Ungloved Poems | Examples

The Backlight of Equality

On the day of the Lord the human shall fear,
A terrifying god whom will Christians duly Peer,
The dead shall live again - the Christian tear,
A monopolising Christianity that cannot hear.

With, or without, all people are flatly, truly loved,
Without malice or tub, to jingle coyly ungloved, 
Whatever the decade, decision, rubbed, tugged,
A transcendental god shall ring these beloved.

Talking clouds blown by earth’s graphic might,
Pose for the distant, scathed by a distinct light:
Enemies rise n’ fall as if tugging the dark night,
Offsetting the juggernaut of the ready birthrite.

A thought for people, bound, wet in eye-glare, 
Principles, claims and chains won’t be the fare;
Nothing will work except behaviour and blare,
To suggest an ascent coloured by another wear.

All people are of inherent and fully equal worth,
God dies again for the decliner’s identity of birth,
Inside - not as proactive, with his mobile hearth,
A blacklist deceives those fleeing their childbirth. 

Dominique Webb

The Work Rotter

Spire insight of silence
Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind
Conspire and self-protrude
Mindless matter of maddened hatter
Borne gall of uncongruent bladder
Reign wettened confections'n faux pas 
Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda 
And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter
Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms 
Freshened refreshener and wetted choke 
Chugged and driven doomed deliverance 
Cut of word 'cross and lost'n devious drivings of work
Ticking tenor left fear to render
These haps to fall through ungloved metal and measly meak meal, and 
Coarse feel along rift ridged riverbays
Swept upon eons of words spurred affray
Sully gusts, and worry t'encrust
And collect the lost worker from astray.

Mittens and Gloves

It seems some are smitten
with long-fingered gloves,
while others have love
for warm woolen mittens.

Like puppies and kittens,
cute gifts from above,
you’ll give ‘em a shove
when fingers get bitten.

A gloved finger’s fat,
not very precise.
Ungloved? Bad advice ~
frost bites like a cat!

But a mitten’s a club,
a stump of a hand,
a digit remand,
a prehensile nub.

No, I say what’s finer,
much better than both,
A techno-outgrowth:
thermal silk glove liners!

The gloves can get peeled;
those mittens can too.
Fingers don’t turn blue
with liners as shields.

----------

for the Of What Use Are Gloves Poetry Contest
sponsored by John Lawless
written on 12/19/22

Blind Meridian

Fire burns hottest
that burns below
Centuries rage
heartache’s grow
The coldest cold
blows just above
A gripping blizzard
—wrath ungloved

(Dreamsleep: August, 2021)

Shadow Play

Evening turns to mime -
you emerge from its cameo artistry,
your dark unraveled hair cajoles
in a lamp shaded theater.

Moments clash together.
A denuding madness is ungloved,
a palpable heat mauls.

Long into the cleaving night
unsheathed and reckless,
flesh sings its serpentine songs,
waterfalls plunge into unleashed rapids,
hard ridden gestures
disown all gentle speech.

After the blood blushed tangle,
a listless languor.
We listen to the footloose night
as it slips into velvet slippers,
we ride the tide of a waning moonglow,
our hands shadow play,
mimicking the gossip of bare walls.

A Taste of Xmas

The snow was  drifting    drifting     drifting – white
like pearls of whispers falling on my cheek.
The stars were fairies’ wands. They were so bright
that looking up at them, we did not speak.

We stood outside my house, and soon you’d go.
Pines twined with blinking lights were everywhere
around my yard. We wore no hats, and so
small flakes of snow were glittering our hair.

We laughed at that! Your ungloved hand in mine
was all the warmth I needed in the cold.
You pulled me close. Oh, winter most divine
with my new love. I sensed you growing bold.

Beneath a full moon’s glow – just you and I - 
A taste of Xmas was our kiss goodbye.

Dec. 19, 2020 for Emile Pinet's Winter Poetry Contest
Nov 26, 2021 for "X" Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France

Ungloved

cold hands - I search for the warmth of your heart



 For the Mono-O contest hosted by Brian Strand
 Placed 1st
 
 Chosen POTW 15th November 2020
 
 Posted 12th November 2020

All Meaning Contained

The world is my mentor,
eternity my judge

Each choice confirmation,
the future ungloved

Time no longer master,
to deceive or profane

All life in this moment
—its meaning contained

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Pout Pretzels

Standing alone in a festive crowd,
silent tears falling 
		         to 
			    the 
			         ground
				    amid 
			       the 
		            gaiety  
	      rising  cheerfully  loud

Twisted emotions is a troubling soothe
When out of the corner of your teary pout,
you notice her 
compassionately looking at you

Then she comes your wintry worn way,
and offers a warm and gentle snowflake hello 

