Best Unvisited Poems
They really don't know me.
My existence doesn't affect them.
Unseen on the crowded streets.
Just another passing breeze.
A name not even carelessly whispered.
Just another number.
I'm falling through the cracks.
An echoless scream resounds in my ears.
And so it goes for years and years.
The same unvisited house.
Never noticed at the end of the street.
Where curtains of iron protect;
From intruders who never come.
The unpainted mailbox,cocooned in cobwebs.
Houses the loveletters yet to be sent.
Near the unmarked grave;
In a lonely plot embedded in weeds.
Where the flowers are invisible just like me.
Categories:
unvisited, depression,
Form:
Free verse
I viewed them the spring before – robins in our grass
and swallows flying circles around the front of the house.
Weeks later I spied their nests -
the swallows’ under an eave of our garage
and the robins’ hidden in a cluster
of our pear tree’s lovely green boughs.
I wish to have seen the eggs the robins surely laid,
but their nest was too high up.
The swallows’ nest intrigued me more,
for I was able to easily witness the hatchlings’ progress.
Periodically the parent birds came to feed them.
Eagerly I’d step off my porch when I saw the parents
swooping down and then soaring back to the sky.
Sometimes they whizzed close by my head as if to scold me
for my curiosity in their offspring; I was a trespasser on my own land.
Next year I will await them, but I think they will not return.
Always the robins return, but knowing swallows as I do. . .
their last year’s nest is sure to sit
lonely and unvisited.
Nov. 24, 2019 for Craig Cornish's "Last Year's Nests" Poetry Contest
(this actually happened several years ago, and the swallows never returned)
Categories:
unvisited, bird,
Form:
Free verse
Excuse me Miss
I have no intention of harming your shade,
But the seat you left vacant for me is rather
absent.
Absent of roses I could finally romance into
smelling, absent of yin that could relax urges that
might present a stroke 70 summers later.
For some esoteric reason, this seat you’ve
manipulated into occupying until tomorrow’s
departure seems stable;
It has no opposition in waiting.
So please Miss, introduce your window seat to
me ever so kindly.
You see the seat you offered in due time, does
not welcome smiles. It’s cold, unfulfilling skin leaves
me cautious; the torn fabric has failed my thoughts
of safely time and time again.
Hope won’t join my travels while married to this seat.
I’m left contemplating questions of whether this
is my sedentary companion for the next 100 years?
But what is perhaps defined from amazing, is the
glimpse you hold dominant in this seat.
You’ve’ held this arrogant glow upon the leather,
with no remorse for the penniless seat fillers.
The carelessness of sight unvisited through the
multitude of generations is the lowest insult one
can fathom; with no refund offered as of yet.
Miss, the window seat, please.
You see, beyond the significant glory the seat
would offer,
There is a silence of worries I wish to court,
An everlasting view from peaceful quarters, that
never warrants a superficial return.
Specs without representation could meet their
potential among the tranquil armchair.
That is why my passions advance today; for there
is a retreat looming.
Miss I believe this is your exit.
Remember change pauses for nobody’s unanswered
why. The knowing is what you will reap later.
Farewell, descending one.
Categories:
unvisited, analogy, change, deep, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
By happenstance, I found you
And my once empty, sullen heart
Filled to the brim with ecstasy
Hurray for happy accidents!
Dismally sad and blue was I
One jet-black day, then I walked
Outdoors, and voila! A goldmine
In the sky...sunshine
I searched up and down
Terra firma for gold; tearing cobwebs
Out of long unvisited nooks and crannies
And I stumbled upon a glistening diamond
I perambulated through footpaths
Of life, just minding my business
Suddenly I unearthed a jewel
Touched by the gods...happiness
I treaded uncharted far-flung places
Along the way, I discovered an
Unsought hidden treasure...love
Hurray for happy accidents!
Date written: 04/05/2016
Categories:
unvisited, destiny, life, love, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
I. Creation
Before the troubles of the world infect the soul
The magic of imagination creates a womb
Devoid of torment, pain, and stress. Rainforests,
Jungles, beaches, other worlds of elation where
You are always the victor in battle, the one
Who finds true love, alpha and omega. Never
Landing in withered trees or dead grass, only
Strong trunks and rolling plains, an ocean
Of stars, a blanket while lying comfy on
Palm fronds floating down calm dreamy
Rivulets of turquoise streams. Locomotives
Wind down vast forest covered country sides
Their tracks gliding to the warm earthy
Humming sound only they can make.
