Best Unshed Poems
My mind is a puzzle of cryptic metaphors.
whilst searching for my sanity,
I've become my own worst enemy.
In this cauldron of despair,
time is like sand in my hand -
an oxymoron poetic
paradox of cruel compassion.
Sadistic green eyes bring my demise,
as my sighs are captured by the wind,
slowly morphed into madness and travesty.
I sit alone on the throne of midnight illusions,
cursed by dark imaginations
lingering like mouldy air,
as vivid flashing images
engrave inkstained imprints.
Dripping lament from a
palette of black and white,
colouring in the emptiness of my sensitive soul.
In echoing whispers of weeping violins,
whimsical vibratos from wooden wind-chimes,
steadily orchestrate instrumental sonatas,
ringing through my strained metallic heart,
whilst I try to strum strangled strings,
harmonizing an inconsistent symphony of a tragedy.
Fate has me stranded within a monotonous loop of uncertainties,
for when twilight’s last breath piercingly eclipsed over
lyrical edges of my insomniac shadow,
it awoke restless beasts of nocturnal nights -
in nightmares I wondered does no one hear my screams?
i can see dazzling dusts of black diamonds,
drizzle manuscripts of maniac irony
translating dialects hidden behind unshed tears
that gleam like shooting stars,
as i sing mystical moonbeams,
sewn with silver sequins of euphonious memories on refrain,
chorused from nameless tunes of timeless tomorrows,
as the magic of the maestro,
residing in the highest bridge of sanguine skies,
guides these electric fears, trapped between
synchronized layers of my unsettled skin.
I'm tired from intangible tears in the mirror,
slowly sinking me in swirls of sorrow,
like a bruised creature
seeking shelter in a silk cocoon,
so this aurora's smile is no longer a masquerade.
I hunger for rays of sunlight to paint my skin
in a plethora of pastels,
so this golden bronze queen,
can once again glitter
in a crown of illuminating heartbeats.
When all is but
dark and dreary,
and coldness wraps the
silhouette of
my wooden surface,
I listen to the
wafer thin whispers
echoing in whimsy tones-
when the moon
wind-chimes sway
to the balmy breeze;
hung on the side
of a weathered balcony,
where the sun sometimes
unfurls her feathery fingers,
to rest upon timber
corners of my psyche,
I search for compassionate
caresses to comprehend
unsung serenades.
But tonight I feel the
burden I carry in
somber stillness,
as my voice is unheard,
amidst pen and paper
wrapped around
my chestnut skin,
with scribbled poems
of ancient tales.
For I’ve long been
sitting like a
silenced marionette,
letting my bones
serve beyond I can give.
Somedays I am your listener,
whilst you grieve in seclusion,
as obsidian tears stain the
edges of my tanned shoulders,
when fears sink into
the depths of carved linings
within my hollow heart.
Yet, sometimes,
I hear your laughter,
sharing the redolent rainbows
within your soul,
when storms steer away,
to paint your crystalline
canvas with mauve
memories entwined
with mulberry musings.
But I still stand frozen;
a three legged table,
with nowhere to hide,
whilst the world
remains oblivious,
to the aching heartbeats-
imprinted between
cinnamon glazed bruises.
Perhaps, there will be a time,
when clocks shall halt and
tick to the rhythm of my thoughts,
and you’ll feel the heat
of my unshed truth,
and I will no longer be just a mere
ornament designed to
perform as you please.
"Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad." — Quote by Anne Geddes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I liked to wear new clothes
as a kid I liked things many more
crayons, paper, a doll, a chocolate, pink shoes, ribbons, bangles
I knew not: they were to be bought by money
that money was to be earned,
that my father was poor, that he skipped meals often.
As a kid I just thought my dad was cruel
cruel, as he did not get me things I pointed
He would turn my gaze to something else
distract me with jokes and tales
His roaring laughter drowned my likes and my childish cries
But I never saw his aching heart and unshed tears
I was ten when he died
Forgive me dad, I was a foolish child.
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
“Wicked Web of Woes”
Is there a reason
to rhyme when
lifeless fingers
breathe toxic agony,
whilst disgraced
quill suffocates
from wildering
riddles swerving to
the stillness
of calcified air?
As today, my heart
keeps pacing,
searching for a
symphony of serenity-
amid wayward clemency,
and when the first star
of the evening sky,
fades and shatters
upon a celestial canvas
of colorless dreams.
