How do I say everything I wish to say
When I back so far away
Easier to text Easier to be alone
Lack luster life
Every day a battle to see through all the voices
The screams the sudden darkness
On the tip of my tongue can't seem to make sense of it all
On paper so much confidence so much charisma
A pen and paper I can say it all
Can take it to the limit Speak with so much clarity
But in your presence a fog of shaded distorted what ifs
So scared to show you what is inside
What your beauty does for me
How you reach out to me without judgement
How a peace over takes me with just a thought of you
It's tormented realization that I have so much fear
That these scars have determined my journey
And still steer my direction
It's the thoughts when I am alone that free the demons of my existence.
The silent killer the useless lies I play over and over
It's wondering if this is as good as it gets
Is this my destiny solitary confinement for what this life has become for me by my undoing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first, it was the small things~
a button loose on his coat,
the way the kettle whistled
but no one came.
Then the clock stopped,
not abruptly, but slow,
as if time itself had grown tired
of counting.
The wallpaper remembered
patterns they’d long forgotten,
peeling itself back
to reveal older bruises~
yellowed glue, pencil marks
where someone once measured
a child against the doorframe.
One evening, the sofa exhaled,
sagging into the shape of absence.
The windows fogged with breath
that wasn’t theirs.
And when the last light bulb dimmed,
they didn’t replace it.
They sat in the thickening dark,
listening to the house
unbuild itself around them.
*You may read the companion memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/ill_be_seeing_you_13598
The Silken Undoing of Fair Things
All beauty holds by Time’s unsteady lease,
Soft vows are kissed, then quietly led away;
The bloom must fade, the borrowed warmth must cease,
Still smiling as the knife is sheathed in silked delay.
To step back through time
to change what happened for good
is to risk yourself—
the wound you long to unmake
is the scar that forged our fate
One thread pulled apart
unravels what you can't see—
unpredictably
reshapes the tapestry threads
woven by intervention
Who dares choose which grief
was needless, or wrongly borne
in egg unscrambled—
erase one hurtful moment
unmakes strength in resilience
When you do return
to the new now you have made
the past is erased—
But your memories retain
the world that once held your past
Stand in the present
the only way time allows—
see what might have been
as way paving the future
teaching us not to turn back
I want to be an artist.
I want to create a piece if be proud of for the rest of my life.
Id peel back the skin, cutting the fat away until it was the perfect size.
then id mold it - shape it until it was just right.
Pulling muscles like clay, threading through blood vessels and veins like string, digging through the mess of myself and scraping away every inch until i loved what i saw.
every flaw,
carved out of my body until all the was left was absolute perfection
when im finished, id stitch the skin back over in a beautiful mess, - tight, trembling
and standing in the mirror, ill know -
i made the greatest art piece id ever see
they say, an artist greatest masterpiece is themselves.
Tombs begin to bloom like raw, bloodless wounds.
Tomes are written with truths of her dead moon’s
tones. A keening lunacy keeps the dirges alive, while
bones rise out of repose. A degloved hand on the dial
hones into a night rainbow's radio, she runs on solar,
hopes for the rhythm to wrench free from her toller—
copes with the captivity of being bodiless hands. Twilight
comes to chance escape—open palms toward birthright.
Coves burst into flame; a hungry fire wants holier water.
Coven circles, recovers the skinless limbs of their daughter.
Woven like song, sirens' balm to restore coats of missing arms,
women are spells read correctly, using words as our alarms,
woken to language, resurrecting ancient pairs of sacred charms.
So, he came and dazzled you with his plume
And you simply succumbed to his grooming.
Pregnant, he’s gone, what have you got to do?
This may very well be your undoing.
5th Place
Bird-of-Paradise Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Suzette Richards
I will try and hide the
mushroom cloud and restore
the skinless bodies, I will
un-char the charred, reassemble
the dead children, I will then
un-vitrify the rocks and the sand and
rebuild cities and cafes and hope;
undoing your atrocities is high
on my list, just
leave me enough milk
for morning
My Own Undoing
Coursing through an unknown milky way ???. Well, that's my fate. Were we not born to succeed?
This and many more should be answered, blatantly, if not unequivocally.
I am me, and you, should be you.
How far do we go to establish a point of un-duress? We should be cunning, as well as kind with our "Knowing" (Knowledge).
So let's be fortunate in radically Undoing our own
Thank you.
By Asangalisah Akantere Isaiah
He unlooped the strings
with some urgency
without breaking
the accord
he took the bow
turned her around
placing one hand
on her silky curve
and the other
like cupid scored
pierced her heart
played her
like a cello burning
he held her to him fast
his eyes like arrows
without a word
between them
never spoke
these little deaths
became the music
that set them alight
never apart
Candide Diderot. ‘24
tombeaux.
tombeau de Vivaldi.
Undoing yesterday,
Taking off its sheets,
Though it’s more than meets the eye,
I'll keep faith and still try.
Singing songs of redemption,
Letting yesterday take flight,
Chasing away the gloom from my room,
Anticipating the meadow to bloom.
Out of yesterday’s hold,
Finding a path to sunshine,
The corrigible stands at varying distances,
But not in all instances.
Away from the midnights of yesterday,
Reaching for today’s hope,
Even though tomorrow I don’t know,
I’ll bask in today’s glow.
(untitled blockprint block, 2023)
Undoing The Ties That Bind
Moments tasted within
the gaps
between moments
undo the ties that bind.
Bit by bit we settle and rest
setting off little avalanches
of undoing
unraveling the links
of a mind-chain
it has taken an eternity to forge.
(first published in my 6th book of poem, OUT OF TIME OUT OF MIND, 2022)
tropical forests,
ten areas burn daily
sans replanted trees ...
shivering dewdrops
yearn for warmth
naïve innocence
--------------------------
Contest: Magicicada 13
Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy
20th June, 2018
A thirst for moon,
on the mute, speechless, dark night.
Why now ?
Is this not the right to feel guilt and regret ?
When the snow was falling ?
Who is going to ask the questions ?
From the bloodthirsty bed
where the moon slept last night ?
Slowly the alienation melts.
You wanted to lead a normal life.
Sometimes a poem wakes?
in the body.
Was it a déjà vu ?
Bird-snow ?
Satish Verma
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.