Long Unboxed Poems
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Written: May 18, 2024, For Unseeking Seeker Contest
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Languid breath dwindles, scrounging panacea air
quiddity remorse core conveyed mindful glare
seraphim guilt throe stems from mind sapidity
heart wispy ousts weltschmerz, hatred morbidity.
Gentleness key squeals heart-tangled inner thread
unboxed core lead ecstatic heart hobnobbed tread
Is my heart-mind rancor overlaid by hazy myopia?
milk with ice is a quintessential pillar of utopia.
Shepherding pragmatic apotheosis wide universe
hampered altruistic love ephemeral zeitgeists verse
emotional outbursts during meiosis—placate impact
forging forfend feeling fallacy focusing on facts.
Seeking soothing sense as silk-satin smoothness
fetches forbearance, fosters faith hearty-filled fewness
ripple aposiopesis words transcend catharsis sight
sate sinew, eschew omniscience, heed hubris might.
Living stubbornly with caesura implies life-moored
we are living offhand, leaving us brittle but allured
Issues occur wisely rather than haphazardly sought
willing for heart-mind coo to fulfill what's taught.
With authenticity, grace, sympathy, and tolerance
respect all people, despite views or providence
uphold merciful attitude and passionate mind
brain-heart harmony molded by cosmic pull blind.
I have been accepting
that I lost my courage to be vulnerable,
and I hovered over words that would not flow,
For my emotional tsunami hides in the insufferable,
I was just afraid to let this ache inside me go.
My stygian soul then scheduled my mental breakdown
And the photosynthesizes of my overwhelming pain,
I have established that in this
psychological baptism I drown,
But to grow is to immerse
in my sacrifice and appertain,
Should I allow myself to break into small pieces,
then composition myself with love
and become a Kintsugi soul?
My fearless spirit encapsulates a warrior
in the world of Ulysses,
So I unboxed my Worth and discovered my Hope,
To understand my veracity is to feel it in my core,
That running only tires the internal child
who is weeping,
Those tears power my garden of humanity
while being restored,
Unearthed healing from truth
in the eternal spring of the reaping.
Suzette was Auntie Dolly’s favorite porcelain wonder.
None of us liked her, yet, we could not give her away
Maybe because we loved Auntie Dolly so much.
And we knew she would want one of us to keep Suzette.
Suzette is too prissy for me, a cousin told us.
Not me, I have six little ones. She would not last a week.
I am packing to move to a new town.
Excuses all over the place, no one wanted this creepy doll.
She is not that spooky, I say, offering to take her.
Suzette stayed in a box the first few months with me.
But I had a dream that she had to be unboxed.
I put her in the living room, on the mantel.
The next day, she was sitting at the kitchen table.
Reading the paper over my husband’s shoulder.
Not on my watch! I told her.
She went back into the box.
When you’re shaken and stirred by your love for another
And the song of the heart sends the head to the nether
When you clean all the grim off the hope to discover
The pale ghostly figure of a once strong lover
Standing over your shoulder and in the path before yer
All the words that was spent, all the touches too
How the blood pays the rent when the heart’s overdue
How the future’s forgotten when the past clutches you
How temperament is timed to the reenactments untrue
In the old habitual view of the beacons in the blue
All the wistful dreams admired in the over-exposed night
Secretly mishandled in the darkening morning light
Brilliantly disguised amidst the many a broken right
All pent up, packed and unboxed at heart’s aching sight
For the hard-eyed delight of which no ashes reignite
It’s a curled lip glossy spread and a pout at the ghost
It’s a damaged motor chanting on the road to the coast
Where lone-isle weary figures are cloaked standing on post
Claiming their measure, their misgiving, their bitter boast
About the thieving dream-host to whom they gave their heart most
long in the attic,
now unboxed,
treasure trove of
old Polaroid photographs;
priceless!
pulled from
the gaping mouth of oblivion.
one family album,
in particular,
sucks me into the vortex
of nostalgic memories.
instantaneously,
I'm spirited back
to my salad days.
ah, my youth...
an opulence of memories;
fun times with Dad,
and Mom, too.
oh, wow, a family portrait...
look at how young we all look!
questions, questions, questions...
so many rhetorical questions
flood my mind...
"who took this one?"
"where was this?"
"what became of some of these folks?"
"how many are still living?"
bringing a smile...
baby photos of mine,
a kindergarten photo.
bringing a tear...
photos of long deceased relatives;
I miss them so!
precious moments in time
I wish I could relive.
photos I haven't seen
since childhood;
many taken before I was born
hit me like a jolt of electricity!
some, faded
some, still vividly clear
i smile at so many young frozen faces
- familiar and strange -
smiling back at me.
myriad of emotions
on my face
as I rummage through
a dusty box of memories.