Only now with danger, inherent only to your peaceful fire
Bring you to this happy place, a place desired.
II. A Home all Your Own
In the world of yesterdays and tomorrows
And days lost in the gyre of solstices we
Create a world unto ourselves. Paradises
Lost to the antiquity of children trapped
Inside their adult armor. Lies tipped with
Poison seep into the wells of being, melting
The oil from the canvas’ that dreams are painted on.
Cheap reminiscences flash through tattered wafting
Curtains. Nightmare doppelgangers wait in quarries
of fire breathing mountain giants laying siege to
Rapture found in a good escape. Chemical
Demons like iron maidens brandishing your
Favorite drugs, syringes close in creating
An eerie starry night
To you alone
In a home all your own.
III. Repent to your inner child
To regain a solid footing on the gun deck
Of the warship you’re riding in the flotsam,
Hearken lessons from the playground,
The bruises, nicks, and cuts proudly earned
Ensure the necessary skills are acquired
To embark on adventures of the body.
Hiding in shrouds like an angel
White egret with horsehair-like crests and
Misty wings is the caged fury of joy, her
Wings mightier, beak stronger, eyes sharper
And love unabated from years unvisited.
Swelling seas are sailed, reefs can’t breach
A flying draft when joy carries her burden
Aloft. Hair amber and aflame in the setting sun
Amidst a new sea of clouds, only anchor
In a child’s heart when the dream fades
And the soul returns among the shades.
Categories:
unvisited, childhood, introspection, life, mystery,
Form:
Earlier in the month but lately begun,
(Or was it perhaps the last one, the one before-November?
I know of a surety that it was a time uncoated by congeries
Of most alabastrine snow, and that that which is blanketing
All now, it was not present then. The abundant
Cleanness and glaringly white cleanliness of snow's earthward fall:
This plummeting and deposition of the flakes that seem as
Deific dandruff, else manna or some snowlike thing that
Depends from out the pregnant, grey, ominous clouds
That encroach as a marauding soldiery does on these
Brumous days in this niveous, frore portion of the
Twelvemonth whereat and wherein man has to contend
And pit himself against the snowy flakes.
Yet, the ground being filthy with dirt,
And the cleanliness of snow being nowhere,
'Twas almost certainly in the bleak, but snowless November),
I ope narrowly the door of one of my brethren's truck,
Yet, though 'twas warm, occlusion proved impossible,
And still the door hung ajar despite all my most and best efforts to
Seize it shut and close it.
Yet now the snows are covering it, coating it...
And still it remains unvisited, yet perhaps when my brother
Repairs outside to see it, to step into and drive it,
Perhaps when he notices the ajar door,
Then mayhap he will think the snow somehow was the cause of the
Maloccluded door.
Categories:
unvisited, adventure, allegory, allusion, anniversary,
Form:
It has just begun.
The maps have unraveled in topographic templates, unmarked by geographic spaces.
They’ve been replaced by frequencies emerging from what we once knew as separate places.
For a place is but a point in space, dancing in a coordinated sense of distance:
Between spots upon an image rendered by an observer’s vision.
Now a thought is but a place betwixt the plane of earthly space; of which the spy has had an eye, on the needles threading their lace.
Thoughts are simple physical pulses, exuding pressure upon the no-longer void, of what was once an empty space, now filled with vibrant places.
A net of interconnected pulses precludes the human nature, now stripped of comfort of untouched convection adorned by Internet.
Yes, our thoughts were once unvisited places in the void of space, but now, yet another genocidal Columbus has mapped them and claimed them so.
Watch the eye that seeks treason of such a claim,
For it seeks not to see but to ready arrows with aim.
To interlace the traces of neurons, electrifying the once-ionized air,
Now not by lightning but by heavy metals hovering above your hair.
For the brain and computer are being interlaced with maps made those who make,
An interface of gestalt hives thriving against each other’s shrinking sake.