I feel the sweeping
wings of salvation,
resting amidst
clipped faith,
drifting swiftly towards
abandoned clarity;
exiled into
barren fields of
vast polarities,
where hope collapses
into an eternal demise,
tangled within a
wicked web
of woeful sagas,
trapped between
heavy clouds
of unshed tears,
beneath the
crisp cusp of sanity.
Yet I stand in
sweltering silence,
recollecting lost
chronicles of
who I once was,
whilst I’m drowning
in waves of
vexing numbness,
screaming into
the oblivious
spheres cloaked
in smoky
arctic haze,
questioning the
captive chains
of reality,
in dialects only
the moon
can comprehend.
Am I destined
to be caged
in sinful darkness
that the
world fed me,
with sharpened
knives at
empty tables,
with faceless
ghosts of yesterday?
Perhaps there’s
still a poem
that can unlock
the mystery
to a future that
thrives with
fruitful orchards,
where rain that
tastes succulent
wouldn’t burn
your flesh,
for even the
milky-ways would
unravel a realm where
everything should
be as it seems.
Vanquishing the
strings that bind—
daring me to breathe.
Ink Empress
Fading Star Silence
Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy,
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
My Oblivion,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
Cocain Addiction,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Dancing silhoutte,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
Dying joyfully,
With my last sight of you. . .
PATINA OF PAIN
Beneath the kaleidoscopic chameleon skin
the concept called color doesn’t ever change,
as red stream in the vein blood flows always thin.
The truth dwells beyond the frail deception range.
The ephemeral sheen of the mask on the face
melts in unshed tears behind the pensive eye.
In the shadow of stifled shame it begins to trace
a track in time to reach the reality, it can’t defy.
In the shimmering show of the revolving circus
the flashing clown tramps on stage in fake style,
under spotlight shapes into an animated carcass.
The concealed pain bleeds behind sprained smile.
In the harsh winds of desert at the sunset hour
the weathering life rusted with age can’t retain
the luster of the mind, once a blooming flower.
The crease of wilted petals wraps patina of pain.
Posted : June 30, 2018
June 19, 2020
Contest : Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor : John Hamilton
Space that one I need to fill
Now empty but like a bitter pill
It’s hard to swallow it’s hard to accept
The space left when from my heart you crept
You crept away slowly through the years
You left me with the unshed tears
A cavernous space your legacy
That’s what you left when you left me.
But hold the press the story’s not told
Another is now in my arms to hold
The space is filled once more it seems
The space you left when you stole my dreams.
There is no space just room for two
I know you didn’t mean to be untrue
But life is harsh and it sometimes seems
That space is there to make new dreams.
© 25/02/2013
Contest Entry
Work of fiction
The sky embraces
The beauty of our love.
Unshed tears remain
Unreleased as in dark clouds
Filled with heavy rain.
The colors of the rainbow
Hold fast our secrets
Shared in separation
Forever kept safe
In our soul’s dimension.
I hear your voice
In whispers of the wind
As your shadow
Walks with mine
Hand in hand---
One day my tears
Will mingle with the rain
As I journey to your side
Once again.
© 2010 Connie Marcum Wong
Contest: Heart and Soul
Sponsor Kelly Deschler
I gaze beyond the phasing face
of the nebulous horizon,
searching in clamorous silence
for a hypnotic glimpse
of your poetic sparks ~ lost,
placed within the kohl-dust
of dreariness dressed
in deceitful dancing diamonds,
like layered silver and gold,
seared by Zeus’s thunderous wrath,
leaving memories engraved
in satanic sapphires
across the tempestuous teal
soaked in surging tears
unshed and unseen...
I’ve long been fighting
demons masked as the raven visage
of my bleeding silhouette,
preaching kindness whilst feeding
my soul with venomous verses ~
the poisoned truths of past turbulence.
But I refuse to drown in despair.
I will dance through the
dimmed spheres ~ eclipsed and torn ~
to reach the amorous arms
of compassion,
awaiting amidst splitting sorrow.
And when it rains,
my heart quivers,
haunted by inner thoughts;
my mind paints lines of love
in darkness and disarray,
for I fear never seeing
the saffron light on
the moon’s tender lips.
And in the midst of
p u s h i n g and p u l l i n g,
trapped in aching coldness,
afraid of losing the warm,
golden strands of roseate dusk,
I hide and fade like
love’s heat at twilight,
burying the poetic longing
within storms of melancholy,
waiting for another
cup of coffee at sunset ~
where your name ricochets
like reveries of romance
and your voice reverberates
like musical mists of monsoon,
carving an ambience
of delicate desires
tying me to the ombre amber
s i n g i n g songs
of solace, forevermore....
