Best Untasted Poems
Seize the day!?Seize the day,!!?Seize the day!!!
Once I cried “carpe diem”—pluck each moment bright—
But now I know: no soul can truly seize the day;
We can but watch it vanish into night.
Time slips through grasping hands, in echoes vast,
Like memories we hoard—“This too shall pass.”
Before we sense its passing, a thousand moons have passed,
Leaving only footprints fading from the glass.
Open your heart—learn to forgive, let fractures mend.
Time won’t endure; only the love you send
Will bloom beyond your time—compassion, gentle, kind—
Impressions lasting long after days unwind.
We cannot hold on to time, nor merely let it fly.
Still, there’s so much waiting—for question, life, reply.
By living fully, learning wild and free,
From five years old to ninety-five, there's more to be.
As age ascends, keep wonder in your gaze,
Play games, try tastes untasted—let life amaze.
Gather with friends, sip joy’s sweet draft,
Find sunlight in the small, and laugh the hearty laugh.
My gypsy heart is restless.....
I’ve been here too long
too long....
the fields alive with paths that lead....lead...
there, to the edge of the earth and sky
the minstrel sings that sing
of places of my dreams sing...sing...
to my gypsy heart
the unknown, untasted, untouched, untraveled is calling.....
Calling...
Ah..........
don’t bind me
don’t keep me
don’t....don't beg me to stay
don’t claim me with the promises of yesterday
today is today
I want to fly away
don’t hold me back
The gypsy in me hears voices
You cannot hear
for fear
My dear....
You have no gypsy heart
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At midnight....tonight
Yes.....tonight
I will slip out the door
hand in hand with mistress night
I will take flight
while my family sleeps
and my heart weeps
while the stars make a place
and the moon hides her face
while the night breeze carries me
I will break free...
My love,
I’ve been here too long
Too long..........
When you wake
and your heart starts to shake
For heaven's sake..
~~~ forgive me~~~~
The call of my gypsy heart
Would not be still
there was another place
another thrill
and so
against my will
these cravings to fill
I slipped away
I'm not....far...far away
Forgive me, I pray
For this gypsy heart
could no longer bear
to
stay
Eileen Manassian
I've always been fascinated by the gypsy life. My favorite Disney character is Esmeralda from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I found this pic today while looking for something else and I thought....I have to repost my gypsy heart poem from ages ago. Hope you enjoy it.
I went searching for-
that little child who cuddled in her mother's arms,
those tender feet that jumped in rain,
that little heart which melted for a kiss,
those twinkling eyes that gleamed in the moonlight.
I enquired the oak tree about-
one little nose that smelt the early morning jasmines,
an enthusiastic voice that sang the stories of the sky,
those tender fingers that brilliantly belted out the piano,
that curly hair which locked the light of life securely in it.
I kept on searching for those red ribbons, that blue tunic and those black shoes which accompanied the girl to her school
I walked all the way right from her study table to her office desk following her footprints to get some detail of her
I ran amidst the woods where she breathed the pure early morning air
I checked the cabins of the city metro that seated her comfortably when she choked for breath.
Her spectacles had no answer to any of my questions regarding her whereabouts
Her golden ring lied lifeless on the table having lost its royal glory
Her favorite shoes are still waiting for the mountain trekking event.
Her black bike had no answer when I asked why it's engine is never ignited.
Her friends still kept her number in their contact list pointlessly waiting for a text message from her.
Her boyfriend silently walked into his office cabin and seriously worked on his assignments - he'ld probably never smile again
Her mother sat on the dining table with two plates in front of her-she'ld probably never realise that the food remains untasted forever.
The sweetest love I ever knew,
Was a secret love not given.
A sublimating ecstasy--
A symphony from Heaven.
A verb without an object;
A means without an end.
A jasmine scented sweetness
On the summer evening wind.
One fleeting season of my life,
Of throbbing, tender glory,
When on the pages of the book
Was penned an unread story.
