Long Unappreciated Poems
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Unspoken words
can keep a face from smiling,
and a pretty star from shining
into a dark summer's night;
unexpressed thoughts, concealed inside,
even with meaningful glances,
must be said with tenderness...
I am one of them,
perhaps a hesitating dreamer afraid of emotions,
of letting them out;
but if they are locked away...deep inside,
who can ever discover them?
Nothing is short of wonder,
so make your confessions without fear...
to someone who's willing to listen,
to hear the sincerity of your words,
and the sweetness of your long-kept secrets!
Untraveled roads won't lead us
to discover peoples and places,
to embrace them as our own this Human Race;
I've stood here dreamin away...
imagining those far-away lands where folks
do the best of what they have,
but heir dreams are never taken away;
we have too much to be grateful for in a Nation
where plenty is not a rarity...
and unappreciated by many!
Unsettled matters leave plenty of grief,
isn't forgiveness the quickest relief?
Resentful hearts bear the eternal grudge...
till there's little control in their rage!
Peace was meant to heal the heart of cruel intent,
it is that gentle dove hovering over us,
hesitating to land into our unclean hands;
look...I've forgiven them and I don't ever regret it!
Precision swearing they call it
A term that may sound absur
But it’s economical with the breath
And wastes not a single word,
It rolls smoothly from the tongue
Instantly relieving pain
And, in the case of mental turmoil
Relieves stress and strain.
Better for use in private
When one can really let rip,
Out in public one feels
One should really keep a grip.
No perverted back street cursing.
No random state of mind
No ranting and raving
Of the common peasant kind
A selection of eloquent phrases.
Not all of them in general use
All carefully, precisely chosen
To avoid any language abuse.
An unappreciated form of therapy
That is readily there to explore
A bout of precision cursing
Satisfying to the very core.
Throw away your tranquillisers
Throw away your happy pills
A bout of precision swearing can
Remedy so many common ills.
I must admit something
I was brought to tears not long ago
Shameless, unmitigated tears streaming my face
I am not brought to tears at a whim
Not because it's something that I think "real men" shouldn't do
(I believe quite the opposite, in fact)
But because I have been plagued since birth -
A rare form of migraine called 'hemiplegic'
That I have no effective treatment for
Tears can trigger it, you see
So I do my best ... not to
But I was at the ocean recently
Watching the moon dance on wave-tops
(Something I have done countless times, hours on end)
It is my favorite thing to look at, and it heals my soul
But this time, as I watched, I thought on something new
I realized, all at once, that someday -
One particular warm summer evening, a long time from now
There will no longer be ANY human eyes -
Any intelligent, appreciative eyes, left on earth
To behold that exquisite, breathtaking, spirit-mending beauty
Never again will it stir a heart, or captivate a mind
No more will it weave nights of romance
Inspire a melancholy verse or song
Or be the muse of a lost, aching soul
There will come a night, when every time it rises
From then until the end of the earth
It will do so in utter and complete unappreciated solitude ...
I can think of nothing more sad
Or heartbreaking
Or regretful
Than that.
Hark! Wispy ghost of Indian summer is in sight,
Fresh on our amorous teenage heels, slow dog day night,
Hot Iowa corn on a cob, fresh with sweet oozing butter.
Makes autumn’s imminent encroachment seem all right.
Listen! Horizon Beach is quiet, most summer people gone.
They have raced back to civilization to put their city on.
Fishy smells, unappreciated until May of next year,
Gritty sandcastles destroyed, children’s laughter, a summer con.
Sh! Just stay here, my love, and give me a well-deserved smile,
Pretend summer passions will last me for a good long while.
Sweetest lips, eyes of brown, your gaze coaxes my soul-heart.
I will savor you and this moment in my life’s memory file.
Varoom. Your Harley motorcycle revs up, arrogant and proud.
Warm air cools, rapidly, swooped up by a semi-angry cloud.
Fleeting summer dog days cannot be held, fading hard and fast.
Final desperate summer goodbye, unfathomed, but truly allowed.
Written 10-08-2018 Contest: Dog Days Endure Contest
Sponsor: Gregory R. Barden
Is There a ‘Unique Selling Point’ other than Christ? Gal.5:22
Raise a shout & blow the trumpet. Release the compassion,
That Christ’s wave of freedom won, To wash away the dross, to
Reveal the precious stones with new names & gifts in potter’s clay.
