Best Unsold Poems
I've been listening to your eyes
for what feels like eons,
noticing how the rain cries
unto your purposeful lips,
excited also, by the sounds of your
beautiful breaths in the smooth sunlight,
Tapping the pool of love blood,
rippling rose restless
to the edge of a frozen bloom
where the youth of our love wonder stood,
speaking to one another through playful madness,
tempting tragedy to resume
so to confess innocence in the fire flood
of the raw poetry pulsing in divine mood,
I find you in the fragrance of warm faith
and your eyes sing of sorrow unsold to sin,
palmprints upon our hearts bespeak a dangerous heat
that says love born of longing will never be safe,
for a moment we rue what's true about heartbeats lonely and thin,
You pull me within a hue of genius and clue of spirit discrete
revealing a teaching of soul engineering
where the meaning of living
is loving the bleeding
of pure beauty fleeting -
J.A.B. 02-19-2025
Categories:
unsold, longing, love,
Form:
Epic
Click, Clap, Ego Inflation
They sit behind the veil of screen
thinking cheating is a site unseen
each clap a cheer that was never earned
everyone laughs, for the spotlight is on
shining light on the fraudsters pen
vain deceit
ghostly stats floating in silent scorn
their own applause, no one cares
what is a Baker
if your bread is stale and unsold
your store is empty
a hollow soul
cheaters cheat, they never glow
Feeling catish this morning, surrounded by Zio lies and cheating is easier for me to see when happens elsewhere too, peace be upon you.
Categories:
unsold, bible, humanity, integrity,
Form:
Free verse
December sun that hangs so low
To crawl across dim Winter cloud .
You were our friend six months ago
And wrapped me in your Summer shroud
Of coloured gardens , full of bloom
That scented life
In my living room .
The long cold shadows that you cast ,
Like the frosted breaths of early morn
That linger ..., yet , but never last ,
Like some dark and dreary love forlorn .
Memories of your crisp, clear cold
Long Winters past
Wrapped , but still unsold .
December sun of blinding light
No takers for your offer , here .
Your short day and your long cold night
The dying throes of one more year .
Your only pal , the Winter snow
Is children's friend
And farmer's foe .
Categories:
unsold, naturewinter, sun, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Another sleepless night
A went back in time litany of failures
What I wanted to do I never did
My happiest time was when living alone
In the interior of Algarve
I walked with my dogs in the woods had
Learned conversation with an oak
While the dog chased rabbits.
Six happy years what more can a man ask.
Turbulent water ahead I drank too much
The dog died, and my loneliness became a burden
Pressing me into apathy.
Well, life became tolerable again,
but my contentment was never the same.
My old house is standing there unsold
It is my life raft should the hard time arrive and
The ship sinks in a storm cast.
I live in another town it will do for now and
I’m too tired to move again, I know from experience
Wherever I go, I will meet myself in the doorway.
Categories:
unsold, allah, allusion, anger, anti
Form:
Blank verse
The failed writer
For twenty years he has written down
what came to his mind, in the end, many books
with his name on a bookshelf.
There they reminded unsold, unloved collecting
the dust of time.
He tried to sell his books on Amazon and in shops
when that failed he gave books away to people
too polite to say no.
He danced a summer night declaring he would
be a writer his girlfriend laughed and laughed
till he put her head under a lake, walked home
and wrote some more.
They will never catch him now his name
is erased by the longitude of sad past.
Categories:
unsold, absence, allusion, deep, devotion,
Form:
Blank verse
LIFE
incessant STREAM
HOT or COLD
SOLD or UNSOLD
in-NAME or de-FAME
side by side or beyond
a mysterious GAME!
-28/10/19 CTG, BD
Categories:
unsold, life,
Form:
Free verse
The sun is up, heat unbearable,
He stands there rejected and miserable,
Slowly hope he loses,
as every potential buyer refuses.
His goods remain unsold,
His misery untold.
Swiftly the night approaches,
And his hunger encroaches.
He packs up and leaves,
Despite everything, he calmly sleeps...
Categories:
unsold, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Order by offer
Ingredients do matter
Stuck in first trouble
Boiling some flavors
Pudding missed in sweet manner
Moulding successfully failed
Yet we feel give up
Deserve for a second chance
Re-mould done! Relieved...
Sit tight in a fridge
Naughty pudding had a plan
Mission to seduce
Tempted by its look
My husband eat for a slice
Mother-in-law scold
Naughty pudding finally win in its mission, well, one pudding unsold :p
Categories:
unsold, food, funny,
Form:
Haiku
“The heaventree of stars” (in Ulysses as said Joyce)
“hung with humid nightblue fruit” (ah that Bloomian voice)
could evoke a masterpiece the world has come to know,
The Starry Night, so treasured now, by Vincent van Gogh…
In Vincent’s time that painting left even him bemused,
since a ‘failure’ he proclaimed it— that’s the term he used.
