Best Unstructured Poems
Either side of the bed is mine
at my whim
and
Fancy
Coffee cups left in the sink
until there are
no
more
Clean
vacuum in the middle of the
floor
for a Week
remote - Mine
precisely.where.I.left.it.
Stink
of steamed broccoli and cauliflower
Welcome.
planting gardenias by the moon
music LOUD and interminable
unstructured.
Untethered.
Because.
I finally.
Can.
"Heat Wave"
A new dawn fades
as the sun overtakes
the division in joy
the top layer
shiny and new
still and blue
calm and observing
underneath
the cover of morning
the firmament dissipates
like phoenix burning
sensual pleasures
sharp grooved
igniting loose ties
sacrificing cool
language dripping
like molten honey
over a body
a real piece
of work crucified
a deep story
just short of
6ft high
gone all
unstructured
and supine
dark Night
tightly holding court
with Excalibur
held high
like an offering
to Blue Sky
melting in a heatwave
renaissance rising
oceans turning
rolling rapture
the blood and water
eye for eye still scoring
not feathered
and tarred,
the never dead
very much alive
witness the walking
on watery nets
always close, never far
as in a mirror
the bright
and shining
Morning Star
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
duality.
I Folded My Mother Up
I folded my mother up
Into a creased peace of paper
Folding memories into intentions.
Flattening the dementia of unstructured emotions
Into a neat, file-able document.
We arc this abyss; tightening ropes over time.
We are not our worst intentions,
but we are the acts that follow.
Like clobbering footsteps tripping over
broken pavements of Being.
We are the not sum of our categories
or the crimes that we have witnessed
But we are the balance
That keeps us falling forwards without stumbling
Over our own shoelace sense of time.
Remember them who lay in rows and
rows where poppies grow, and
enjoy this life because many died,
to make it so. Mother's weep for a
child no more, echoing canons can be
heard in the distance, and many have
bowed their heads to cry. Bring yourself
to silence at eleven in the morning. Ringing
out are bells, eleven times, and bagpipes
sounds drift in praise, and those who stand
with honour are set in stone. Now jets fly over
in an azure sky, thundering. Canada we stand
on guard for you! The Red and White Maple
Leaf Flag blows. Even in the going down of the
sun we will remember your precious blood.
Days have passed and pages have turned yet
we remember them, and now it is time for prayer
and quiet contemplation, yes, let us pray in this
hallowed place to honor the past and present.
Within my heart I see great-grandpa and grandpa
in black and white photographs, now give respect
to those whose names are etched on plagues and
stones in cemeteries, and remember those who came
back broken in their souls, nothing could help those
who took their own life due to memories horrible, and
on the grave of the unknown soldier we place our red
poppies, oh do not ever forget their great sacrifice so
we could live in sweet harmony, and now wreaths of
remembrance are being placed on the war monument.
Now, I place a wreath for the First Nation People as I
swell with pride for my ancestors who died in war.
"and the sound of pipes and drums drift along city streets"
______________________________
November 11, 2016
Poetry/Unstructured Prose Verse/Lest We Forget
Copyright Protected, ID 16-849-151-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FTI Blog Series 15 - November
Brian Strand
Podium Place1
I maybe bored
To the extent of googling
How to use the toilet bowl properly
Amazingly, there is a detailed answer
How dare U-tube gives so much information
An informal education, yet
Informative to the layman’s need and curiosity!
Hmmm, I maybe bored
A retirement aftermath (in my case)
The unstructured time available
Has turned me into a jack of all trades!
I have grown thus far in life knowing many forms of outlet for my depression
I have seen many outcomes arise and fall into what I refer to as "feeling regression"
Writing is the only outlet that truly allows feelings to leave your inner soul
You can write in a vast variety of forms yet one makes me feel whole
I write the inner most feelings of not only myself also including those around me
I have seen all walks of life first hand and found where I truly want to be
I have longed for inner peace inner acceptance of whom I truly have become
I am now a father, a stepfather a man and my Mothers son
And yet the only way I can share these feelings with no form of regret
Is in the form of unstructured poetry it is my only true outlet
A NOVEMBER POPPY
Names,familiar names that
now remain exposed,carved
in stone,a memorial to others'
shame.In their prime,cut off
a time,so brief,float down,my
sweet poppy leaf.
Once a face,smiling eyes,
lives with dreams vibrant as
day,faded now,untold in
someone's memory destined
to lie.Every name,there were
schooled,loved,laughed,and
cried,like we,walking this town,
exploring field and vale,each
unique,and an unfinished tale.
An unstructured prose verse dedicated to my grandfather and great uncle.
Listen to me recite this verse on youtube today under pen name ichthyschiro
A vivid imagination
Build a castle in top of a tree
Pirates and jungle animals
Pink elephants and hungry crocodiles
Princesses and trolls
Floating paper boats,
huge ship sailing on the ocean
Bringing life to children's play
Without specific props,
free and unstructured
The result of natural curiosity
a fictional and incredible world
Fighting a dragon
among ivy in arches
Simple serving,
in the shade of the mulberry tree
Creates fascinating stories
A silk thread that sews a seam, pluck from the skies
Mud play, freshly baked chocolate cookies
Would you wish to taste the success?