Such butter sweet kindness
melts the pain in your pretzel heart

Still, she goes one step above
the Good Samaritan royal standard 
of delivering cherubic wingspan comfort

She taste the salt of your suffering
with her naked fingers
Ungloved ... her bare hand
feels the long cold 
settled in the hope shortened pulses within
She delicately senses that
you’re fragilely hanging on to the joy of living

And she intuitively knows  ...  with a frosted eyelid twinkling,
you’re in desperate need of a lonely holiday saving friend

Someone who will patiently hear the leaven fears,
and help tenderly 
with the cordial unbending 
of a sad, winding path —  
Sorrows fraught with tears over the frozen years

Its Meaning Contained

The world is my mentor,
  eternity my judge

Each choice confirmation,
 the ‘future’ ungloved

Time no longer master,
  to deceive or profane

All life in this moment,
—its meaning contained

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

The Merry Mistress and Her Quill

To arms to arms, she cries this soul carefree
as she advances the words fly from her quill,
with her wit she poses a counter-riposte
lancing ripening spoils so they can spill.

All rancor fell before her bold advance
her laughter lightens his sour temperament.
Ma oui, the Mistress invited him to dance,
"engarde," she winks, then lunges with consent.

Ungloved, they dance across the pearl white page,
each double entendre brings a dampening blow
not circumspect, but with aplomb she stages
a mutual downfall while they were all aglow.

The finer points of nibs and quill, be damned
what matters most was the Mistress got her man. 


Inspired By Giorgio Veneto's Riposte

One's Shadowless Moment

One's Shadowless Moment

That which we embrace
That which we shun
That which we serve

Assimilation

Man's strange bedfellow
Remaining often long in the wings
Allowing shadow-light to become constant
Inviting ghost-like impressions
Enjoin one's timeless opacity of reason

Edification reveals
Experience rejecting idleness
Determined to share
Clover-rich bounty
Free of any fear
Sagacity being void of threat
As predators ignorant
Discover wisdom unconquerable

Sageness
Prepares its ungloved hands
To wave its alert
Ready to allow
Hidden time to luminesce

Discernment
Cautious to act
Knowing empirical reality
Must first pass through
Emotion's unreliability
Patiently pauses

White hot focus holds sway
Peripheral resistance wanes
Fractions
Equations
Formulae satiated
Acceptance invites convergence

Consciousness
Once in asylum
No longer struggling to be
Stands naked at last
Heart and mind fused
Light embodying darkness
Like the ever-forming oneness
Of sunrise comprising sunset
Birth ripening awaited death

Armand

Silver haired sage with a golden tongue
Sixty years of wisdom has been gained
Today's the day his praises are sung

Body and mind have been fully trained
He sees the planet in his own way
Sixty years of wisdom has been gained

Living with purpose able to play
Passion is the special gift he gives
He sees the planet in his own way

He chooses simple in the way he lives
People more important than anything
Passion is the special gift he gives

Happy Birthday together we sing
Everyone has their time to be loved
People more important than anything

Heart that's open a hand ungloved
Silver haired sage with a golden tongue 
Everyone has their time to be loved
Today's the day his praises are sung

Dedicated to my friend Armand Delisle

Ungloved

Being in one place too long,
being in one form to long,
never being able to tolerate a blank page,
or empty air,
for fear of what someone else 
will put in it if you don't

Wanting to feel safe, surrounded by enemies
who call themselves friends
A white knight dreamer in purgatory
edged on an endless field of victims
with hands outstretched.

A stereotypical Madonna
white in a field of gray
A wick less, often witless, foil
of coils of gray matter around things
which matter not at all.

Making acquaintances, 
cloaking them in the garb of friendship 
even while they toss sticks
on the pyres of the all life.

For what after all is a friend...
Who after all can truly know
as each of us confront and are confronted
by our own hells
and hope without much hope 
for the outstretched hand to be ungloved 
and touch the skin of our lives.

My Grandpa

The tractor kept its course, row after row;
I spied your worn, green cap pulled fast and low.
The gulls swept down, their daily meal was laid
And as they rose, their wings shot silver rays.

I walked out to the field, your lunch in hand;
For nature set the time to work the land
And farmer’s hours are not observed in towns.
I waited ‘til you stopped and mounted down.

Your eyes were faded blue and sparkling kind;
You paused and placed one hand on top of mine,
Then hands ungloved, you took the pan of food
And smiled, then said my girl, my girl so good.

We sat beside the tractor, finding shade
And shared the simple lunch my grandma made;
While overhead the gulls swooped in the sky,
We sat in rest and comfort side by side.

Then once again you mounted to your task;
You’d let me ride along, if I’d but ask.
I’d stand behind you, swaying with the land
And prayed to God this moment would not end.

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