Where is ‘The Church’? Hidden in full view; unseen by blinkered eyes & by
Media shrouded. Unappreciated, unrecognised through fear of mercy, justice & love!!
Denominations! Proud distinctions are not for common man. ‘The Truth’s’ side-lined, interpretations therefore flawed; when debate & dispute, are mirrored in traditions, rules & costumes.
Imagine if angels are real, and they look down in sorrow and gleeful expectation?
Imagine if God chooses some to come down to the earth and make things
better?
And they agree, for choice is real even in the hereafter.
And they agree to suffer as their Lord suffered.
Imagine if angels are real and they live among us.
Hooked on crack vials and bottles of Budweiser.
Imagine if angels are real and they submit to suffer more than most.
And they submit to live lonely and unappreciated.
But imagine if in a moment in history.
If for but a brief moment in the 21st century.
They stopped there bickering and self loathing.
And they stood together and lost themselves in the inertia of God’s love.
Imagine if angels are real.
And they came to earth to suffer for the good of humankind.
And for a brief moment in the 21st century they lost themselves in the inertia of
God’s love.
Imagine the earth quaking underneath the inertia of God’s love.
And imagine music everywhere.
Beauty everywhere.
Sisterhood everywhere.
Cause the angels looked at each other and saw God staring back at them.
And they said, enough!!
And they crawled out the madness of satan’s oppression.
And they claimed the light of their remembrance and became beauty.
I dedicate this day, to those women
Who faced domestic violence and abuse
And went into a silent recluse
For the sake of their family and children.
I dedicate this day, to the women wronged
Who smiled, wading through fears and tears
Bore the brunt of violence with silence,
Unsure if their stand was weak or strong.
I dedicate this day, to those bread winners
To the lustre-lost women- to all the mothers
Who fended for love all these years
Abandoned, unappreciated- Life's reminders.
I dedicate this day- to those roses of every hue
Who carried on- ensconcing worries with smiles
Myriad emotions-camouflaged without a clue
Waging her wars all alone -against human viles.
Great women - at different walks of life
Each trying to carve a niche of her own
Appreciate her- give her the dignity
May the 'She' in her blossom from within.
Happy Women's Day.
Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an orgasmic
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate orgasmic symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained sex urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.
Carelessly you threw away each wise act of preservation for sake of being loved
Today I wonder about yesterday. Why life took you to the brink, as you hunkered down that living rage. Losing yourself in selfless acts of heroism everyday you never counted the cost, and when life got overwhelming, you disappeared inside a world of fantasy. A place where you could not be found. An angry fist lay dormant, while you gave yourself away like a good wife, mother, woman, child. Yet that frozen smile on your youthful face never reached your amber eyes. You gave it all for free, never asking anything back. Full of empathy you lend your hands to hospitals, nursing homes and mental centers. You read to the sick, rocked the cripple and closed the eyes of the dying.
Then came the day when you faced the girl in the mirror and realized you were broken. Feeling discarded, unappreciated, lost and hollowed, you realized how abused and used you felt. Filled to the rim with unexpressed anger you went through the motions of life with efficiency but you were so unreachable.
During therapy you opened up and slowly began to understand that life was about self care as well as helping others. You finally found the courage to face your demons. Eventually you spoke your truth and forgave your abusers. Moving on, to a place of self worth. Once you realized you mattered, you found your true self and became the woman you are today.
As you separated the wheat from the chaff, you figured out what was important and what was not. Today I want you to know dear self that I am so proud of you and the aging woman that you have become.
Thank you, Dear Self
Without you, I would never have been able to heal myself.
Everybody says that forgetting
the one we loved is unfair, cruel, and silly;
don't attempt to bury recollections under rocks,
and instead of burning them completely,
express bitterness for a sad ending...
although the fervent sentiment never stops!
Search for the fondness of words,
delve deeper into your awareness
and the skeletons of regret won't rebuke
the conscience for the unappreciated value
of all the exciting life they led once,
and the preciousness they still constitute!
Does anyone admit that continue living
without forgiving is an act of unmercifulness?
Should we love ourselves more or less,
never appreciating the joy of giving and sharing?
Pierce the sunless skies with daring eyes,
beyond them, there's an incredible blueness...
not matched or displayed by waveless seas;
what lies ahead is an array of vast universes!