Long Unbrushed Poems
Long Unbrushed Poems. Below are the most popular long Unbrushed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unbrushed poems by poem length and keyword.
I saw their funerals.
Plath.
Sexton.
And somewhere near the back,
mine.
Not my body—
not yet.
But something softer,
more urgent,
more invisible.
The girl
who wrote like them
just to feel seen—
she’s in the box too.
I saw her hair
was finally unbrushed.
Her hands no longer gripped a pen—
they were just hands now.
And no one cried,
because no one knew
she had been dying
this whole time
in silence.
I stood there,
dry-eyed.
Because I knew
this grief
was not for mourning—
but for releasing.
And still,
something in me wept
like a ghost
watching its own
unfinished life.
No perfect verse
can be written before sleep;
it's better to procrastinate
than to write when your breath stinks!
No, I am not referring
to unbrushed teeth
and unrinsed mouth,
but lots of gulping drinks!
Even your pen swerves as a wheel of a car;
doesn't influence effects your ability
to put thoughts together!
Food for thought
is not wine, beer or champagne;
they will not stimulate your intellect
when you are unable to think!
Rather they will decrease brain performance,
blocking your thinking process...
like an invalid password not giving you access!
Ever sent one to an editor...
and it was rejected for grammar,
wrong form and misspelling?
He must have smelled alcohol from far!
There was a poet writing
lengthy verses lacking imagination,
they couldn't hold the reader's attention:
when they could have been brief
and to the point without sacrificing artistry!
He always had a bottle of rum
or vodka next to him to keep him company!
Wouldn't you say that...
he was as drunk as his pen?
Writing when your breath stinks,
slows you down and makes you unresponsive
to your surroundings...
failing to notice important things!
There are lots of foolish mouths
spitting out words
with the allude they will be
performed on stage!
Wouldn't the audience be upset,
or show intense rage?
for no reason
whatsoever.
All the little ways
and threads aligned
because I paid attention
to the ups and downs,
the lefts and rights
of the here
(a hot day in April)
and the now
(laughter on the trampoline)
while I write this
on my bed
and smile quietly
to myself
with gratitude
for a life that was gifted
to me.
I see me in the mirror
of my Toyota Corola
and my reflection
comforts me.
My middle-aged eyes
and unbrushed lose hair
look free and unfettered
by trying society.
A homeless man
crosses the road
on his bike, many bags
tied to it.
That could be me.
It might be, tomorrow.
I don't read magazines
or read the news.
All of that is already old
before it is new.
I am going to watch
the trees that will be here
before my life is done,
hopefully.
This was all theirs
before it was ever mine
anyway.
Not anything.
It’s not a sleeping face in me.
Just gradual nothingness.
As if I’m being stewed, and stirred for hours.
But that’s just-
The Not Sleep World.
Dreading being locked up.
Feeling fascinated in a Not Sleep way.
Like there’s a bowl of ice cream under my bed.
Being devoured by dust bunnies.
It’s a ‘haha, panicked, wait a minute, ok’ way.
Not anything good or cozy.
Eyes blinking like corn on the cob.
The Not Sleep World.
Makes it into morning.
Like breakfast, or being.
Crazy corn on the cob feeling.
Just unbrushed my teeth and scattered.
I have work in a wavering, squinting way.
In a slapping the wall way.
Not good and cozy.
I hear them clapping.
Because I slept an hour at some point.
Now I can entertain the waking world.
Ceaseless demands
each one a folly
To which I respond
my answers jolly
Lesson time
Minds are weary
Endless chopping
Meals so healthy
Shopping ordered
Food a plenty
Excursion time
To burn the energy
Fall from tree
call emergency
Lost child
Panic temporary
Sibling bickering
I Chide impatiently
Bath time soon
Wet and slippery
Brushing teeth
No help from me
Each to sleep,
Cuddling frenzy
Stealthily creep
To bed with mummy
Waking together
Hour so early
Getting dressed
Uniform ready
Breakfast now
Clothes grubby
An hour to spare
Time to go crazy
I love to join in
Childish levity
Forget the time
Need to be hasty
Unbrushed hair
That’s got sticky
Scramble for bags
For each activity
Unkempt they go
To school so happy.
T`was all in a day, but a day long gone.
Though in that house
Shadows of our former selves,
Forever shall live on.
William kekaula all in a day 09/09/2020
Digital dose of pixels, my world of intrigue
where a front camera flashes my pretty face
Shares a picture-perfect life of travel, friends, love
like supermodels patronize, in thousands of poses.
Naive wishes sulking ,"It's still not good enough"
navigate a cluttered gallery of clicks in mobile.
As self-kissing pouts get lost in a vortex of emptiness,
a never ending portal of glued fixation stays alive.
Virtual images tampered away from reality
easy to delete memories, not so exciting enough.
Don't the eyes look so piercing?
Eyebrows a bit too crooked ?
Unbrushed hair needed some more dye?
Oh! the smile is not so well-seasoned.
Charm and poise plain okay, no aura, no style.
I edit and crop using sepia tone filters
Spontaneous magic touches on a tangible screen
emanates infinite snaps of photoshop beauty.
As I keep taking selfie after selfie after selfie....
A revelation to proclaim," I am in love with me"!
Dated 30th January 2020
Sponsor John Hamilton
Contest : Eight word challenge 1 2020 |
1. Spontaneous 2. Tangible 3. Patronize 4. Revelation 5. Portal 6. Navigate
7. Fixation 8. Intrigue