Unreadable Poems

Unreadable Traces

Don't call it fever.
Listen
it was a phrase
crystallized in time,
suspended in the air
between us.
Feel how flesh cannot lie
when language
inscribes itself in blood
in a tongue
we never learned to speak.

Your Remembrance

Your Remembrance

A time, just a time, lived to you in his heart, passed age, this love
Age, nothing remained, an empty marble tablet in a cemetery park
Your path walk is late, didn’t you see? Worn, unreadable letters 
On the stone, all the noble sentences were addressed to you, only

But, but someone is waiting for you. In the cemetery, still alone
Here is a stone, not a gravestone or a memorial stone. Just a stone
Invisible this past, hidden by ivy, a protective and friendly friend, love
Ivy, oh Ivy, I feel good under your anxious care, keep me here! Love

Love, past and missed desire. Oh, where is that time? The youth
The youth. The age of youngness. Age of burning love. Dead. Ours
Meeting with the love that kills nature. The human one. Killed love you
Love destroyed, a destroyed loved you. The stone. Radiating to you

Just a black tulip, please. And a whisky
Erma, I don’t need anything
Look at the faded portrait on my flat stone
Pure me with a bottle of whiskey. Famous Grouse

Drop down
A black tulip

Someone loved you
Leave him
Good

Your eyes

The deep ocean eyes,
I know have some secrets inside..
Looks like something nice.
A bunch of memories with love and joy.
I'll tell you ten thousand reasons that you have never known,
I am falling for your eyes.
Drunken with beauty and unreadable lies.
The eyes that have a unique glint when searching for me looks so bright.

Sweet Sin

let’s not get carried away
with my cache of failings 
and unbless’ed idioscyncrasies

the brain mysterious,
untouchable
mazed, unreadable 

the heart lethal, 
more ingenious 
blowing smoke, big guns

bang, bang
love
bang bang, love

I’ll cover your skin
like soft, warm 
cashmere 

kissing the inbetweens

moments of sweet seduction
hypnotised, I’ll take 
your swelling soul in 

bang, bang 
love
I’m a gangsta,

Sweet Sin,
Love
is a libertine



Candide Diderot. ‘24 






Sweet Sin. Love. Libertine.

Self-Published

All the words ever uttered
arise from that one first
petulant cradle song
of 'why'?
A question
reprised and voiced
with infinite variations.

Mysterious ways test us constantly.

A mystery writer
rewards both the hearing the
and the deaf.
That One
provides every insight.

In truth, the book of life
remains unreadable
unless we write it.

With Our Hands

All the words ever uttered
arise from that one first
petulant cradle song
of 'why'?
A 'why'
reprised and voiced
with infinite variations.

Mysterious ways test us constantly.

The One mystery writer however
rewards both the hearing the
and the deaf,
by writing yet more mysteries
with our own hands.

In truth, the book of life
is unreadable
unless we write it.

Cancerland

The usual guide posts have become unreadable, 
Their stony font occluded as in an ancient riddle;
Glyphs without the Greek. 

The road is marked one way, no returning traffic,
Its service islands marked - MRI, CT, CAT - all graphic;
Ultrasound without the music. 

People speak in the language of probabilities,
Yes, no ,do not appear in a lexicon of uncertainties;
Welcome to Cancerland.

Cancerland is an archipelago of tests, and immutable 
Results, its residents adrift in the intervals and vulnerable;
Runners between bases. 

A chemical war zone, Cancerland employs its foremost
Weapons to kill the Invaders, and the Invaded - almost. 
"A village destroyed to save it."

There is no exit visa for Cancerland, always the next test,
For surveillance of recurrence in the never ending contest;
Life lived in the intervals.

Before I Ran Out of Blood

I've been writing countless poems all my life 
With tears as my medium, unpigmented ink
While sulked in the chair where you used to sit on
Words became traces of what was once an unbreakable link.

Done! But the final outputs turned out impalpable,
Unreadable, even my tear-stained eyes started to bleed
Half-crazy, miserable, palpitating over black coffee
How long have I been a prisoner of this cranky bed?

So, I tried to draw blood again from my pale wrists
And wrote my dreams on the coffee-smudged pad
Of you and me dancing under the pale moonlight
T'was but a vague dream, surreal but so sad!

As tears outlined my scrawny cheeks, I wrote this:
"I've been writing poems for you but,
Please read this before I run out of blood..."
My bad! No apologies, I know I've hurt you a lot.

