Unattained Poems

Colors

It is what you see,
exposure to the light,
they can rush by you, 
causing the feeling of flight,
petals that can't be painted,
palets of truth that are unattained,
captured only by the eyes,
secrets exposed if you trained,
they can warm you at night,
even cool you in the day,
the feelings they can give,
from trembling to wanting to play,
as wide as the spectrum known,
some colors hid from sight,
it is what you see,
Exposure to the light.

Galactic Force

Beyond the skyline, I watch an expanse
    outside this earthly  realm…
torches of  balls glitter in seamless motion,
 orange streaks rolling in random numbers,
    circling ' round their territory
like crystal fibrils wheeling, darting,
   perhaps prancing…

Yet in relays, heavenly bodies afar
do not collide with  one another
 each of them holding an alchemy where 
millions are unnamed, undefined, unattained.

Pray tell, of what purpose do they rule
   through a mystery, perceived  by
human theories, not by an imprimatur
 of a Source's universal law?

Prophets say it will take light years
to touch their faces and claim 
 residence within  this galactic space
 ... but for now, mark it
as a restricted passageway.

Herald of Eternity

Poetic verses manifest,
for there is beauty unattained.

We yearn for distant, lofty skies;
for floating, contemplative clouds,
and souls that overflow the eyes.

Combustive, nameless hankerings
revitalize our sluggish hearts,
prolonging our linguistic cruise.

Forever, we anticipate
precise vocabulary hues.

All we possess is poetry
to hold on to our heavenly 
infatuation with the world,
for poetry has always been
the herald of eternity.

Lamb Off the Altar

The birthmark of Satan
a spherical star
Old curse in the distance
new devils at war  

His prophecy stolen
the markings of Cain
Madonna the virgin
rebirth unattained 

Melody of darkness 
blasphemies hymn
The garden left burning
original sin

Tomorrow in mourning
this moment on fire 
The lamb off the altar
—redemption expired

(Dreamsleep: May, 2023)

Done

When youth was ripe and strong
And accomplishment was infantile
Future was but an un-walked pathway
Stretching the distance to today.

Events and persons still unknown
Would fill history yet to be made
Written in tears of joy and tragedy
Propelled by footsteps seeking the undiscovered.

Steep slopes of the unattained
Warm valleys of the accomplished
Appeared on the pages of Life
As Youth was absorbed by maturity.

Fine-tuning of accumulated lessons
Tempered and became wisdom
Prejudices revealed their baselessness
The realization of wasted time displayed its' folly.

Sunset is neigh
Legacies become epitaphs
Needs become non-existent.
Age introduces … eternity.

Broken Bridges An Ekphrasis Tribute

beside the sea
       running sa
slowly
    flowing
as floods
       released
where
     rivers meet
out
of
reach

waterside
          meets countryside
with
force&grace
             tides high
             weeds&silt
rustic calm
           comes
                 to rest
  

arches once stood
verandered
                wide
now
neglected
              so still
the dream
        as in a vacuum
unattained

where
      farewells&tears
                            abound
out of place
yet
      know before
plain&high
truly laid
             to stand the strain
one might
suppose

          formed
               then stormed
as strength
withdrew
            inspiration
once poured
               for fame&name
leaving
      the
         nearly
             past

Waves In a Puddle

Waliking with aid of cane
           wind mocks my thinning white hair
Unattained is my life long wish
       I pause to see my reflection riddle by waves in a puddle

Oblivion

To see and yet not see, the world around,
As time passes unattained, unadmired, silent.
A ghost in a realm that seemed to confound.
To which dereliction a truth compliant.
Yearning for yearning is a futile dream.
While gathered thoughts grow from worthless gardens.
Tilled by false promises of self-esteem.
Left with lies of invisible pardons.
To die in a place where life is barren,
And no one understands the crying voice.
From rags to bones a cold lifeless carrion
Died alone to perish, a beggar's choice.

