Unearths Poems

Prism

My mind is a prism.
Ridges of plexiglass.
Angles with multiple hues varying on where the light hits.
Some angles have no light hitting them at all.
But it doesn’t mean that those are less appealing.
Just more challenging to interpret.
We often overlook the shadows in our mind.
Giving them no credit for leading us to the transformative colors on the other side.
It is within life’s deepest complexities that the soul unearths its rarest treasures.
So why wait to unearth yours?

Moonbeams

bright night's kiss unearths thirsts for trysts 
unpractised lips like babbling tides test shores

SALLY THE RECYCLER

In local park you’ll see her foraging.
In every litter bin she digs deep down
To see what precious prize there hides away.
With ginger overcoat and auburn hair
She is the cunning urban fox at work,
Scattering and leaving rubbish here and there. 
She has her large shopping trolley in tow
To collect and transport her daily takings. 

All of that nasty plastic she rejects
And filthy dog pooh bags she flings afar.
But all those drinks cans have real value
As she can sell them for some ready cash.
Part eaten pizzas pieces she unearths
And provide her with a welcome working snack.

Recycling other’s trash is Sally’s game.
And lots of free pickings she takes each day.
It’s how she lives; she feels no shame.
In local park you’ll see her foraging.

SILENCE OF THE SOUL

As the sun surrenders to the moon
The world falls asleep too soon  
And the mind whispers secrets to the soul  
In silence, the soul begins its search.

First, it unearths the actions you regret
Moments declined, decisions accepted 
It delves deep into your intentions
Those laid out, and those yet to take form.

In silence, the soul seeks lost opportunities
The failures born of choices mad 
Chances offered, but left not taken
A silent reckoning in the quiet of night.

The soul never truly sleeps
It hunts for answers to the heart’s desires 
Questions burn, yet go unanswered 
All within the stillness of the soul’s silence.

The Great Bang

how long have we laid here
side by side
for an epoch's breath 
of starlight in a roving universe
enchanted moments 
see a night of a million years
until day slowly unearths us
from our play

but clinking and scuffing
distant voices loudening
muffled soon unmuffling
to a crisp and a brightness
the yellow hurts our eyes
how dare they disturb us

you are carefully wrapped
and put into a box
loaded and driven away
they are still digging around me
with their small shiny blades
and tickly brushes

I thought we'd be together always
we were not far from eternity
we had made friends with forever
I can still feel your scales beside me
I wonder how the other dinosaurs fared
in The Great Bang

Strong Winds From the North

Small birds fall from their songs.
Sticks fly up invisible chimneys.

A strong wind unearths 
the stringy and unlatched,
in the ruptured earth, makeshift mouths
gawp and gape.

Whoever has a quiet lamp,
takes shelter from the helter-skelter,
for the graveyard owls are loose,
their feathers are flared and fly
above the clouting forest
as it whips back and forth.
A north wind remodels 
a cringing landscape.

We were warned,
the sky was read and foretold.
A pretty girl spoke ugly words
but we are distracted by cute.

Then of a sudden the sky erupted,
fell apart, while we were changing channels
to find a place of sunny smiles.

Bombs Away

BOMBS AWAY
"Holy crap, that's one fair turd offloaded Hermann, you must be relieved"

Indiana Shaw . . . ; )

"Exeter unearths an unexploded 1.000 kg World War II Hermann bomb" . . .

Camera

Impressions once taken-in
by eye and mind
cannot compete with an image
captured in, but now
beyond any time.

Pictures of friends and lovers
show death and life in the same face -
a reveled chimera.
The camera unearths
what then laid buried
within a latch-hook of vision.
The black arts are in the light,
the worm in the apple.

The reverse of the mirror
peels away masks, burns the negative,
edits and exposes what we did not see
through the peep-hole of a moment.

Without the worm,
without that shuttering witness
there would be no point 
in looking through a light box
at all.

English School

 Greyhound but a vague puzzle piece
Included in this English School.
The cynophilist unearths fur
On the edge of the frame, the hunt
For the breed, the breadth of the pet.

Lace shawl nets cornucopia —
The lady’s pink, white, red petals.
The anthophile’s bountiful vase.
Roses on table, floor, in hand,
Bud’s obscure in her brunette hair.

Moon brightness of the centerfold.
The poet details full length gown,
Square neckline, sash about her waist,
The opalescent pointy shoes,
Her brows, pert lips and curly locks.

The backdrop assimilates to floor.
Blossoming crystal vase sparkles.
Felicity of bride in June.
An English garden brought inside.
Greyhound in artist’s servitude. 