Expands the palate's taste buds ... undoubtedly
Coming home with red apple cheeks
A healthy development and
precious childhood memories
Tired toddlers
- sleeps through the night
AUDIO: Danse Macabre by Busy Strings.
Lint's Aura
Dignity gliding,
Resplendent in red was I,
Generous eyes felt,
Occurrences display me,
Stellar launched my existence.
Wardrobe visit hung,
Collection of new threads fills,
Close-knit paradigm,
Fussy fingers orbit me,
Small room phases a small box.
Reduced unstructured,
Yond pilfered vigor stills I,
Tattered wisps attend,
Cleavage currents my image,
Flew with the best ere sole flight.
2022 June 03
*7th Place*
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 June 06
*HMS: 5,7,5,7,7 syllables per x 3 stanzas
I am in the world of judgement
Where you had lost thousand battles
I am the king of king
Where your emotionic home rattles
I freed my army of soul,
From your unstructured condemned kingdom,
I have reached the utmost level of insight,
Enjoying the bliss of freedom.
You tried to thrash my integrity,
With your devilish charm and enthralling beauty,
But I unbelievably controlled my destiny,
thru my fortitude and self efficacy.
And now I am pleased to find who I am,
Away from your atrocious slavious realm,
Realizing a sense of truth with touch of supreme,
Walking into the spiritual and scientific seam.
Humanly desires are shrouded off,
A smile apprehending the purpose of existence ,
I left you way behind unknowingly “my love”,
Now my soul is freely swimming in perseverance
Words emerging from your quill,
Blazing with effulgence,
Capering and crooning around,
In harmony or in dissonance.
Rhyming in a golden cage,
Flying around in splendid colors,
Or, in a greenish meadow,
Flying away in divine freedom.
The beads of words will last long,
In our minds, if threaded strong
Whether structured or unstructured
As I know, I’m your spectator.
Honorable Mention in STRAND no 650 any form any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
I never learnt the right way to love,
As if there were a formula ensuring success.
So now I’m playing it by ear,
Picking things up as I go.
Without the Sun, should it forget to rise tomorrow,
I will learn to live in the shade.
And if the Earth grows tired of turning,
I’ll learn to lead a still life.
If each star, dying, failed to shine,
I could un-learn my constellations and cast away my telescope.
But without you, what is worth learning?
Who would teach me?
For better, worse, forever, a part of you is all of me,
And all I see in an uncertain, unstructured future,
Is you. Being my structure, strength, and certainly mine.
hours go by in determined acts,
days go by in unstructured situations,
months are logged as projects get over,
years measure stages of life,
time is an irreversible fact,
once gone its never added on,
do we have a quotient,
by which we could evaluate,
that hours,days,months and years
that went past,
did go past with an object,
or we were jelly beans all along,
doing what came as near the object,
and never waiting to correct difference,
fulfillment is elusive and subjective,
yet it accrues somewhere down inside,
it constantly correlates to our,
intellect and prowess of all other kinds,
and they say a life unfulfilled,
did it have a raison d'etre.
*Image of The Pianist Adrien Brody by DW.
IHMO Wladyslaw Szpilman
(December 5, 1911, to July 6, 2000)
A big blast, shattered glass, they yell run, still all as one
the war nobody knew then, had gone far and to what end
loss of faith, life's undone, a hopeless wraith, left living stun
no job, no help, left homeless, lives split, pianist, nameless
hideout hit or miss trend, tied up in knots, easily frightened
friends captured or run, less fighting, more fleeing begun
both heart's rent, Wladek knew Capt'n too proud to amend.
2021 July 05
e.g., Julyme
RhymeScheme; abacbab
Unstructured Lines
While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
clear for me to assay,
those ever receding
early boyhood daze,
now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,
(though blessed) no way
would, aye desire to turn back
the hands of father time (hypothetically),
where unstructured play
regularly with older sister
(thirteen plus months
my senior) predominantly
slicing, sliding, and slipping
stockinged feet skittering
across slippery basement floor,
this then soul full
skinny thing bellowed hooray.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm Matty Mattel; I got hurt;
Can you go out?"
Those words uttered
by the very first
pull-string talking doll
Mattel did tout
circa nineteen sixty
revolutionizing the birth
of quasi simulated (lifelike) toys,
and made of common
materials found scout
ting around the house simply comprising
hard vinyl (i.e. pseudo
plaster of Paris) head he did flout
with remaining body
stuffed with padding,
a definite no
no (chew toy) when Fido about.
Actually that pooch,
would be Georgie to you,
(a hybrid Boxer Dalmatian)
with docked tail
my young parents acquired,
when as a newborn,
aye did inconsolably wail
though recollection of such memory
fifty nine years ago tis of no avail
yet, a resumption of meditation,
sans lightness of being
(analogous trancelike state),
that doth prevail
replaying silent film preceding,
when psyche seem so frail
plummeting into emotional abyss
the nadir i.e. anorexia nervosa
pleading return to nostalgic boyhood
decrying change hide didst bewail!