Best Unshared Poems
Through somber steps each climb is made;
The fruitless efforts fail.
Thus, love unshared and work unpaid
Disturbs the nightingale.
In song it copes
With fears and hopes;
From limbs it hung,
All feelings sung.
Warm waters crawl beneath its wings
On lonely twilight trips.
Yet, cold of nighttime softly stings
The feet with which he grips.
So many are the shamed
Whose sorry sights were aimed
To win the hopeless fight;
The one unanswered plight.
Where care once came
Comes only shame;
Now only rhyme
Recalls the time
When lovers held each other tight
On nights of endless laughter.
The nightingale would take its flight,
Rejoicing ever after.
But friends refuse each others hands,
The sign of cherished life.
On edge of death his heart now stands.
Serrated is the knife.
Now gone away again to mourn
The winged creature flies,
Until the warmth of love reborn
Revives the sunken eyes--
Those bitter sockets filled with tears
Reflect the speckled moon.
Escape from tortured life appears--
He ends the final tune.
Categories:
unshared, death, depression, loss, lost
Form:
Rhyme
Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
Categories:
unshared, analogy, emotions, life, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
Do you still love me?
You asked as we spooned in the night.
I will always love you, I replied.
Again you asked,
Do you still love me?
And again my reply,
I will always love you,
...comforted by the feelings aroused by the chant.
More than a cry for love; more than a promise
An incanted mantra, an affirmation, a prayer
A reassuring echo to your heart’s ping
A shared moment of truth…
…or only a truth in the moment, a moment passed.
We don’t hold each other in the night any more,
for that was a decade ago…in this life.
And yet, here in my heart the echo continues,
...still answering the now silent ping.
In moment after moment of an eternal unshared truth,
I will always love you.
Categories:
unshared, devotion, hope, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
The poem is a beautiful garden
Yet the visiting admirer
Sees only the surface
Beautiful?
Colorful?
Chaotic?
Orderly?
Are the tidy, straight rows of strawberries
Indicative of a neat, colorful gardener?
Or are there roots and seeds that tell
A different, and truer story
Of what was, and is,
and is to come?
The words are the flowers…
But what do they mean?
The poem is a vast sea yet the cruise ship tourist
Sees only the surface, here for a moment
With places to go and things to do
No time to explore the life within
No time to go deeper
No time to be silent
No time to be…
Frightened
Comforted
Awestruck
Enveloped
Uplifted
Are the soft, quiet rolling waves above
Indicative of a still, peaceful below?
Are there creatures and currents
Untouched and unshared,
Unseen and unknown?
The words are the waves
But what do they mean?
Your face is the surface of the sea
Categories:
unshared, mystery, ocean, sea,
Form:
Free verse
Many words remain unspoken;
secrets are thus created.
some are secrets of intimacy,
desire and unshared memories.
Whilst others are long since
forgotten as time has passed.
Thoughts unshared are the
essence of hidden fantasies that
belong in the land of the imaginative.
Words when spoken become ripples
that grow into waves that flow
within us all becoming part of
our minds and souls.
Unspoken words are words that
are now lost in the ocean of
lost time; time is the element
uncontrolled by anything or
anyone.
Remain unspoken and time
passes by like a river flowing
through undiscovered land.
Words are meant to be spoken
for secrets are rarely welcome;
secrets are what become the
creator of lies and deceit.
Unspoken words; release them
from the confines of imagination
and they shall become part of
the magic of life itself.
Categories:
unshared, imagination, inspirational, time,
Form:
Free verse
What is this sense of being?
That I am, I have been, I will be-- is it a blessing
to ever feel time's razor edge, gathering its moments in my
memory as a squirrel hoards its seeds and nuts for winter,
food I will eat when my youth has long since melted down?
Or is it a curse other animals are spared: to know that
uncalled day will arrive, rudely, perhaps violently--
the one day we are bred to fear?
Yet for some unshared reason I have never feared that cold
day, that day of burning ice--not as a child, when I sensed it
signaled a return to heaven's luxurious playground, nor as a
young man when I thought dying to be no more than oblivion's mask.
