Long Unnoticed Poems
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The next time we meet.
I plan to meet you in unnoticed fashion.
To come face to face even if you laugh or chase to how far your mind wanders.
I plan to meet you today and the day after.
Coming face to face with unconscious desire.
Had I do anything else I am sure you'd notice.
Finding myself in finding you.
Extending to a desire to meet you in infinite space.
Accompanying you in certain philosophy.
To fill your lungs with the utmost of need.
The only interruption being,
That you'll never know how much I'll appreciate this one moment.
And how you'll never know,
That this will be all I'll ever know.
Dad what's this medal in your hand,my you do look grand...It was a swirling day
in early May and the weather was wild as over the bridge ran the dancing
child.The rotting plank an unnoticed trap as the youngster slipped and dropped
through the gap.The tall teenage scout hearing the cry dived without a care or
doubt.The Thames tide was running strong,the flailing child carried swiftly
along.The lad swam on and on his strength fading and almost gone but with a
final burst as the weir drew near,the rescued tot was soon in her parents
arms,held dear.
Dad is this the medal in your hand,my you do look like a hero grand.
Not enough love in the world
I hear the silence in the night,
fruitless searches for a mother not there...
Blurring the lines 'tween wrong and right,
wishing and hoping someone out there still cares...
Bridge 1
The craving for love never ends,
without it nothing else makes sense,
Oh love!!
Chorus
Where is the love?
tell me, why has it grown cold?
Where is the love?
Tell me now, 'cause I'm getting old
There's not enough love in the world
(No) there's not enough love in the world
The silence screams out in the night,
no one out there, to help her still her fears...
Life's lessons learned 'fore morning light,
hardened hearts no longer shed any tears
Bridge
The craving for love never ends,
without it nothing else makes sense,
Oh love!!
Chorus
Where is the love?
tell me, why has it grown cold?
Where is the love?
Tell me now, 'cause I'm getting old
There's not enough love in the world
(No) there's not enough love in the world
The curtain comes down on her life,
as she stares out at all the empty chairs...
Seems to come as a surprise,
her passing goes unnoticed by a daughter not there...
Bridge 2
The quest for love- still goes on...
Just keep hoping till all hope is gone
Oh love!
Chorus
Where is the love?
tell me, why has it grown cold?
Where is the love?
Tell me now, 'cause I'm getting old
There's not enough love in the world
(No) there's not enough love in the world
There's not enough love in the world
(No) there's not enough love in the world
repeat and fade
John Derek Hamilton
March 18,2018
…on an Amtrak train.
Business-class from DC to Trenton.
It's the work rush.
There is a white man.
Dark eyes.
Gray temples…
Southern.
Loud.
Acting important. Unimportant.
Let's call him John.
...5 rows behind him something I see something standing.
A flicker?
He's been on his cell phone since he boarded.
He's talking loud, in a rush, fear in the undercurrent of this voice.
An unnoticed waver…as if he's in his home office.
Knowing but without knowing …
His eyes roam. Nervous.
It's toxic and spreading…
Everyone else on the train “seems”…
Unbothered.
Unscathed.
Unnoticed.
Everyone sees but does not!
You can feel the tension…it!
It is sharp like a razor.
Everyone is secretly annoyed. Scared?
There standing a shadow even in the light! A figure?
...white eyeless sockets, staring.
The shadowy thing begins moving, gliding…
To him!
Around him…
People are avoiding it,
something,
unknown,
unseen!
Without understanding. Blind!
He writes down a number.
…stands up and looks around frantically. Moving…
People pass...
Him. It.
Into twilight BOUND!
Who remembers
songs and stories once told
of a life lived brave, solitary embers,
loud or quiet, shy yet bold
and everybody laughs and everybody cries
and everybody hurts to live or die.
The names unimportant now, slip unnoticed into time
where passages of love are lost in emptiness,
bridal gowns stored now yellowed and faded like wine
promises never made, promises never kept
and no one sees, no one cares, no one dares,
all the dreams and hopes lost to memory unspared,
forgotten people another one among so many.
Like Alice through the looking glass
hiding down the rabbit hole
lost in the darkened silence and its sound passed
where Eleanor Rigby swept away her soul
the petals of the dream in imaged visions fade
of what could be but never was, never there
save the lonely people, those lonely people here.
A masquerade of faceless figured bodies on parade
shadows of the earth's twilight hours
living for the moment, erased and betrayed
denied their place in time and hold on power
Eleanor named only here, like Poe's lost, Lenore
never to be remembered, brief, forgotten, evermore.
for Jerry T. Curtis' contest
Eleanor Rigby
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5eMM2yjg98
Poets have multiple aims, modes, reasons to write,
Which may match what readers want downright.
Some poets are simply lovers of words and language.
How they twist and turn, and meld on a page.
Some readers love the sound of words that beat,
A tune where rhyme and rhythm softly meet.
Some write to teach, profound knowledge to bestow,
They search for answers that readers need to know.
Some write about love and how it feels.
