Long Unsayable Poems
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Since that day years and years ago, I have been s i l e n t -
You HURT me to my core- I never expected that!
Money was stronger than l o v e way back then and the price was high!
Oh, the price of distance and silence . . . of years and years of nothingness
I heard of your D E A T H today and again I am hurt- and remembering
when y o u stood with this girl, as I picked my father's coffin, and other
times - so TODAY, I say the unsayable- thanks and KISS you adieu with love!
_______________________
November 22, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/"Sadness Unsayable"
Copyright Protected, ID 17-964-373-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, UNSAYABLE
sponsor, Nette Onclaud
Third Place
Painstakingly I gathered shrapnel from grandpa’s fields,
sold them to the metal man who came on horse & cart.
Alas, disaster struck...the sixpence, fruit of my hard work,
slipped through my fingers, forever lost in the soil!
A young entrepreneur’s euphoria evaporated into thin air.
My heart painfully shattered beyond repair by the shrapnel
of irremediable loss, anger and bitter disappointment.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Unsayable (7 lines)
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 2nd
© 24th November 2017
Years after WW II ended, shrapnel from exploded bombs
was still to be found in all the area where my grandpa’s
farm was - in the vicinity of Hal Far military aerodrome.
A man used to visit from time to time, with horse and cart,
buying anything made of metal; we called him the metal man.
You know her
You feel she mingles in your reason in rhythm
Not with your possible pain of angina in arrhythmia
She is a calm serenity prayer
that knows your tear and that needs to run down on your smile lines
she is a kitchen cookie baking sheet
tracing paper cyan heed
never a plotter, never a san Juan never a San Francisco
But she is there too, with things on the verge of unsayable , she is there, too!
not to announce i am possible
but to possibly remind
even an ounce meant!
Rockefeller center and Rockford too
hit hard rock bottom with your pain
with all her pensive boon!
the 'MOTHER'S DAY' Poetry Contest entry
In the interview board of the portfolio
The question asked,
How so? Is it not fornication?
The ripley's reply was negative.
“As you shifted the family tree into a money plant
This is basically a spine inclination in influencing.
The shadow and the light. And the gray in daylight.
The intrepid tree shall learn to grow there. There.”
The question paper was asking again. “P.O Box?”
The mustang speed in the reply came, “ Digital, greetings?”
“You tell me, at all. Since it is all about you. Is it not?”
Pondarance.
Stress or,
May or,
Say or,
Vit D Organic!
Lines. Line breaks. Different strokes. Different brushes.
To spell oracle these days you need simply three.
Wind catcher sounds
“P-reach”, Saucer and UFO!
In the clinic of cold conclusions,
steel speaks, sterile and certain,
microscopes measure mysteries
until wonder wears a white coat.
Yet in the shrine of silent supplication,
knees negotiate with the night,
candles carve courage from darkness,
and breath becomes belief.
Between data and divinity
dances a delicate doubt
numbers naming nature,
while spirit sings the unsayable.
The atom splits with surgical precision,
a prophet of proof and particles,
but thunder still trembles like Sinai,
echoing ancient awe in modern ears.
Satellites circle the skeptical sky,
charting the choreography of stars,
yet shepherds still search the heavens,
reading revelation in radiant constellations.
In glass towers of technology,
time ticks to the tune of theories,
algorithms argue against altar calls,
and circuits compete with psalms.
Still, in villages veiled with memory,
drums declare the divine in dust,
ancestors answer in rustling winds,
and tradition threads truth through time.
They, beseech love as a token of joy, love is nowhere to be called in
only to bid farewell to joy, left behind, a hymn
such is the glossy glaze of a subtle worldly longing , a fading heartsong to lull
oblivion and them, an array of whim, newly reborn, blossoming recklessly, vagabond a feel,
And so is the love, sleep deprived a croon, a yearning eddy , a sandstorm kill
a chill hideout in zeal
And the let down show
And the no brainer love, a sow
a love losing all and all
in grievance and then the majestic fall
my love let us overcome, since the night is done, the dream was drawn
to an end
why the churn, even though a show, to steel the unsayable lexical
sleepy and bizarre adventures of an ensuing moonlight sonata
after a prodigal setting in mist and fog
my love, let us be mourners in good faith, humbling.
a saga of love, unspoken, is ending within, whence a kismet wills on.
now many are still a sense in smiling and a feeling In many more
to be born for a tossed and turned, a smile and a longing heartache
with brimming eyes, salty tears
trickling down with an usher, downpour
“Bless the life, God
Our lives, our living
Our property and children
Turn them into tranquility of our eyes
Amen.”
I was listening to his voice
There was something, some emotions
To the fullest, when he speaks like that.
From the window, I could sense the outside world
Life is still on, although the hour is late , so late now.
The mystic night was yet unfolding in layers of emotions
And we were longing for a life, loved and peaceful and normal.
What are you thinking? A voice asked, softly and politely, a gentle voice
What was I thinking? I was not sure about that. I was never sure about that.
A mysterious night could leave a lot of mysteries unsolved, untouched with her.
I was at the doorstep of that unsayable verse, and the rest remained a silence.
Unsayable my love for you, I have to hold it in
Were I to say the words out loud, then that would be a sin
You belong to another, and you never can be mine
Even though you are so perfect and most certainly divine
Unsayable the thoughts I think, unsayable the dreams
Where you and I are well immersed in passion's flowing streams
Unsayable it will remain, though in my mind we speak
I'll bear this love inside my heart until I'm old and weak.
And then if you are still around, and if you're finally free
Unsayable will find a voice and speak for you and me.
Inspired by Nette's Contest Theme
I carry music folded in my chest
Like winged light sleeping in a sheltered place,
A single sound can wake a thousand stars
And every silence holds a special place.
I speak in numbers—clean and luminous—
Where sums fall into order like the tide,
The calm, exact obedience of truth
That never falters, never shifts aside.
I keep the past as if it were still warm,
Each hour preserved like petals pressed in glass;
No moment truly dies within my mind,
The way it does for those who let things pass.
And some are born with language in the blood,
I hear the ache behind the spoken word,
I shape the unsayable into breath,
And give a voice to all we never heard.
The world calls this my miracle of the mind,
Yet little knows the cost of seeing so—
To feel too much, to carry too much light,
To stand where deeper currents always flow.
I do not seek the praise of crowded rooms,
My gift unfolds in solitude and flame;
The work itself becomes a quiet prayer,
The truth I serve forgetting about fame.
Through music’s fire, through memory’s long ache,
Through measured stars of mathematics spun,
Through poetry that binds my broken speech,
My scattered fragments gather into one.
And what I give is not just skill or proof,
But ways of seeing I had never known—
I widen what it means to be alive,
And make the human condition my own.