Factory Recall
I looked beyond The Open Door
into a mystical Soul Factory
There amidst the unboxed souls
was Invisible Jim and The Ghost.
The ghost’s skin was reflective like a mirror
allowing me to see The Lines on my Face.
The factory was an unusual place
with floors carpeted in Dandelions
At each station angels sang a Star Baby Lullaby
I asked one “What are you doing?”
She smiled and responded
“I am installing a Patriotic Pause.”
An overhead speaker blared
“It is time for Designated Rain,”
I was careful to protect
the Butterfly in My Pocket.
Workers started moving
so I asked “Where are you going?”
“We are Stepping into The Temple.”
“May I ask Why?” “Sure, we are Searching For Jesus.”
So I followed the Girl With The Quiet Voice.
I was unsure How To Feel,
so I began by Lending Both Hands.
It helped in Finding My Way..
I was then joined by The Borrower.
He Was the one Who I Am
but Some Time we’re not Close Enough to Know.
Perhaps I need some Kimo Therapy
I was directed to Rose in The Garden.
Her roots had Deep Inclinations.
Would I Abandon all for This Dark Lover?
She set me on my Memory Go Round.
That place of Painted Ladies and Weeping
There I searched for Guys Advice in a Fools Paradise
Inside of me A Sense of Emptiness,
still she would become my Favourite Mistake.
She Touched The Water and my soul
becoming My Ocean.
Still I have Unanswered Questions
Some might say a Bad Bargain Made.
At the Soul Factory I left behind
my Church Perfect Surface.
In my Minds Eye the Screen Flickers.
Change Ain’t Easy but now I’m Different.
The breeze Whispered Your Name.
While I was looking for Psychedelic Sound!
No I know why I Can’t Get High Enough.
Instead let me rest in a the place of Chaotic peaceful Thoughts.
There I can sit under the Wisdom Tree
and listen to The Quiet One.
That garden where angels do the Butterfly Dance.
I long to languish there in Rainbow Coloured Camouflage.
By Richard Lamoureux
I wrote this one for Charlie’s contest using my titles from past poems. I didn’t read the directions properly so wrote another one that I entered.
The light is thinning.
A ragged man struggles
to carry an unboxed
large plasma screen.
He is walking it home,
he has no home
still, he is walking it,
but now it's raining
the TV becomes
a slippery umbrella.
There is so little light to be had,
no one goes to the park
not even to stare at the sky,
not even to walk a dog,
not even to smoke a cigarette
huddled behind
a dripping tree trunk.
A TV slides down
a slick grassy bank.
A bad day for minstrels,
knights and stray unicorns.
An old woman,
hands wrapped
in fingerless wool,
tugs at an abandoned
plasma screen.
After sliding down a grassy bank
she gives up.
Beetles spill out of a ruck of turf.
Her heels disappear into a gray light.
The beetles take shelter
under a large television.
Sense altering fertility:
a stoic female falters
Seven consecutive avid hours in each four weeks
I mull over mitigating my chosen ongoing celibacy
Primitive drive permeates realms where pleasure peaks
Stomach burgeoning coersion detects digital delicacy
Needy as a newborn, abdomen aches, resonates reason
Discarded inhibition of prudence pursues resolution, swollen
Tulip bulb split, affliction's blister is conceived procreation
Stupendous scenarios sordid, fluent imagination draws on
Widened with aspiration, desire requires instant unbridling
Materialising gluttony beckons with incandescent distress
Moans cryptic as ocean speak, freed from concious conspiring
Unboxed frolicked fathomings become loitering brain's duress
These eyes are full
If I blink this river will flood,
Overwhelming feeling
My fears are misunderstood.
An unboxed memory- open
Thoughts I cannot take,
Don’t want to talk about it
Fear- my mind will of course break.
Can’t push it back now
It’s here - the fear I have to face,
Tried to force it back inside
But can’t put it back in its place.
It wants to take me down- deep
Kill my life, my love, my joy,
Thought I’d fight it off- but can’t
So scared it will ruin my little boy.
Scared to say it out aloud
As I know what this may bring,
Not sure where to turn to
Almost can’t feel a damn thing.
Can’t allow this fear to crush me
The time is now. Time I must be strong,
Baby steps at first, I think
Prove my worth and that I belong.
A fallow season, a time of trivial hungers.
Scissoring illuminations sheared his eyes.
Petulant lips pursed.
He laid himself down, yet again
covered himself over with a bone deep hurt.
Light cut and snipped
at the tangled hairs of a grey despair,
it swung him open
until a self-interned corpse flickered awake
in the pale eyes of cave bats
No longer were stone angel's graveyard attendants,
the world unboxed itself, he had been doornail dead,
now a gateway swung wide.
Was this life, or was this death by light?
Snails had left silver poems
on that part of his mind, he had yet to find,
yet it was near enough to dream of.