The next time you seen an ad on Facebook for something you just thought,
Remember that thoughts are now mapped by men with computers’ unknown plot.
Wink. Wink.
Remember to think.
Categories:
unvisited, betrayal, computer, corruption, internet,
Form:
Free verse
You and I,
together have learn t
the meaning of love;
together painted our world
with the colors of love.
Colors of everlasting memories..
Sailed the seven seas
as I am your strength
and you are mine..
Soared the skies
exceeding all boundaries,
as I am the wind beneath your wings.
As we always did,
leaving my footsteps right beside yours,
let us walk the sandy shores,
while the gentle waves kiss our feet.
You may wonder
why you no longer see
my footsteps appear beside yours..
I assure you my love,
it is not that I have left you alone
in this journey.
It is because, now your heart
is my only abode
and I keep every step
with every step of yours.
But as you look back
you will see my footsteps
I left behind
before my soul bid goodbye
to my life..
Do not fear to walk the shores
as you are not alone.
I am the strength
living inside you
guiding you in every step you take;
leading you to our destination.
You may not see me beside you,
but it is still you and I together
who are treading this journey.
I had to leave my life
as I had no choice,
But, not even the greatest existing force
could make me leave you,
as I am alive in your heart
in the form of my love;
my love which will never die away
even after my death..
Listen to your every heart beat,
as it speaks the words of my love.
Never fill your eyes with tears,
it will blur my vision
as I see the world through your eyes.
Never try to escape the world of color,
as it is our world you and I
together painted with the colors of love.
Never stop dreaming
of the dreams we dream t together.
Because it is through you
that that I shall someday
see them realized.
Since your love is strong enough,
keep your heart beating for me,
as it is the only reason
I am immortal for you.
By the veil of night
when the world is at sleep,
look into the starry heavens
and you will see two solitary stars..
They are my eyes,
watching you from above,
always taking care of you.
There maybe nights
unvisited by the moon
but my eyes,
in the form of those two stars
will always be there for you.
That is the only moment
you will see me in any form.
But every other time
you will feel me,
as I am alive in every beat of your heart..
- Kushalee Jayawickreme -
Categories:
unvisited, death, faith, inspirational, loveme,
Form:
Elegy
**This poem is a letter to another poem I wrote years ago titled "They Come Out at Night" which I'll post in a bit.**
I wrote a poem yesterday
but it didn't feel the same.
These words don't bounce,
lightening-quick, across the pages
anymore.
I take pauses where sparks
once flew.
I think too much now,
or maybe I don't think enough.
Questions are dangerous
to entertain,
and emotions are battle fields
better left unvisited.
I think I've even forgotten
how to tango with my ghosts,
and weren't they always my
favorite source of inspiration?
At 33,
I feel like I've written it all.
And then words come back to me,
soft as a wing.
These words
pull their shades closed at night,
and say a rosary before turning out the lights.
These words,
feel aged,
like they know better,
like they won't take anymore
of your ****.
Categories:
unvisited, age, poems, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
The Manxome little Minx
Stood beneath illustrious Boa-bob tree
She scratched her left butt cheek
With grazed grass stained knees
Stared pon the ghostly forms gibbering with fear
That Nancy (her name) might manhandle their ears
And drag them petrified, within her Boa-bob bar
Unvisited by good-folk... being so far
Within a dusted deserted dessert dry plane
Exhausted generosity, she was repeating again
On meringue peach dust, must run for their freedom
Avoiding the clutches, of most the dreaded kingdom
Gunshot start!...
The banshee chase... As spirits in fear race off again
The pursuit was a violent fearfilled reign
Escaping her clutches, unashamed unabashed
The result was a grizzly, grassfilled dash
Spiritless, hopeless, hapless no lie
Till Nancy little Minxie, did wiffle by
And grabbing the sweet candy, she did so desire
Dragging her victim, to Hell by her Boa-bob fire
Spirit screamed, twas a sordid, torturous affair
Then Nancy Manxome Minxie re-emerged
Brushing her hair...
