Unpicked Poems

The Goat That Goes Into the Wilderness

This rope that strangled me so mercilessly, 
Frayed ends unpicked now, twisted into twine, 
My Judas noose made into tapestry. 
Make fruit of these dreaded labours of mine. 

I could hang pallidly but now instead, 
I colour this dark world the deepest hues
With emerald, amber, ruby, silken threads, 
Stitched all together with shimmering blues. 

A friend’s betrayal that led to saving grace,
I’ll turn this heartache into something pure. 
My God, take futile bitterness, replace
It for your glory, make it something more. 

But take this cup away from me, I begged, 
For you, He said, I bled to give you living bread.

The Pangolin And Penguin

at a patio table
sat a pangolin and penguin
    pondering

and there they pursued
under a parasol
    perusing

diving with questions
delving for answers

they had a universe
in front of them
    unpicked
    undone

suited and solved
by the pangolin and penguin

Two Lovers

Two lovers stand in shadow,
amidst as yet uncrushed glade
and pink ripened unpicked blooms.
Erect purple poplar trees,
to viewer, half disguise their form,
but stand as witness to intent.
A path yet beaten lay ahead;
the path behind full overgrown;
as arm in arm, amidst springs blooms,
two lovers stand in shadow.

The Shift

The Shift

The shape that simple. 
Not sewn to disguise
the inner person... 
Wise in its design, 
the unmissable adress
complements the mind, 
laid out, informal. 
Desire embroider sight
with hidden shape
and curves not known well... 
Seamless the shift
from closet mind
to knowing it all-
shifts the childlike heart
from unreal to real. 
Rarely left unpicked, 
the cotton - on cloth
of an unshapely mind. 


Aqua Marine:02/12/2024

September Falls

Squirrels are gathering; nuts to bury
Eagerly digging, for warm earth is soft
Painted, a sky in hues that are many
This golden glister is scattered aloft 

Even autumnal, as thin sun rides low
Men strut in T-shirts, ignoring the chill
Beauties all bare what they dare… one last show
Enjoying the looks laid upon them still

Ripened and ready are these orchard fruits
Falling for fear of remaining unpicked
An autumn frost cometh, a winter hint
Leaving some lying like leaves to be kicked

Lovers on sheepskin, a stove that burns wood
Soft music playing: September is good

Phantom Grace

Joy tree form
Hint scented mint
Lies forbidden myth
Waking nightmare youthful grin
Echoes of fate not found
Questing toward towers
Safe escape 
Remote fear of flying
Waking removed from earth
Zoo of fruit unpicked
Light breaking the limits 
Tracing freedom inside a cage
Joyful trees give form to my grin
Grace a phantom of lost terror
Waves eclipse the moons shadow

The Ordinary Heart

The Invisible unpicked the stitches
holding the broken pieces together
like loud music Love spilled like poetry 
from the ordinary heart 






Candide Diderot. ‘24

Tango With a Mango

To tango with a mango;
now that would be sublime;
much sweeter than the bitterness of lime.

With a sticky passion fruit 
I did try to make it merry;
and, once, the innocence of unpicked cherry.

A banana in Havana
I tried, but once beneath the skin
I found it just a little soft, and pale, and thin.

A passion for papaya
gave me all my daily C;
but too much of it did not agree with me.

To moon with a prune
I thought I'd give it a try;
but found that a little wrinkly and dry.

A dapple with an apple?
But taken once a day,
soon become a little tired and gray.

So, I tango with a mango,
I do it all the time;
I tried once with an orange but couldn't make it rhyme.



A Merger With Food Poetry Contest, placed 1st
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg 
Date wrote: 9th May 2022

Hindsight Is Twenty-Twenty

Hindsight Is Twenty-Twenty
Written: by Miracle Man
4/5/2020

Today i explore the pages of dreams that escaped me,
Those that lie within my maze of long spent years.
Not understanding the requirements it took for a harvest,
I’ve left fields full of flowers unpicked.
Today I’m emersed in thoughts about what I should have done,
not on things that came to fruition
And this exercise in futility changes nothing,
because i can’t undo a done.