Now I know death is only a sleight-of-hand, a party trick
of that great illusionist, Time, who is itself but a vapor,
a wisp of smoke veiling eternity....
Categories:
unshared, allusion, angst, death, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Some poems are lively like Macarena, fast hokey-pokey or watusi.
Others make you laugh like the Texas two-step, or hokey pokey, so cutesy.
Detailed poets can creative a missive that cha-cha-chas or jitterbugs.
Big rule followers maybe cringe when they read some that mugs.
Many seem as familiar to this Iowa girl as a barn, line, or square dance.
Others are hot as mambo, rumba, taking an unexpected heart-leaping chance.
Some are as proper as a minuet or fox trot, maybe even a prissy stuck-up waltz.
Hiding true feelings, honesty, and the writer’s variety of unshared, secret faults.
Yes, poetry is like any other kind of art, when you get it alone, and to yourself.
Some delight our souls, and make us dance, others sit forever high upon a shelf.
Many times I think “I wish I had thought of that!” when I read a wonderful poem.
To me, poetry has a rhythm, a cadence, and always, and forever a unique dance of her own.
Categories:
unshared, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
POETIC INERTIA
As dreary working days stagger endlessly on
I’d like to run and reach the friendly Friday
At a speed only the flying time can reckon
For to waiting weekend it paves the pathway.
In the terminal two days of the week I get
Unshared time of my own to be with me
I sit by the window, see the sun rise and set
Write poems however crude these may be.
In routine cycle time takes the week to its end
The poetic inertia carries my mind to the muse
So much it wants the Sunday span to extend
Rendezvous with me doesn’t end while a recluse.
So if on mundane Monday morning rains pour
Within closed doors by the open window I’d stay
Let poems take rains’ silent rhythm to my core
I’d wish days are drowned, Friday comes next day.
February 20. 2018
Categories:
unshared, holiday, imagination, poetry, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh Lady, you make my head wobbly spin.
Don’t show such a harsh contemptuous grin.
I fall prostrate at your feet.
From you, expect a fair treat.
Your sole unshared love, can I ever win!
Categories:
unshared, anti bullying, anxiety, appreciation,
Form:
Limerick
Sojourn a moment, O Life, I cannot cease,
While yet my soul unfolds with dawn’s first light;
Bright are my days, and rich the world’s embrace
Where laughter springs in flight.
Sojourn a moment, O Life, I cannot cease
With all my moments unadmired,
My smiles unshared, all my songs unsung,
And all my peace unwired.
Sojourn a moment, until my heart has known
The fullness of sun and shifting skies;
Till every shadow yields its hidden gleam,
O Life, let joy arise!
Categories:
unshared, joy,
Form:
Rhyme
She sacrifices herself,
on an altar of secrecy.
Leaving the best of her,
on the cold stone of iniquity!
Hidden behind a smile of "I'm okay",
she says she can't remember yesterday.
Yet those scars on her bitten lip,
have a different message to say.
She shuns her femininity,
the reminder of her misery.
Locked within an artist's mind,
freedom exchanged for insanity!
St. Peter offers some treasured relief.
Yet in her mind she's trapped underneath,
the weight of a man now dead and gone.
Ensnared within her forgiveness belief!
Time doesn't heal,
because she never reaches out.
Frustration expressed, in each strangled shout.
Clinging to the fragments she never talks about.
Pieces of evidence are everywhere,
top to neck clothing and short cut hair.
That once carefree girl who is no longer there.
Now she adheres to rules of right and fair.
Cracking jagged shards bottled up inside.
She doesn't believe her broken needs repair,
sometimes the victim is sadly unaware.
So she occupies the shadow lands of being scared,
relief is elusive for her thoughts remain unshared.
Her a silent prisoner with soul insnared,
sacrificed by a monster who pretended he cared!