He thought he’d reached for stars too big, at too great a height,
but had gone astray; thus he fell short in his own sight.
When he died, no golden eulogistic bells were rung.
His grand galactic genius went utterly unsung.
Oh ill-starred Vincent lunatic asylumed costly fraught distraught instead of bought untold unsold back then yet now extolled far-famed with pricey precious adoration legacied in legend lionized er ionized and glorified chronologized hymned lauded honored canonized enskied aye aye exalted to the skies near-sainted hallowed round the clock as fickle ironies of fate can mock…
Yes, van Gogh was so star-crossed in so many senses.
Gazing at the skies he saw whithers, whys, and whences…
Comparing stars to dotted map led him to ponder
that as one takes a train to destinations yonder
here on earth, perhaps we would ‘take death to reach a star’
or afterlife dimension in hemisphere afar.
The Whirlpool Galaxy his imagination fired
with spiral arms of lanes of stars that indeed inspired
and starburst regions interspersed with dust, in display
of luminescent light not unlike the Milky Way
if it were to overturn and shower forth its jars
in a madly whirling swirling twirling stream of stars.
Anyhow in one way Vincent’s vision was dead right.
Long lives his stellar afterlife in The Starry Night!
To end these astro-reveries with celestial quote
on brighter note, “Hope is in the stars,” the artist wrote.
Van Gogh could see eternity in the heavens’ dome,
in the cycling cosmic courses— there his dreams found home.
~ Harley White
Categories:
unsold, analogy, art, creation, fantasy,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Today wasn’t a good morning at all for Hassan,
a victual merchant in Baghdad
Thirty four customers got killed by a suicide bomb
A jihadist Arab wearing an explosive vest,
proclaiming to be fighting against the west,
ended up only murdering his own people
The sun rising on the eastern horizon
cast a bloody pale
Screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Ambulance sirens blaring ... death is a hard item to sell
Innocent people shopping for meat, dairy, nuts and fruit,
in a tragic transaction bought the farm
The sign outside the market said half-off,
it didn’t mean exiting with half a leg or one arm
Somehow, Hassan in dust-covered anger survived
He was one of the fortunate few to make it out alive
with every body part intact, except his calm Iraqi mind;
it keeps expanding and contracting
in violent, kinetic convulsions a million times
from such a vile, humanitarian crime
Anxiety fruit flies hover over unsold crates of apricots,
seething vengeance
ferments the not bought bottles of apple vinegar
Mass killing is always bad for business —
a lot of potential repeat customers will only
come to the open air stalls one time
Nobody wants to buy ripe pomegranates, fresh goat milk
and vintage premature dying
Terrorism is bad for consumerism,
fanatical death wish ain’t good for the merchant gift registry
Not when buying a bouquet of flowers becomes a morgue delivery
Suicidal shrapnel kisses don’t welcome tourism,
foreigners eschew dying on vacation ... death ain’t an easy item to sell
Prayer vigil purchases of screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Hassan says business has been bad
ever since that fatal, holiday dawn mourn
Only rueful disaffection comes
with the bagging of the cabbage and corn
Categories:
unsold, dark, death, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
That nothing in life comes
without a cost
not a price tag
but, something more at depth
To truly live
u must have been close to death
at a time in your life
because in a blink of an eye
everything u know
u could forget
That money and possessions
don't mean anything
for if u do not have a
soul
A life of emptiness
and regret is not a
life at all
in order to have loved
you have had to lost
to know the pain of
living without someone
that u must still live on
To love yourself
can be one of the
greatest conquests
to see what others see
when they look at you
is something the complete
opposite of what your
reflection is when u look at yourself
To love someone else
to be completely valuable
undressed and completely nude
to unbear your heart, body and soul
to let someone let u be
unbroken, unsold
The answers are simple
life is a puzzle you never
get all the pieces or clues
every day is a challenge
every day is a blessing
some people stay
some people go
broken hearts come and go
love will always stay
true with the people we know
Forgiveness is a part of life
the old saying " if you can't forget you can't forgive"
the hatred, anger
inability to grow
is this really not worth letting go
You don't have to forget
but, u have to forgive
one day at a time
one moment
one minute
for if u don't u stop the
ability to grow
Second chances
are seldom and free
I've had a couple
if you never change your past
your future is doomed
Break the chains and be free
If u forget everything in life
listen to me
I have been a tortured soul
I have been down and out
been ripped a part
beaten and bruised
almost gave up
God only knows
If people didn't fight for me
I would have no survived
So I have learned
the good, the bad and even the ugly
define who u are
what u will be
rise above
and be set free
Categories:
unsold, analogy, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
Once you were a plundered people,
your ancient culture an excuse
for vainglorious swords to take by force
Yellow gold, Aztec Blue,
that rightfully belonged to you.
Your faces are now sometimes light,
sometimes sombre-
sombre as those hidden tombs
within which glittered eternal wealth,
and memories of doom.
