifted two handcrafted seats on his head.
He urged, "Won't you buy my chairs?" Today.
Nobody took my chairs. All moved instead.
I recall helping others with daily duties in life.
If you find a poor partner, avail him in strife.
None are so flush that they might not borrow.
The fate of the poor may be our lot tomorrow.
Look, these are the best things I have made.
Please buy my seats. I slum my children frayed.
He seems gloomy. This person is my age.
Words nag me. I gave him cash and change.
I echo helping others, even when being mean.
Do not judge your pal's deep suspicions, lean.
No fine, people can avoid shame or misery.
Lift others in the race for a swathe of glittery.
I replied, "I need one seat, but sell the rest."
Kids are waiting, and I wish you all the best.
Thrusting his hands to pray, I was unready.
For me, it was an incomer with tears already.
I never lost the venting of the chair salesman.
It may not be a lot to exalt others when we can.
If it turns on a brother, do not let envy ruin it.
We pray for each other's rightness, joy, and grit.
Written: November 28, 2022
A Pilgrim
(A song for 'Dia')
I come here at night's edge,
This parlour of hidden shadows
Questing for
Some measure of solace
From the bible black grind
Of mundane despair.
She is wearing white,
Tonight,
My Magdalene
My source of wonderment,
Thunder child
Storm raven
My crucible of momentary Eden
We are all searchers in the end
All weary marchers
Down the long winding road
From the cradle to the grave
Lovers poets fighters and slaves
Lords at midsummer
Winter's bedraggled paupers
God you are even more beautiful then I recall
The Raven woman
Speaks in tongues
Many faced
Multifaceted
Her magpie soul
Joyfully treacherous
Am I the fool
Prowling after true love
In this tangle of thorns
Where carrion children
Play and frolick
Over the bones
Of heroes fallen
And hope forlorn?
Tonight the storm child
Is screaming
My heart pounds a battle song
My soul sings the dirge
Of princes
Bereft of kingdom and country
Queen and cause.
What have we come to my brothers?
I love this sweetly rotting humanity
This slowly withering dream
That aspires to utopia
But falls short on emotion.
I am the lost soul
No harbour no anchor
No star to navigate by
drifter storm tossed
My back has been broken
My spirit quelled
The poet in me muted
Dead in life
Diminished.
Valletta
City of a thousand echoes
City of heroes
In the dead of night
Streets are silent
Empty, pristine
Clean
In a fractured sort of way
So perilous as to
Chill the clear heart
And scar
The unready soul
And her name
Is mystery
Wherein lies her power!
Carlos