Then, deep within my virgin heart,
Unscarred by love vows wasted,
Dwelt dreams of rapture yet unknown,
Of vintage wine untasted.
But then, as happens with all fools,
There came the tragic day,
When, to the sorrow of my soul,
I gave my love away.
Now, love unwisely given
Is, often, love refused.
Like a rose rejected by the wind,
Shattered, crushed and bruised.
If only, now, the power were mine
That blossom to enliven,
It would bloom again within my soul,
That glorious love not given.
Another morning gone. The warp and weft
of kids and errands seems a sort of theft.
I love to listen to the phone-in show,
Peoria Euphoria K Seven, Illinois,
the kind of thing that housewives can enjoy -
Andrea Doria, Eva Longoria -
but parents don’t have rights. I’ve got to go.
Another morning spent. The spare room painted.
I poured the soup away, since it was tainted.
He mixed his caustic soda in the bowl,
with Pennsylvania always on his mind
(Bryn Mawr mainliner – guess you know the kind –)
Brainier, mania, Lusitania
and wiped it once around with kitchen roll.
Another morning done. The suit dry-cleaned.
A neighbourhood committee’s been convened.
Initial meet – the Wilsons’ brand new deck –
how was it financed? Heaven only knows.
Seaworthy credit? Like the Mary Rose!
Wegmans, Wayfair, Wakefern, Wickes …
(Let’s hope the builders wait to cash the check).
Another morning over. Turkey basted.
Last night, the almond cupcakes went untasted.
I don’t know why I go to all the trouble –
they raid the fridge for fudge and mayonnaise:
don’t call it eating. Kids today just graze.
Athletic greens, soya beans, proteins –
I sometimes think I’m living in a bubble.
Another morning down. The carpet hoovered.
The garbage bin unemptied, outmanouvered.
It looks so comfy, nestled in its cleft.
The city elders park outside their own,
so why can’t we? Is this a yellow zone?
Organic waste, paper chased, cadmium-laced.
Another morning gone. How many left?
“It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills,
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.”
-J.R.R. Tolkien
_____________________________
Place of Redemption is Darkness
unpetalling - - solace space unfolding
I sail drowsy dim seas without boat
or oars, conversing with walrus, whales
treading liquid tar silent, unseen
in distance a dog barks as I empty
bladder into ocean
underwater cables run fire
Darkness, Cloak of Protection
alchemy distilling gross, grime, goo
a thousand fingers unfelt sew broken
pieces of Life, loosen hooks, nooses
Angels of Death appear, wings
midnight blue, gathering loose threads
snapped nerves, false cues
I hear a night ‘plane flying passion
Here Crow visits sea darkly shining
untouching cast charming spells with
silent cymbals, unscathed holds sound
I covet cup of cold black coffee, unsmelt
swarthy, spilling on night waters —
hiding eels, oysters find their feeds
blankets have no feel, weave
unraveling, I perceive spindles
Coelacanth swim inquisitive incognito
individuated spirits shine poking
examine my tired flesh, as velvet
phantoms we attune to F o r e v e r
black cat runs sky, corrugated quarks
shatter moon smiles, its rock tumbling
rays on rippling nipples, navel upturned
circles spiral gene keys like piano notes
Place of Attunement is Darkness
no stagnation or pothole sidles, earthling placards, test tubes or empathy labels
shimmering umbra behind stars fall
dust upon midnight water smooth
gloom to-fro about unpaid karma
prison cell was scribbled with charcoal
I shout my name, nobody hears or cares
Humming, droning, buzzing black
holes beckon like blackboards with
light language — I recognise Cosmic
sound activating Heart, fall deeper into
b l a c k o u t __>>>
alpha kisses omega as breath leaves
returning in baby gurgles upon a
Bermuda Triangle ~ dog sniffs backyard
Darkness ignites laughter untasted
observing I pay Tolkien tribute, tinkling
___________________________________
GOLD Placement Poem : Allpoetry
May 26 : Prompt :
What may you find in Darkness |
Confirm no AI
Third Placement: Premier
Sponsor : Seth Pina : May : Your Favourite
Blessed And Highly Favored
Miracle Man
4/26/2024
I know that I’m blessed,
and highly favored.