To find words that only love brings in appeals.
Some write about puzzle in spins and loops,
To answer questions with hoopla hoops.
Some write of myths, to stir and inflame,
the gods, ghosts and ghouls you can name blame.
Some paint lovely scenes in colorful hues,
The beauty of nature to embellish and infuse.
Some write with fire, brimstone in hand,
About war and fighting bedeviled be damned
Some inspire awareness of unnoticed things,
Of storms triggered by flaps of butterfly wings.
Some write of very personal things in their life
that others may confer with their joys and strife
Some write to bang, jangle apathy awake,
with the strange arranges of clangs they make.
Some herald their beliefs, faith and devotion
to God, and the worship they want to set in motion.
Some write in vague smokes, mirrors and screens
To deliberately confound, confuse you in teems.
So write what you will, read what you must,
The outcome, when all is done is the line in the dust.
"What is this strange place we find ourselves in
trapped in the open"
Our souls are imprisoned in these temporary vessels,
Some sent here for great things,
Others lost gazing at the stars,
One thing is for certain,
We all have been given freedom to do whatever we like whenever we like however we like,
However those who choose to embrace the inner
desires of their hearts
searching for the one who made them
These are the people that establish great civilizations,
and form covenants of moralistic notion
Divine scripture and set bounds to an otherwise chaotic time,
The ones who bend their knee to the one higher being
that formed them from nothing,
accepting that in the grand scheme of things
This vessel like the matrix, a computer generated software
that when its time is done, it will go back to the software,
Similarly, this vessel will go back to the dirt
from whence it came,
The losers on the one the other hand
gaze at the open spacious sky
admiring the stars,
but are too haughty or too lazy to go amongst them
They turn society into chaos,
corrupting grand things till it fits them,
making societies fall,
and unlike unwanted programming getting deleted
The losers are destined to burned,
completely forgotten,
completely unnoticed.
My clauses stating DOS/DONTS' dye
My smile' peep winking else whole laugh so wild
My fearful feet walking away instead of reversed silent arms hanging over
My cheek panting softly with dimples as a choice for lips filming tour without guide
My frown in odds speaking record conversely to gaze felicitating mime so deeper
My calls ever seen preference to beeps unnoticed much of returns
My text back from home suggesting chat paints factory waste of funs
My life-- sere melting love for convenient fantasy
My plead guilty for crown amidst apologies needed a bit
My pistol jilting for feedback alternating firing training section's celibacy
My jams too long off beat contrary to freestyles solo refrain's treat
My grace of its will did see mercy
instead faith of its peace do measure
My silence than necessary spending leisure as a substitute for words unspoken that rule treasure
My heart that will never say goodbye
But what have you plant?
Upset and uptight
Wound up and bound tight
Broken inside
Shards clasped against the inner of my skin’s pores
Too small to fall out
Broke but sheltered
Broke but drunken on expensive red wine
Covered in silk but ashamed
This dress is all too glamorous
Ashamed to define my privilege
My privilege is not my privilege just an invite into their privilege
A gift by the blood of my mother
To a soiree I cannot leave nor do I want to
Waiting on my own wealth, not hers
My lack of, sounding like church bells not above the church
But against my empty vessel
Once full, insecurity asks me is it sounding too loud and should I quiet down
Unnoticed, it emptied
While I was running with the bulls
While I slept with one eye open
The wrong eye affixed on the wrong prize
Clasped tight in the arms of the wrong enemy
While I traded with the devil
To buy back what could never be bought
My life
It's strange how you don't lose yourself all at once, but slowly, like a shadow that slips away unnoticed,
One morning you wake up and you're just... someone else, a stranger in your own story,
The motivation, the discipline, the routines you once clung to have vanished like the smoke of a memory,
That version of you, full of willpower, who believed in something, who stood up for yourself every day...
Now seems like a distant memory, a ghost of what once was,
And no matter how hard you try, no matter how many promises you make to pull yourself together,
You keep slipping, like sand through your fingers, hating every moment,
Your brain turns against you, reminding you of everything you've become and what you no longer are.
You wonder where that person went, the one who fought, dreamed, cared for the world,
But there's no clear answer, just a painful void and a mind full of noise,
And the worst part? You know this isn't what you want, this isn't you,
But somehow you've lost control and you don't know how to go back or if you even can.
You plan, hope, tell yourself you'll be better tomorrow, but when tomorrow comes,
The burden is still there, the fog in your mind doesn't let you do anything,
You keep asking where that person went... the one who fought harder,
You miss them terribly, you miss the fire in their eyes,
The way they kept fighting even when it was tough.
But now, even the smallest tasks seem like mountains to climb,
Even joy seems... faded, a pale light of what it once was,
You try to mask it, laugh when you have to, say you're okay when you're not,
But deep down, you feel you've drifted so far from who you were,
And even further from who you wanted to become.
And honestly? You're scared. Scared that you won't find the way back,
That this version of you... the tired one, the lost one... might be all that's left.