From the dark velvet of night
To the million shards of glass
Diamonds giving uncountable light
Hanging in a universe made of brass
Down to the silhouette of the coast
Listening to the sound of the ocean roar
The lone figure of a woman, lost
Standing in awe, longing for more
The wet sand pulls at her frozen feet
As the foam washes over the dark
In her heart she feels an agony of defeat
So many words have left an ugly mark
She opens her hands to feel the water
Longing for it to wash away the pain
Trying to remember, she is the King’s daughter
Feeling about her ankles the claws of a chain
As the salty waves crash
A voice can be heard
The vision is seen in a flash
No more is her memory blurred
The irons break and release their hold
The shadows depart from her mind,
Stepping out of the dark and into the gold
Of the truth she was longing to find.
I gazed at the warmth
in your smile,
careful not to meet your eyes,
stepping back just enough
to stay in control.
Sitting on the balcony,
waiting to watch
your first sip of coffee,
where sunlight touched your skin,
and I lost my balance quietly.
I could choose to touch,
embrace,
even choose to love you.
I didn't.
This fleeting moment
is too fragile
to endure a touch.
Longing to become
two statues mirroring each other,
hung from a cathedral,
resisting time.
Thousands would cross between us,
yet I would remain fixed on you.
Witnessing uncountable battles
over the centuries,
gazing at the fractures in you.
Beneath loud voices in prayer,
and still I would find
your silence.
When our time comes,
even reduced to dust,
we would resist.
Paralyzed in memory,
frozen in pictures made of us,
carried through stories
that will age before us.
In that stillness,
I would hold nothing of the world.
A simple move
would be impossible.
Still—
I would have you.
Now—
I realize
I was yours too.
How many lives may a single heart keep,
Before it grows weary of beating so wide?
One for the child who wandered in awe,
One for the lover who opened his eyes.
One for the dreamer who walked among stars,
Soft with the music the night-winds bring;
One for the mourner who knelt in the silence
Learning the weight of a sorrowed thing.
One for the soul that rose in the morning
Bright as the dew on a tremulous field;
One for the pilgrim who faltered at twilight
Asking what mercy the dark might yield.
Yet the heart is a house with uncountable rooms,
Each with a lamp and a different door—
Lives may gather like leaves in autumn,
Still there is space for one life not taken.
So ask not when the measure is taken,
Nor when the spirit has wandered too far;
For one life lived with a thousand awakenings,
Is only the echo of what we all are.
Travel inward, walking in tight
corridors of a rundown maze.
Suffocating within these bricks,
built by sweat and tears.
Obfuscated by the mist that,
blinds, and smells rosemary.
Turns creating uncountable corners,
leaving space for beings to breathe.
Beings that watch — and stalk.
The cracks on the walls can seduce
with outward's gaze, but there is no escape.
Any window or ledges — and the thought
of walking back to face them shivers my soul.
These walls built me too, each drop
of sweat, like metal for hardening.
Each drop of tear, like light for clarity.
Lost, but I keep moving.
Not chained, just surrounded.
I was never alone, like a kid
that leaves crumbles in the forest.
I was already in pieces, pieces of my own spirit.
They were me.
They told me:
“Pierce the pain. Look beyond.”
I did not.
I cannot will —
I can only long.
Imust not become nothing.
I remain unfinished.
8. Men who find solace in nature and men who never laid down with her
Feel the world differently. They yield or take.
9. The birds are talking. Put your phone down.
10. When e. e. Cummings wrote “…ask me the name of the moon in the man,” he meant, oh, so many things. “…ask me the name of the mountain in the man.”
11. Abandoned: A musky Den. The tractor came, mice scurried, and fox fled or went after them.
12. What does one say to a tree?
13. The creek is uncountable and so are the days, here in the high meadows.
14. Yes, cloud bursting is a sport. Hawks do it all the time.
Purest nectar.
Sweetest wine.
Finest Gold.
Brightest silver.
Solid like a rock.
Unmoved like a mountain.
Resilient like the wind.
Unchanged by the times.
Uncountable like the dust of the earth.
Unmeasured like the oceans.
Most passionate.
Most sincere.
Rear gem.
Heavenly treasured.
Older than time.
Yet younger than a child.
Hotter than the sun.
Yet as calm as the moon.
Rough as coal.
Brighter than diamond.
A predator.
Yet a prey.
The slain yet the hero.
The guardee yet the guardian.