Because my love for Jesus,
has never wavered.
When near death,
I returned from the brink.
God gave me thoughts,
about eternity to bethink.
He took from my thoughts,
those years I had wasted.
Giving me a new vision,
of remaining years untasted.
I’ve gone through much,
yet remain feeling blessed.
I wouldn’t have my testimony,
without God giving the test.
Accepting aloneness, incomplete solitude, imperfect rest. The garden
wasted, pumpkin patch planted late, potatoes untasted left in ground.
A thousand email addresses, each unique represents a flame of
passion, compassion, desperation or depression. To understand, to know's
impossible. It is therefore only reasonable to observe the shadows
on the mountain, the actions of the dreamer which tell us something,
little, nothing of his dream. It's a simple secret shared,
longevity. The half breed John Russell says it right, the
date and place don't matter, dry desert or cold mountainside,
lush bottomland, soulless or hospitable, contagious hospital.
The best laugh's death's, a perfect escape, perfect error, perfect
rest. Their solicitude's unnecessary, grief is temporary, life goes on,
you go under, underemployed, the undertaker's never unemployed.
Forensics prove an ovary with two chambers, ovule adnate to the funicle.
In another world
In another world ,would i be the same?
why cant i live in my illusional paradise
and invent my own world with a painted shelter?
with a grass so green and roses that glow
with a mother's heart so pure like a mountainfall
with innocent little toes that creep and crawl
and you ,my dearest one embracing our suspicious hearts
always there ,,like that english oak
why we cant stay over those shining lands
inhaling sun rays and hiding those ugly sores?
our roads could cross just as our wishes and dreams
and the cloudy skies numbing our silence are no always there
cant we leave on dawn with soft tears drenching our glances
with no goodbye to say and a thousand words crowded ?
like i have always dreamt with my face toughly smiling
in another world would i stay the same ?
with a full moon gleaming and a sky full of stars
with a fresh smooth air my long hair cuddling ?
how sweet life could be ,how hugely sweet is untasted?
crushed in to tunnels and sent for the very few
but i could still draw a million paintings of love and us
no power would ever crush them whole
i could cover my wide eyes,their insanity entomb
and leave with a silent heart to the world of none
Some wildness runs in Artemis
As silver streaks in a jet of coal-black hair
This beauty wrought to tempt a man
Is by her lesbian air a beauty wasted
Her eyes to thine reflect a dream
Where senses numb and leave the lips untasted
Islands in the Stream
Islands linked together like forged argent charms,
In straights of silent, surging currents,
Where Watchtowers of Fresnel lens sound fog sirens
Where sacred shoals harbor shame forgiven;
Lightships built high on cribs and Keys of truth finally seen
As bright argand lamps on chariot wheels send out beacons,
To signal sightless ships with broken masts and rudders
Through whirlpools of turbulent canals and gushing straights,
To find serene deep-water ports in chains of channeled islands.
Yet, these no islands only mountaintops of maturity climbed
From submerged land coupled at a thousand leagues
Beneath the tidal moon enchantment;
Restoring milestone harbors of illumination
Words lit by isophase candle lamps inside carved prisms
Expanding light waves of thought - recognitions of new plateaus
Topping astragals of aerobeacons with untasted adventures
Into enlightenments leaving behind each newly explored isle -
New christened tall ships navigate siren’s lure in uncharted streams.
9-20-21
Contest: Islands in the Stream
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
April took the best of everything
anesthetic corpses, love killed love
Bruised all over before it fell from the tree
buried again, body untasted but the seeds are everlasting
The only way to unlock the cage, to be covered in dirt
to sleep
to escape
Fingerless gloves hiding protruding
tired veins
In the uncomfortable heat
brother, you got me wrong
yet I paid that debt somehow
Broken dreams and despair walk the street,
Searching for a place to sleep.