9/24/2020
Poem based on English School
Portrait of a woman and her greyhound

Himalayan Monal

Imagine me the creature in broad daylight 
with green metallic crest
as I flaunt a copper plumage wild and free
whilst feathering my nest
native of the Himalayan range I scale
the sun drenched mountain peaks
the zoom and swoop spirit I encapsulate 
when skimming gold vein creaks

I dwell on red oak conifers or alpine 
meads bound by rock-strewn ware
pale blue eye patch forager whose curved bill dig
unearths a snow crust fare
coruscating migrant over altitudes
whose bone chill turf I fly
rooster among canopies I hatch my brood 
with poignant shrubland cry.


I am a Bird - Personification
Tania Kitchin   Sponsor 
Date submitted  26th July 2020

Strong Winds From the North

A thrown sky pushes and scatters.
Small birds fall from their songs.
Sticks fly up invisible chimneys.

A strong wind has come from the north,
it unearths the stringy and un-mulched.
Fusty heaps scud, makeshift mouths gawp.

Whoever has a quiet lamp,
Let them take shelter 
from the helter-skelter,
for the graveyard owls are loose,
their feathers ruffled
they fly as loud 
as the clouting forest.

Rendered Dark

A terrible tragedy occurs,
We do not move to handle it,
Yet we wallow in our own self pity,
And allow ourselves to enter the maze
The labyrinth has a centre that stuns and confuses
Why enter the furthest distance from the exit

Rejuvenated in Summer and cowering away in winter,
Yet it is summer elsewhere
We do not have mercy for ourselves, 
The indistinguishable difference between humanity and pity
Emulating a casing disproving of truly digging deeper
Angry and hating what we might find

You see a pyramid, made by Gods, worshiped by ancestors
Casual to us until we hear of locks
Blacksmiths forge the key
And produce it available to the common rat
Plaguing the details of an event unbeknownst to us
Tangentially spewing albeit still connected to the central circle

Whatever point you leave you come from the same 
How can you describe the catch
22 answers are not enough to explain the downtrodden expression of a lonely man 
Without a dog perhaps dead, the sadness drives him to rage
Which unearths and unholy truth
Everyone has a beast and all it takes is a little nudge

A Shovel Unearths

A brutal murder in portentous chill
A helpless life, under butcher's will
An ominous spade digs soil in till.
Buried in dark secret, an aghast kill.

Corpse stenched, languished still. 
The cops nab smite, in strokes of grill..
Shoveled out of dirt, brown bags fill.
The body unearthed, with shovel skill.

Scraping in shudders, foreboded ill.
A chasm of bare bones, lie dead still
Exhumed out promises, none to fulfill.
Playing labyrinth of hell, media score bill.

Dreams of trepid soul, to ash burn until.
Shovel and rake, witness of blood spill
Underneath the field..beside a distant hill
A lonesome weeps, grave in teared frill.

Winter in cold-blood, killed spring of daffodil.




3rd March 2019
SCRAPING OF SHOVELS CONTEST
Sponsor John Lawless

Three Breaths

There was a time the world was mine
world of heroes battles won
windowpane mother’s smile
cardboard sled on downhill slide

February wept with me a friend
cuddly furry blue eyed cat
mother said take three breaths
smile and call your friends

Grandma loved I lost at ten
my best friend to an accident
it left a scar within my chest
memory unearths covers back

If I lose what I have left
I'll let my sorrow out in breaths
with mother's words reminisce dad's
God sees and provides he said.

Third Place: James Edward Lee- I Reminisce I Miss-4/13/21

The Invisible Mount of Olives

The sound of grip dripping
From a blank embankment
Crowds a single finger
Under craggy terrain.

The embrace emits steam
The color of Jasper
The smell of Jasmine
Aimlessly floating for drift.

As the rust settles cliff side
Blame begins...
Judgement unearths the first stone.

A soiled hand and phalanges
Point at choice questioning sin
asking, "Who is without sin?"
Blame ceases to give a voice.

Meaning is pushed toward place
Silence chooses to change face
causing a shift of power
from the finger to the hand
and the Hand enfolds the noise
isolating blame from sin
and sin from free will and blame.

Blame becomes unique judgement
Sin become immediate
Free will chooses to have choice
And meaning eludes reason.

The Hand of God Touched Your Thought
Thought proves knowing right and wrong.

Some judge sin as a free will
because others are blinded
by the noise of choice and end.

Meaning drifts us inside us 
Can we be without sin?

• Short Unearths Poems
• Famous Unearths Poems
• Best Unearths Poems
• Read Unearths Poems
• Long Unearths Poems
• Unearths Quotes