Betrayed not denied (heritage)
Died, but lives.
Never before a being so steadfast.
Never before a being so kind.
Thus, "The Love Of God For Man."
Richness of mind
the money no matter
A visual feast
uncountable wealth
Conceptual bullion
perceptual bitcoin
Intuitive treasure
— a fortune indwelt
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
Africa,
The undiluted genealogy of humanity and humility
The undisputed abode of nature
Surrounded by wild bushes, forests, winding rivers,
Uncountable mountains, endless valleys, sacred hills
And unasailable caves
The breeding ground for crocodiles, Gorilla's, Lions, Buffalo's
And unquantifiable exotic animals
The domicile of moonlight tales;
Tales laced with valor and splendor
Africa,
Where the stars and the moon defiantly compete
To outshine, and out manoeuver each other
And Sunshine and rain are a constant menace
The home of Kings and Queen's
Where the resonance of unquenchable laughter
Mimics the reverberating clap of thunder
Drowning and submerging the echoes of war and famine
Like a sinking submarine.
Robert Cabot Sherman, Jr. was an All-American boy.
To his parents, Robert Cabot Sr. and Juanita, he was their great joy.
Gifted with acting skills and a great voice, his career went far.
In no time at all, California's native son became a star.
On television in "Here Come the Brides", he played "Jeremy"
This role cemented his tremendous popularity.
His first recording of "Little Woman" soared up the charts.
Bobby won uncountable teenage girls' hearts.
His burgeoning popularity was totally unquestionable.
Other hits that followed made him a big teen idol.
With all the attention he was getting, there was some strife.
Bobby decided to back away to a quieter life.
Yes, Bobby certainly accomplished much in his day.
At the age of eighty-one, he silently passed away.
Bobby Sherman
(1943-2025)
I thank Wikipedia,org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
All is burning, cinders and ash
flakes float in black rain,
falling on a ground
of clinkers and flinders.
The hand of ruin traces sigils
of chaos and strife
on broken city walls,
within which rats awaken
They are the true rulers of destruction,
living cloaked with shadows,
in any crevice or crack,
hunting bones and burnt flesh.
Their rivals, jet-black birds,
massing on heights above
in their murders
and raucous unkindness'.
After Ragnarök, the still silence
is broken by the raspy flutter
of a million wings,
echoed chittering of uncountable hordes.
What life is left
does not weep.
This is Gods own land.. Once sais a man, when I was young
Much life was to come.' I've heard it more on different
Shores.
In songs and prose.' Yet at the close, the deciding note I
Let t this reality float.. God made it all,..And thats His call
Universes grand in uncountable span.' Yet we give leave?
And state so clear (Gods land is here?) How preposterous
Grand, are the statements of fallible man.)
uncountable stars
sit so scented on neem tree -
bitter white flowers
When I cry, he never judges
I hurt him, he ain't hold grudges
A keen listener he is
Uncountable secrets he keeps
He knows my scars, cuts and bleeds.
No matter how extreme my day is, happy or sad
I have him everytime I need, I'm glad
No matter how much anger I vent out
I'm being held, everytime I stress out
Ohhh... I would give him my all
But he ain't a real person
He is just the WALL...
I'm the phoenix
And you're the sun
Even i turn into ashes
I'll reborn from the ashes
To love you again
To fly towards you again
Even I know i can't get you
Even I know you can't love me back
Even i know I can't touch you
Even I know we can't be together
Even i know it's an incomplete love story
But still i love you the way
I used to be......
Without any hesitation
Without any expectations
Even I can't touch you
I can see you....
Even you can't love me back
I can give my love to you.....
Just seeing you is enough for me
To live my life.....
If there is another life
I'll be there to love you again...
As i used to be,
Without any expectations,
But if we born again,
I expect we can love each other,
Like the way i used to love you.........
My love for you is beyond your expectations,
My love for you is deepest as sea,
My love for you is wide as sky,
My love for you is uncountable as stars,
But i know,
This is the love that can't be mine........
My poem is my veins
Ohh people ohh people
Uncountable myriad star's
Count the days & nights
Death of notes Friends alive
Making alphabets of each name
Work and duty both are beauty
Gems and stone both are mine
Love or crush both kiss the sky
Proposals and marriage are like horizon
All the poet's writing to the nature I like them
Like a friend.
Believe me is this is a world
No,
Because,
Blood believe My O+
My poem is in my veins
Make me empty and give me death
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.