Standing on the street corner with dirty clothes and long stringy hair,
Begging and asking if I have change to spare.
I wonder what happened to these poor souls,
Could they not reach them or did they not have any goals?
There must be a place where they have someone who’ll care,
But they seem to be going nowhere.
Most people are uncomfortable or scared when they are near,
When it’s their life that defines the real meaning of fear.
What was it that got them to such a desperate state?
When was the last time they ate?
We take our food for granted and so much is wasted,
And by the starving and lonely it goes untasted.
They stand there with signs asking for food,
Mostly to receive a lot of attitude.
The mass of cars drive by and pay no attention,
In a rush to get to their destination.
As the cars drive on and the day goes by,
They almost seem unnoticed as no one looks them in the eye.
They’re transparent in a world trying to make things better,
Leaving them hungry and seeking shelter from the weather.
Methinks the here
to fore purposeful inclusion
of key word "babysitter"
a slight oversight describing
residents at Highland Manor
(a particularly nagging omission
in previous epistle to detail,
how flat screen televisions
constant blaring subdue
said majority of tenants),
whereat this emphatic
writer, (a penny pinching hitter)
susceptible to miss
out oomph pa, I
(a poetic critter)
will now intend to convey
without recourse to:
instagram, snap
chat, or twitter
thus, this quasi
appended verse
attempts to avoid
communicating disappointment,
asper unfulfilled
childhood, adolescent, or
young adult jitter
ring circumstances found
me tubby a quitter,
now as an aging bummer
with decreasing glitter,
I aver feeling litter
ally somewhat bitter
sweet asper those
figuratively untasted,
untested, and
untoasted fritter
(comfort zone
expanding challenges,
now bugging me
psyche) with jitter
re: ness, cuz yours
truly denied, deprived,
and disallowed himself
tubby a more vibrant
Matthew Scott Harris
to get distilled
from je nais se quois
crucible of life,
hence omitting,
sidestepping (like do si do),
and skipping tummy
loo, viz fuel
joie de vivre injecting
more verve
into what thyself
subsequently evolved into
a staid staind and dire
strait tinned existence,
but no pitter
patter pity please toward,
this present day
pearl jam knitter
of (senseless, listless,
and aimless)
verse as this human
specimen racks up years
as an aging orbiter
round mister sun.
There’s SO MUCH Left to Learn!
There’s so much left to learn, dreams I hope I can share
that I haven’t touched yet, more new dawns still to bloom.
And I’m blessed by my muse when I pen rhymed verse too,
for rhyme brings life to bones I must stretch to connect.
It’s been seventeen years since fate graced me to meet
‘Kim Dung’ - love of my life (a beautician by trade).
Had we met at her work, had she guessed my past’s ease,
would dry tender have missed sparks that prejudice doused?
She had come on the arm of a quite wealthy friend
for a banquet, ‘First Night - La Boheme’ (more a guest
than a fan). Not a patron, I’d come with a friend
as fare’s fan (less true opera buff), more art’s fluke.
It was Puccini’s art that linked table for twelve,
but a gift of grace moved us through shadows we cast.
A false narrative tells us to hide or to dare,
but the ground felt secure when I entered the room
found my place by her side. Did her accent imbue
me with courage to ask this, did I disrespect
her to ask of her home? ‘Fait accompli’ was sweet!
She was from Vietnam. So I ventured I’d stayed
in Malaysia two years, thought war a disease,
and taught Physics to 12th Form in Peace Corps (not soused
to the eyeballs in ‘our way or die’). Why pretend
that war fosters the peace? Which one’s feared more, which blessed?
But connections got made there, that helped love attend.
The dark ghosts both still honored would fade with rebuke
from both sides as grace led us by grace to each delve
toward new art yet untasted, love’s light unsurpassed.
Brian Johnston
29th of December in 2021