Categories:
unshared, angst,
Form:
Little bird, what troubles thee
is it the worm in your belly
little bird, what pains thee
is it the worm of misery
is it the bitterness in your heart,
or the offense you can't forgive
is it the anguish that sets you apart,
or the hurt that holds you captive
is it the cancer of bitter love,
or the loss of deserved affection
is it the cruel withdrawal of
his tenderness and compassion
life is much too brief
and youthful love's even briefer still,
your forestalled relief
keeps you from seeing His eternal will
what befalls you
is neither unshared nor a mystery
God sheds His tears for you
in the midst of your painful agony
little bird, what troubles thee
is it the worm in your belly
little bird, what pains thee
is it the bane of misery
Categories:
unshared, allegory, anger, betrayal, bird,
Form:
Wresting words from mind to pen
Spilling ink and thoughts again.
Recalling days of youthful fun,
Bags of marbles, precious ones.
Unshared secrets, memories old
Hidden deep in velvet folds,
Memories slip from faded pouch
Scattering verses all about
Things that matter most to me
Are those that others never see
I take them out occasionally
To touch caress, so selfishly
Not for prying eyes are these,
In rush I gather them to me,
Hold them close and breathe them in
Until I bring them out again.
Categories:
unshared, childhood, feelings, growing up,
Form:
Rhyme
i stand here my back against the wall, nearly defeated, sedated physically, mentally well and alive. Death threatening to cease the beating of my heart, my blood runs cold, i pray, lord please allow me to die. These trials and twisted tribulations you predict have hardened my soul, my body has been bruised, battered and torn. I feel as if i too have carried a wooden cross, been persecuted by my peers and now i too wear a crown of thorns. My life is held
Within your hands, my death within Lucifer’s, a war i alone will stand and fight, though sadly will not win. I am conscious of the consequences i must serve, it is surviving eternity i cannot contemplate, or fathom the sins you must forgive. Sinfully i have walked your righteous path, morally i hold contempt prisoner within my heart, my faith diseased, walls constructed and built. You alone share my darkest regrets, my unshared secrets, you
Recognize that in my mind i have raped, cheated, plundered and repeatedly killed. To serve you i must repent, completely turn from my ways, fall to my knees, pray, trust only in you, born again, and then saved. To walk hand and hand with you, sadistically i must suffer, shed blood, be horribly mocked, betrayed and ironically enter heaven’s gate through a six foot grave. My back is against the wall, a decision must be made, live for you or as you promised spend eternity in the lakes of fire burning, screaming, forever in pain. Demented though isn’t it, it seems like a reflection of my life, the only difference lord, these flames can be extinguished if only you would allow it to rain. I stand here naked, vulnerable, offering you a glimpse, a very open and deadly game of truth or dare. The simple truth, i cannot believe my head is bowed right this moment, the dare if you choose to accept, lord, please make this my last prayer.
Categories:
unshared, depression, faith, lifedeath, death,
Form:
when she came to us
She spoke very less
Unlike other maid
She was silent
Brows-up seems -
Filled with self respect
My mom tried many ways
To hear her
Atleast once a day
"In her past lives
She might be a princess" -
My mom guesstimate.
Slowly & Slowly as time flies
We heard her voice
Descried her lovely smiles.
She told my mom -
"her spouse left her alone
With one daughter & one son"
I know, it sounds painful
But believe me, very common in slums.
But...
She is an angel
An Angel for my home
An Angel for my mother
An Angel without wings
An Angel without feathers.
She was absent
From last three days
We were tensed
What might be happened?
Finally we came to know -
Heart-rending episode-
At one Black Night
She drank forcefully
By someone, unknown
She was found in the next noon
At the corner of road, laid down
Unconscious and undressed
Undoubtedly she was raped
But who cares?
Her family & neighbours are silent
As nothing happened
'cause it's not new there
Victim may change
But that Black Night
Repeats at very short interval
I know, it sounds painful
But believe me, very common in slum.
Today she came again
Started working in my home
Her smiles & voice vanished
In a box - closed & locked.
Brows-down & silent again
Seems - lost somewhere
In the forest of unshared pain.
Yet she came to help my mother
Now, I am damn sure
She has been sent from heaven
An Angel for my mumm
An Angel from the slum
From Heaven to live in the Hell
She is an Angel
An ANGEL from the HELL
13 March 2018
Poetry contest -Quick Fire Rapid Rhyme
Sponsored by -Brenda Chiri
Categories:
unshared, angel, care, city, grief,
Form:
Rhyme