Yes, your skin has the colour of life
as willingly fertile
as cultivated fields,
from which grew golden corn
nurtured, strong,
to be reaped by rights, not wrongs.
And so, they plundered what they could,
but not your hearts, or inner worth.
For here in your lives
are more treasures revealed,
forcibly stolen by strangers' eyes....
Rich thoughts unsold, unbought.
Here is the Blue of the sky,
eternal, untouched.
Here is the colour Blood Red,
precious lives, sacrificed.
Here is bright Yellow of corn, of Inca Gold.
Here is the Green of tiered fields,
yielding life from long ago.
Here is Black of night, protected sleep.
Here is White of eyes, of clouds and cloth.
Here is Pink of sunrise, babies' tongues.
And here is Purple, but where from?
Perhaps it is the colour of Anger, and Passion?
Or the colour of rain clouds,
glazed by the rays of Crimson sun?
Perhaps it is the colour
of victorious hearts-
Rich Red, Royal Blue,
that are now one, have won?
Today, you plunder people's thoughts,
with a heart- held wealth
that can't be bought....
And I must sit here, wistfully
begging for alms from history...
Posted 2017.
Categories:
unsold, appreciation, beauty, color, culture,
Form:
Free verse
Many churches today
have a food pantry that never
had a pantry before.
I attend a church like that.
Some folks are well-fixed,
others poor, most betwixt.
Some had money before
but not enough now to pay
the mortgage and then buy food
so the pantry helps them
the same way it helps clients
it has helped for years.
Some folks in the pews quietly
support the pantry with
checks and canned goods
enabling the nouveau poor
to stand in line with the
forever poor on Mondays.
A neighborhood baker slips
into the church Sunday mornings
just prior to the end of service
and quietly stacks his trays
of unsold bread in the dark foyer.
He says nothing and disappears.
No one seems to know
who he is but the hungry
love his bread and word
of its excellence has reached
the woman who leaves church early
and always grabs two loaves
of French baguettes and is
out in the parking lot long
before anyone else and
drives off in a red Mercedes.
Perhaps she’s on unemployment,
low on food stamps or is still
making payments on the car.
It’s not for the usher to ask.
I simply hold the door.
Donal Mahoney
Categories:
unsold, poverty,
Form:
Blank verse
Beauty smiles
Truth keeps watch;
Joy murmurs
~~~~~~~~~
Jacuzzi trip
Clear water massage;
Aqueous healing
~~~~~~~~~
Midtown moments
Sunny side up;
Poignant flavours
~~~~~~~~~
Walkway charades
Morning fiesta;
Umbrella cacophony
~~~~~~~~~
Old Mister Lee
Two years gone;
Tembusu memoir
~~~~~~~~~
Such silly antics
Blindside politics;
Monkey business
~~~~~~~~~
Glimpses of home
Michelin Star meals;
Vivid prosperity
~~~~~~~~~
Dark skyline
Thunder and lightning;
Rainy dawn hurls
~~~~~~~~~
Morning outline
Lake shore rainbow;
Sun and rain
~~~~~~~~~
Cat nap
Purrs dreams;
Feline fancy
~~~~~~~~~
Brown squirrel
Zigzag curiosity;
Fruity forage
~~~~~~~~~
Street vendor
Latest news print;
Too many unsold
~~~~~~~~~
Car pool moments
Grab or Uber taxi;
Disrupted trips
~~~~~~~~~
Cash speaks
Goods listen;
Magic barters
~~~~~~~~~
Word budget espresso
Not much unsaid;
Meaning percolates
~~~~~~~~~
Morning cuppa
Double-shot sling;
Caffeine fix pump
~~~~~~~~~
Raining again
April pregnant wet;
Sun on holiday
~~~~~~~~~
By the wayside
Fallen nest;
Broken bird's eggs
~~~~~~~~~
Anniversary here
Candles attest;
Fond memory awakes
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
03 April 2017
Singapore
Categories:
unsold, change,
Form:
Haiku
I told the man, I'd write a poem, right now,
about the wind, but the strong warm breeze,
blew my words away over the hills;
and he smiled; a language understood, as if
to say;
" there go your words, blown away by the strong,
warm breeze, across the dusty plain, the unsold land,
the cattle's backs, and the crazy butting-goats"
and when I turned and looked across the fetid table,
he was a corpse; all yellowed, withered, dried up skin;
and I was afraid:
but then the voice of death said,
"don't worry; I've gone to carry your words
across the dusty plain, the unsold land,
the cattle's backs, the crazy butting-goats",
and as he faded into cirrus clouds, I looked
across the sand on sand, the trees on trees,
the thousand dancing, prancing fleas, the
ragged-jagged tawny-breeze; and a windy
whisper stirred in close, saying;
" let him go, let him go, let him go".
Categories:
unsold, allegory, anxiety, birth, death,
Form:
Free verse