O Leader! O Savior! O Heart so Brave!
Words falter to honour the path you've paved.
The nation's core, now fortified with zeal,
We stand to combat, with spirits of steel.
No predator lurks, no harm to dread,
Your flame has scattered the shadows we fled.
Beneath the azure sky, the sun's bright gaze,
We bask in the light of liberated days.
You were the beacon, the guiding flare,
The vessel that carried us through despair.
Your name, a byword for valour's crest,
A voice for the silenced, an ear for the oppressed.
You granted wings to those who'd never flown,
To brave the wastelands, to face the unknown.
In your footsteps, we found our pace,
Learning to rise from the dust with grace.
Yet whispers claim you've departed our side,
The thought alone makes the hopeful tide.
Denial grips me; the news can't be true,
As the masses mourn, their sorrow is in view.
My pen trembles, heavy with unshed tears,
Echoing the solitary cry that sears.
I hold back the flood, let it inwardly weave,
May it nourish the love you've left us to grieve.
You are the whisper in the wind's call,
The strength that rises after a fall.
In the unity of one and all,
O Leader, O Braveheart, you never fall.
© 30/09/2014
Malik Yaseen
You WILL be home for Christmas, this I know
Though far from me, you are in silent pledge
My love for you does linger, feign to grow
It reaches out to you beyond the hedge
A hedge you've built around your blessed heart
You've shut me out, and yet I linger still
For of your soul and life I must take part
For none but you these longings can fulfill
The tree and lights and all the Christmas cheer
Dim in these eyes that fill with tears unshed
And yet I smile, for to my heart you're near
You come to me when all your words are read
At Christmas time at home you're sure to be
My heart I've made your home, and you're with me
Eileen Manassian
I had seen the artist
in a frenzy
moving his hand
stroke after stroke
the easel filling with shades.
And a child
straining to be still
restraining its movements
for it is to be done
to ease the hunger.
I had seen her desperation
the fake smile
the unshed tears
the soiled attire
as poverty smiled at me.
Today I see the work displayed
claimed among the best
portrays a happy child
with an innocent smile
gone are the feelings
and the strain on her face
No more is she
the poorly clad child
and my heart cried
for, 'art begins with a lie'.
inspired by the poem 'Lie" by Anne Waldman
© Nadiya (13 Sep 2015)
If rain poured
in susurrating sounds
of unshed tears,
will ungrateful dialects
change their insincere
expressions of speech,
or will this unheard
voice forever be
lost as echoes within
glass walls,
where lilac-feathered
letters of farewell
written in red diamonds,
illustrate illusive
narratives of an onyx heart
haunted by
holographic
harmonies,
in glitters of retro line art~
to graphically craft
cacophonous chronicles of
unexpressed trauma,
engrossed in cursive candor,
while this quivering quill remains
dipped in purple
pansies and primrose poetry,
glorifying indigo intuitions
that bleed in
blue-black and burgundy
But, I still keep
surfing in sizzling silence
towards saffron-streaked
sunsets resembling
the wisteria warmth
of your embellished embrace,
awakening from lucid
dreams of sparkling
silhouettes of us,
when I was uncontrollably
lost in your
pillow-shaped eyes,
counting silver stars hanging
on long lashes with lilac dust,
forgetting the times
I was caught in the
riveting rhythm of
lemonade lies.
For in your
amorous arms,
every qualitative question
within incomplete
puzzles of life and loss,
unravels appealing answers
with carnation compassion,
upon corners of
crumpled pages,
where initials of
your flowery
name is a
timeless token,
of love that still exists~
in this woeful world
of hate from heinous hyenas.
But these starry stones
of turquoise trust
shall be the
clandestine clemency
that holds this
unwritten tale of survival.
For, I am unapologetically poetic~
rewriting fuschia future
on pastel colored
paper parachutes,
letting go of twisted
tones cloaked with
jealous January winds at dawn,
as cinnamon gold sequined
skies reflect magic within
misty mirrors,
to begin again
as April crawls back,
knocking on the
laser-lavender portal
adorned with teal-cerulean
wings of our whimsical fairyland…
There is a View
There is a view, slightly obscured,
by tilted head and squinted eyes
sad hazy tint of things abhorred
tears unshed when a flower dies
long shadows cast
on future’s past.
Grief’s sight will clear, it’s heart endure
high in the scented pines faint cries
incite the frozen hawk, restore
dead gaze, unfurl bold wings, arise
feathers estranged
by winds of change.
©2/12/2018submitted to – Rhyme Me A Posie – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Broken Wings