To be an old story that was unheard.
Those around never heard a single word.

contest Oblivion
12/9/15

Your Plant In My Garden

Suddenly the words came at last
'Would you lend me your garden this season?' 
Your face lit up with surprise
'I want no seeds on them but your plant will I water' 

Oh what a terrible answer 
At such perfect hour?
Curiosity may kill a cat
But the truth its heart had seeked
I bet it did find 

A castle filled with dreams unattained
You grab the water kettle 
And head straight for my garden

Water in hand, 
Plant in another,
Minds racing 
With selective myopia
I try to stop you from stepping on it
And yet I stopped
For all I want is to have you water the plant in my garden

Attain

As the yellow sun climbs in the sky
Reaching heights unattained by I 
Inspiring to attain  
A better person before I die
Let the worse character traits fly
Let good in me remain

Rime Couee'  sort of

Carve Us Deeper In the Stone

A graveyard stands upon the hill;
its tombstones smoothed beneath the tide
of nature's forces beating hard;
I pass and hear the buried cry.
"Reverse the trend, relentless grown,
that would erase our names for aye;
for who grants thought to silent stones
and corpses claimed in nameless graves?
We yet would speak, if you inquire,
if you draw near with ear and heart .
We speak of dreams left unfulfilled;
we sing our song which but in part
was heard before our souls were claimed.
Oh, who will hear what we would tell
with our last link with life consumed,
when dust with dust is mingled well?
We have a vision unattained
by you who still are flesh and bone;
if you our secrets wish to shard,
dare carve us deeper in the stone."

©Faye Lanham Gibson, 1987


This poem was inspired by a very old cemetery behind my home.
The tombstones were worn so badly that the names could hardly
be discerned.

Beseeching the Whitelace Ghost

( A sequel to my poem “The Lady of Whitelace Castle” )


Are ye, my lady, an apparition
or perchance a fair servant frail?
The ruddiness of pinks 
touching neither your cheeks
as you wander about so pale

My lips turn blue from winter’s cold
under this arch of elm sentinels
growing quickly despondent 
not knowing the truth
of your present presence tale

Speak, please now, that I may dispel
ghost sagas of Whitelace myths…
Be ye her Mistress 
in this ghostly vision
or the fair servant once lost in the mist? 

Some hold the truth in the latter
but for me the true facts do matter
as I am the one
that bid Mistress farewell
when her hand was promised another

It’s been bantered about for years
that you seek true love unattained
I’m wondering now
if our forbidden vows
is that love that you search for in vain

I beg that ye now speak your story
tossing my sanity here out as witness
for in health’s decline
my heart also seeks 
the lost love of the Castle’s Mistress

I stand here now in this snow drift
shivering skin on now brittle bones
I could surely die
A satisfied man
If my joining your spirit would atone  

© 2014 Debra Squyres 01/30

The Lady of Whitelace Castle

Into the inky darkened elegance 
of moon’s hushed serenade
Within the clove of stately elms 
her presence soon promenades;

The Lady of Whitelace Castle
dressed in a grand and stately manner
shimmers about through frosty limbs
causing many to flee in terror

She brings with her an afterglow
that blushes the unearthly scene
she remains, to some, a welcomed guest
to others an astonishing dream

This lady in ghost white apparel
drifts about from tree to tree
searching in vain for love unattained
perchance could she find it in thee?
 
© Debra Squyres 2013/12/30

Space

Space:
Unseen,
Unattained,
Unlimited.
The place of wonders,
Of planets, stars, and clouds;
A world of cold and darkness,
Yet in itself it is nothing.
It absorbs everyting sent through it.
We can't understand, so we call it space.

Bloodylust

Bloodylust and tempted into the fire,
Conjuring the moon with a sip of wine
My filth has overwhelmed my nature
and the stench clampers its presence in the air
Wild ravenous, and stalking fast into the dark
Juggling imagination with shadows
Attacking in the raw
Spoiled and rancid but behold its delicacy
To my animal
A rage unattained from a cage
Yet born into the habit of undomesticated
Fleas and saliva bouncing up and down the arch of motion
Graceful like a dance
Pirouetting at the thump my nose caught hint of
I can devour your fear, and digest your tears
I am in lust of the blood you shall leak
A blessed BloodyLust

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