Heart Like a Rose

Heart As A Rose.

My heart was once like a blooming Fragrant rose
Beautiful unpicked
With delicate 
Soft petals and folds
But very soon
Cruel hearts 
That pretended to care for me
Took my delicate petals away
 One by one
Until all the petals had gone

No longer does my heart bloom
No longer unblemished
No sweet fragrance any more
Wounds run deep
That never heel
And left me sore

Only a the thorns remain
That turn inwards
And cause endless pain
The love I once had for myself
Has turned me bitter
And full of anger and hate
I still l love most people but I trust no one
I pray to God he will heal my wounds
And forgive me before it is much too late

I do forgive although sometimes hard
But It's not easy to forget
I just wish them well
But still I nurse my broken heart
For I'm ripped apart.









Peter Dome©2019.

Regrets Beget Emotional Debt

My regrets lie hidden below the murky surface
of my emotional seascape,
threatening to pull me down,
like wet woollen wet weather gear
drowns a sailor who falls overboard in a storm.

For regrets are arcane debts never to be repaid.
For the done, cannot be unpicked re-done, nor undone,
and getting over it, needs an account transaction,
to balance the debt, with savings from the good times.

I seldom count my regrets, nor mention them in balance sheet.
For many are too painful to bear, even one at a time.
Going back, reliving the prologue, is a bitter aperitif
to the main course of 'What ifs' dished up with 'If Only' sauce.

Winters Cold

Snow falls silently. Each flake a feather
of pristine white fast-merging in flurries
blanketing steep banks of hardy heather
smothering its scent and bushes buries.
Skin of unpicked pears turn hard as leather.
See, an insomniac squirrel scurries
away home to avoid frost-bitten paws
one last gathered acorn gripped in its jaws

A full moon hangs in an ebony sky
Far below snow turns to sparkling ice.
Foxes stay in their dens and no owls fly.
Nothing is threatened in this paradise
even an old starving stag will not die -
unless shot by hunters who sacrifice
beautiful creatures – just names in their game -
for the thrill of the kill or doubtful fame

The rising sun bathes crystal spikes that thaw
in tears descending to each tip and drip
obeying the process of Nature’s law
or carve sculptures of such skilled craftsmanship
that Michelangelo would stare in awe.
Tiring, day yields to winter’s icy grip
and once again as darkness cloaks the land
deep winter cold regains the upper hand.

Just a Day

Just a day
The day is partly overcast, shadows and light
chase each other up and down a hillside,
where I came from nature is hardening
and there is already snow in the air.

Tiny lilac flowers grow under- don`t know their names
( do I look like a botanist)
Only the almond tree is bare of leaves, unpicked leaves
Hang like baubles that have lost their shine.

I take a walk on the road it is cartwheel wide and has fallen 
into disuse, but for generations to come it will be a healed wound
across the landscape.

In front of me, a bird blue and white has fallen
out of the sky; I pick it up- its beak is grey
It blinks and dies gracefully.
I place it on a stone its soul is still in my palm
and gently blow to set it free.
A breeze makes the leaves tremble.

Disheartened

Disheartened  
The Dutch tourists have left
and last year’s cherries 
hang unpicked as do almond nuts 
that are also full of worms, 
and who says the grass isn’t sweet?
The sun is a yellow ring 
on a blind sky, 
disillusioned.
 As a 30 watt bulb in a room 
with faded wallpaper, 
at a rundown hotel 
which calls itself Bellevue; 
last stop before sleeping rough. 
Nothing is more abject
 then an out of season tourist town, 
worried shopkeepers and tarts
even the flowers are grey;
except for a couple of retired seagulls, 
birds have flown to Africa 
and will not return 
before the rain stops falling.

Sleeping Beauty

june sweet
rose scent drifts
over the wall -
beyond, the unpicked dreams
slumber

4/3/2017
For contest April 2017 any form any theme
Sponsored by Brian Strand

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