Astronomical Encompassing

Awaiting bristled whisper of ghost jounced leaves
Lain gazing galaxies far from terra's tarpaulin roof 
Exciting diamonds claw for cosy navy ink reprieve 
Hark my insignificance in succinct majesty's truth


Hushed by muchness, my warmth absorbs His plenty
Lapped by luminous lure, iced gateau half eaten moon 
Crumbled among sudden calm of Master's immensity
Awash in melodic acknowledgement, midnight's tune


Flung hungry flouresce of surged fireflies fighting 
Tenure very temporary, attempt to reach realisation 
Spread as cake laden table, sugary array imbibing 
Drunk on the gifts of gateau smile faced dedication 


Heavy sun slumbers elsewhere, heat not apparent 
Reality rests unreadable, dispelled from night haven
Swum in wonder of dark desire, denying my errant
Shot stars instrusive find my heart entirely enslaven





               19th October 2020 


    Written for Contest : Collaboration 
           Sponsored by: Silent One

Feelings

Feelings
By Katie Robertson
Don’t do it, they said.
Do not start writing poetry about your feelings.
I did not listen. I started writing, and once I started,
I could not stop. 
It was like all my feelings covered the page like a 
spider weaving its web in the coldness of a February morning.

Feelings are an odd one, aren’t they?
We love to hate them, hate to lose them
but wish they were not there. Wish that just for a moment 
they would leave us alone. Let us sink into the feeling of emptiness.

Let the cesuras stamp the page. Leaving us with an analysis.
I guess the heart is in fact a mitochondrion. 
It is powerful and brave.
It is everything we will ourselves to be.

Do you understand?
Probably not.
But are you meant to? - No, of course not.
Feelings are meant to be misunderstood,
Unreadable, in undatable messages of the heart.

Which will either be shown for the world to see,
or hidden in between the muscle fibres, until the heart takes 
its last beat.

Halftime

Life's first half 
I was drinking 
from empty paths.
Oftentimes projecting 
my worst on the best
people. 
Then I discovered 
what it meant to be human,
Broken in ways
 legos wouldn't stick.
Found a gift
while digging through 
a chest full of half let in emotions.
Words had their own tears. Faith was written in "why god" questions magnified by unreadable lessons. Ever been lost in your own ink blots? Funny how answers run and pages become the gutters of heaven's captured rain.

Life resumes,
proceeds in slow motion.
A finger snap and
it could all be over.
 We do the best we can with the tools we've been given. Expecting more from people in the first half of life is living out of sync with reality but aligns with all we hope for.
Telling the ones we love most they've been the best part in our highly evolved expectations
feels like a game winning shot. 
To better halves
and sound  understandings.

Woes of Pedagogues

Teachers foregather,
To learn forthcoming battle,
But fuming the day.

Down their heads  in books, 
With unreadable feelings,
Tea brings high spirits.

Checked their performance
was trainer of all of them,
Showed fury at them.

To fondle them lot,
Try to be amiable,
But of no avail.

A Pretty Large Pumpkin

A pretty large pumpkin
Light orange red dome
A greenish hand holding the petiole
Is there a green soul

It's a little obscure
The halloween moon is
just a slim crescent

Roots and branches are a giant spiderweb
holding a spooky silhouette

On that flat stone behind
what is that, a cat?


Paper thin melted gold
laying its magic on harvested field
An illusion of elegy

The palm tree in that corner
suddenly starts swaying

Faint moonlight
makes it mysterious
when a grandfather figure says
the towering tree looks up at the
halloween moon
and is dizzy

Looking at the
half unreadable landscape
an owl seated on a cornice
Flies into the mist of
halloween moon

_________________________
September 28, 2019

Halloween Moon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke

The Bird of Freedom

THE BIRD OF FREEDOM 

THE BIRD OF FREEDOM 

There are those who are so selfish wanting to keep me all to themselves
Forever keeping me hidden; between, their own unreadable bookshelves 

Never really knowing, that they were destroying the very thing they love
Force me from a bird of beauty, to no more than an unwanted rock dove

Come home only to open all the pages, and then read of their own abuse 
To satisfy their own sadden inner insecurities until I no longer have a use

No longer able to fulfill your selfish unrestrained unwanted unbridled lust
Abandoned and forgotten the pages slowly crumbled; they turn into dust

Dustpan and brush in hand, you then cast me to the open carrying winds
Not really knowing it is the bird of freedom that in the very end who wins

Indiana Shaw . . .

Esposa

I did
i've done
i was one
of the first to

backpack
all my life's
savings to put
in my belongings

with out
a care without
needing to even ask
do i need this or even that

my worries
we're care free
unless she asked
where to next then my

texts
became
unreadable
except between

us
and
then i
knew she

was
was the
being that
she was but she

died and i
though i've tried
to find another book
without a cover so to

read
that keeps
me up all night
up even all this time

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