Unrested Poems

a shatter of silence

“A fight of voice exceeds one of fists.”

Bludgeoned, broken, cast away,
Time devours, your name decay,
Ascend beyond the gilded throne,
Unsung, unrested, still overthrown.
 
Happy Women's History Month!

Bookends

Weekends are a little like
Bookends

They stop you falling
Or lolling too far over
So you don't appear untidy or
At least not so
Uncomfortable

They keep you straight
Give you 
Purpose
Show you in your best
Posture

Vertical spine
Keeps you looking fine

Without life's bookends
We just become
Untidy
Unrested and sometimes
Unread

What a shame
When people stay closed

So thank you 
Weekends
For keeping us
Perky and
In good order

Perhaps an enthusiast will
Choose to engage with
Our words of wisdom
Adventure
Poetry

Simply because
We appeared at our best

Gogyohka Mornings

Unrested mornings

Sometimes want to linger

Maybe spend the day

Under the covers

To read a novel about another life

Ronnie Colyer My Hero

Picture day a day that I from self consciousness detested
add to my gap toothed grin wild eyed and unrested

In first grade sitting next to a handsome young man in a suit
Bouncing along on the bus ride motion sick to boot

The stress of the day tipping the scales on me
and his closest pant leg

Humiliated my sister rushed up his pardon to please
Kindly beg

He put his arm around my heaving shoulders
And said
You couldn't help it honey,and against him lay my head

Home permed ,disgruntled ,with stain 
on my dress
This young man's kindness I can attest

Went well above and beyond as did my breakfast

Unlisted

Invested, unrested, the minutes appear shorter everyday
  Infected, unprotected not liking the games they play

 Rated, unmotivated everyone seems to know their part
  Hated, unrelated figured it all out from the start

 Addicted, unlisted in the book of their super-secret code
  Inflicted, unpredicted in the amount of everything we're all owed 

 Elected, unconnected to whom in which he serves
  Selected, unrespected without backbone or nerve




                     bmdavey@07/27/22

Land Ho

Land ho!
If I can just make it to that post….
Bird was exhausted, but distant dot gave him hope

Now if you can make it to the next landing spot
You have it made, an inner voice said
Bird asked the voice to back off
Let me have ten minutes to enjoy this, okay?

Send him an owl, inner voice said, loud enough for him to hear.
Bird flew off, frightened and unrested.

There Were Six of Us Now

my murderer was long gone
I had felt his dissatisfaction upon his departure
Knew I had died too soon to please him
there would be other victims

the snowy months were the best,
soothing me a bit, for when the ground was hard
I felt at piece, knowing he would not be bringing any new victims
They were all young like me, unrested, afraid, at first 

The snow usually settled them down a bit, 
we communicated with each other, 
I felt happy I was no longer alone.
There were six of us now.

Underloved

It's early morning,
And I'm in silence without noise;
Some thoughts wander, I can't reach them,
They were eager to see dawn.

My porch's sagging, rain is present,
You may be somewhere alone.
And raindrops are falling from my ceiling,
Like a hysterical rugged drum.

And here I am,
Unrested and watching;
This sunk heart,
Lonesome in love.

Forsaken Voices

I hear the utter in my mind with comfort and ease,
but will my insanity find that these voices could cease?
There’s the noise and confusion, unrested and weary, 
I may never recover from this or begin to think clearly
Sometimes I still hear fear’s pronunciation in the breeze.

For all the times I remember how I used to be secure
there are just as many hard times I’ve had to endure. 
When all was well for maybe one day I was confident,
that was the day when my mania was so evident. 
I find that in this state of mind there is too much allure. 

So I take my thoughts to bed with me and get a headache, 
wondering if tomorrow these voices were just God’s mistake. 
I know deep down I need the silence to free the uproar,
the quiet that I long for has been exchanged for abhor. 
My mind is weak and frail with voices created to forsake.  


Voices.... Contest
Silent One
December 3, 2018

Unrested Spirit Rest

A feeling of unsettled turmoil
The deeper I query the more uproar
I gather my thoughts of uneasiness
The further I probe the greater restlessness

Stillness is what is required now
Silence the mind against its own row
Composure of breath makes the heart Queen
My spirit lays at rest, it’s intuition serene



Poem date: 13/11/2018
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Title of Contest: "Unrest of Spirit"

Belief In the Unrested

Darkness gave way to an unplanned nightmare that would never perish. A greatness in her is something they would always cherish. This drifting consciousness was not ready to dissipate. This is what evil had to create. Withdrawn from the absolute fate. The grieving family now terrorized decides to wait. The only feeling left was holding on. Where has the stillness once known and beloved gone? 
  Symptoms of hysteria whips out the family oriented mind. A natural born phobia has an inherited their kind. Punished by and now confined. This is a malicious attack that has now intertwined and made them blind. There revived child is now enshrined with the unkind. It was time for them to adequately rewind. 
 This true horror seems to just grow and grow. This courageous family is now at their low. Never to be taken below to the vicious chateau. A strength alleviates this evil like glow. The time has come for the almighty to show. The paranoia was 1st to go, as the heavens started to snow. Their beloved remembrances is now what will flow.

No Sleep Till Death

No Sleep Till Death
Some Russians are like insomnia. Always there and always evil. No let up on the pressure. A wave bursting out of your skull. A physical presence so real it becomes surreal. Invisible, not there, not existing. 

But eight thousand nuclear warheads, massive human rights abuses, Crimean annexation, Ukrainian invasion and a delusionary paranoid dictator give pause for thought. Let us touch reality. When sleep does come, its broken. 

You awake feeling bad, unrested, on edge, that something is up and bad things will happen. That's Russia peering over your shoulder. The bit of sleep you have is punctuated by dreams, bad ones. Nightmares of unseen imagery, enemies too evil for words. 

For insomnia is Russia, Russia is insomnia. And when Russia blows, it'll affect every single one of us. We'll all be wide-awake then. Only sleeping as the final nuclear curtain falls.

Schizophrenic Love

There. I hear her voice 
It illuminates the air 
It tinges the rain when the clouds are full. 
Echoing a remnant of a thing some have claimed as love. 
I ache with almost saturation.
These unrested almost's that crawl beneath my heart. 
They are never anything but an almost! 
Is this the tip of my longing? 
Fractures of beauty and whiffs of reality float near and almost, also.
Taunting and puzzling these almost's pass by
and by..
She is again
I hear her!
Each fragment reminiscent of she!
I cannot still myself long enough to paint her beauty. I have only almost's
Even when I have her..
I have only almost's to give:
Almost a feeling I thrust,
Almost some passion I h(e)ave!
Almost, almost.
almost.

Behind My Eyes

Behind my eyes
There is a raging battle 
Constant conflict
Who'll win
My dreams or my nightmares
If you know tell me
Daylight, dreams rule
Sunny beaches
Grassy meadows
Hand in hand
By night
My horrors awake
So do I
Seen so much death
It rises like the moon
Shining fright
I shiver
O dawn
Come
Unrested 
Thankful
The daylight hits
Behind my eyes

Rekindled Flame

Regrets
                                               True love usurped 
                                           Snuffed out like a candle
                                   Deathbed meeting, rekindled flame
                                 Unrested spirits’ midnight rendezvous
                                  Searching for love once thrown away
                                         Foolish mistakes and pride
                                              Lives spent apart
                                                      Regrets

Jack Horne, 6th September for Nette’s Just Nine Lines contest (picture 1)

• Short Unrested Poems
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• Best Unrested Poems
• Read Unrested Poems
• Long Unrested Poems
• Unrested Quotes