Categories:
unvisited, fantasy,
Form:
A waterfall is neither a moon beam nor is it icing dripping from a big cake. It is wise to build fortresses of ice in skating weather but skiing weather cannot make the deadline so the cross country brigade of brigadoons are in areas unvisited and therefore unexplored by mankind. Cleanliness in a goblet goo and bleached bath bombs can eradicate even the most stale smell of blemished food. But watching a movie on a six mile screen is equivalent to eating banana peel on a motorway in a lay by. Tailoring treating treatments taking talismanic traders talking trees. And a big wide berthed arch on a canal path is exemplary style of an architectural wonder. Xx beanbags xx diagramming diamonds xx stratification z that was the p y q reporting from a snow globe.
Categories:
unvisited, beautiful,
Form:
Spiraling sensations of heightened instability cascade through an unsuspecting conscience, a chaotic whirlpool engulfs the psyche in seas of self inflicted torment and despair, illogically intertwined with fleeting moments of delusions, escape and grandeur, torn between everything that is and is not, what once was, what never was, what once was elsewhere, and what lies in the distance unknown.
Desires to vacate this epoch of mundane existence without immediate destination permeate through every pore, confined by the all encompassing wet suit of societal boundaries, perilously trapped, craving comforts of previous experience like a stranded sailor anxiously await sight of land, and the utopian vision an uncertain future, devoid of realistic premise.
Disparate from islands and coastlines imprinted upon atlas, the past is a destination left unvisited save for flickering images, memories sewn into the fabric of the psyche. The vessel of the mind gives way to leaks, the images trickle into the recesses of one's inner thoughts, a barely perceptible drip, progressing into an uncontrollable flood of psychosis, the struggling vessel begins to capsize, obsession establishes itself as the dominant state of mind.
One‘s future, an unwritten infinite epilogue to the present, reminiscent of the empty pages in a captain's log documenting this doomed voyage, once expected to be filled with tales of riches and feats of exploration but now submerged in a cold and murky existence awaiting to be pulled from the abyss.
Expectations and desires succumb to the realities of circumstance as the mind concedes certain defeat, a casualty of pre entitlement and wishful thinking, a drowning sailor whose final thoughts establish the realization that the ambitions of the soul often exceed the limitations of the body.
Categories:
unvisited, confusion, dark, depression, emotions,
Form:
Prose Poetry
1874….
The spectacularly lacey ferns rose up and fluffed themselves as self-appointed front-drops to the hidden cave.
Thus insuring this scene would remain a secret, secluded, unvisited spot for the next four or five hundred years, having no idea both parents had found this spot when they were his age.
2286…
A young girl with long curly hair, brown eyes, splashes of freckles, and curiosity a yard long re-discovered his Magic Cave, only she named it “Twinkle Pretty Cave.”
Neither realized that this cave in the back forty acres of their relatives’ property was always discovered by twelve and a half year olds. And especially never realizing that she would soon forget “Twinkle Pretty Cave” existed
The cave only showed itself to twelve and a half year olds, but when they turned 15 or drank their first drop of alcohol, whichever came first, they would promptly forget it, as it was a childhood place.
The cave laughed, thinking of all the twelve and a half year olds that were to keep coming, because they never stopped. They had been coming ever since she could remember. And they would just keep coming.
Categories:
unvisited, 4th grade, 5th grade,
Form:
Free verse
You, beautiful one,
Aware of mind's inner space,
But travelling, thrilling to movement.
Tiny jokes and masked meanings
The place you played.
You undid models
Like a child making games,
The barrier behind unvisited.
Hold up your arms
And dance!
Death's not erased the past and
Is not the end of music.
Categories:
unvisited, beauty, dance, death of
Form:
Free verse
How many Mary Celestes sail
On the uncharted oceans of your mind?
How many lost souls vainly flail
To clamber on board, how many left behind?
So many unvisited ports
Beckon, tantalize and tease.
Does one survive on life’s orts
And accept “Destiny” with peace?
Which Ghost Ship's your succor, you ask?
Who’ll take you on board?
Are you the one who’ll set the task,
Or the one to command where its shored?
How much jettison to your account
Is toted in your Book?
How much flotsam can you count
Which you wish you never took?
Categories:
unvisited, allegory, conflict, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme