The pair should be headed for fame
Behind, in the draw’r, out of aim.
He was the one left,
Not right; he’s bereft.
The sock was not chosen for game.
The sock was not chosen, and why?
Embarrassing gaff, he could die.
Uncool was his sole.
Unsewn, had a hole.
His match did not stop to say bye.
The right, he returned, with his win.
New left was alright with his skin.
Ignored was old sock.
Tossed out like a rock.
He’s bitter and holey as sin.
Depression is a coat I wear constantly now
It used to hang in the closet now and then
I’d take it out to see if it fits and put it back
Its drab colors are enticing when I’m bare
I’d take it off misbelieving I still could
It was too costly to wear all the time
After what I’ve been through the size fits
Now, I can’t make the coat unzip
I see others in the spotlight strutting bare
With a coat on I swelter in joy’s lamp
I used to say just in case it pours inside
Then I'd run to the closet like a model
But, it's now knitted in skin in any weather
Now I know I'll wear it for my open casket
Its corduroy will no longer shroud my joys
Its diagnosis will be unsewn then
Even with no rain, I am bundled up
The soggy jacket knows me too well
It has stitched itself into my persona
It repels me from happiness at times
With no choice, I’ll act presentable
It never disappoints despite catcalls
That coat that never falls on the runway
So, I’ll make depression a fashion show
love is eternal
when it is true
life has a way of teaching you
showing you everything you can own
leaving you all alone
the whole world isn't always true
showing you everything you can own
it teases you into taking
then leads you to the point of breaking
leaving you all alone
love is eternal
showing you everything you can own
in this world of sewn-unsewn
leaving you all alone
love is eternal
when it is true
love is eternal
Sponsor Emile Pinet Jan 23, 2022
Contest Name Meditative Ballad
I never sleep well when others are wrecked.
Half-awake in my dreams, my blessed life sealed,
Not a victim of history’s fate or neglect.
Divine will, a remnant, he lived to see the light.
Through perished skeletons, ashes of those who once stood proud,
he endured the torment to pen the “Night”.
Echoed words of wisdom from years of anguish
The souls he knew, seeds unsewn,
swallowed by the hollowed abyss where forever they languish.
Hallowed be their names, loved ones so cherished.
Vanished into vapors of grim darkness,
six million perished.
But the sun would shine again for those victims of history's fate.
Their seeds now trees of spirits unextinguished,
not forgotten by the earth from where they originate.
So, as I ruminate, blistering thoughts resonate.
I know that only time and place have sealed my blessed fate,
from the perils of indifference and hate
ever failing to abate.
Sewing machine long idle, gathered dust
inside the room my sister liked the best.
Old fabric pieces lay where they’d been left.
I let my hand upon soft velvet rest.
I lit a candle like she used to do
nights of our youth when she’d gone there to keep
her mind off her young groom who’d gone to war
and not returned. Sometimes I’d hear her weep.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when mother , then my sister, passed away.
All those years she’d sewn for pay, heart-broken!
She’d chosen - with our mom - alone to stay.
My fingers lingered on the velvet meant
to have been worn by her so as to spark
romance with her lost love. Unsewn it lay.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
April 28, 2018 for Viv Wigley's One nine and sixteen poetry contest
(total fiction except I have a sister who loved to sew!)
Stretched t-shirt, chains, a mournful tune,
wide smiling guy, a book unsewn,
light hands, light hand, a happy ending,
few hearty words, heaven's wide champaign,
black and white cat and vivid dreams
in which I'm scared and guy's obscene,
this spring and what's to spring of it,
vanilla shake, banana split
and all my love - somehow diffused:
you every now and then get used
to any kind of any lie...
In sober fact I would have died
for happy endings on and on.
And if you doubt, then - yes, that corn.
13.03. 2013
Lackluster lives filled with emptiness
Around us everywhere
But … seldom do we notice
They are even there
For we have lives of import –
Things of urgency
Making our time busy -
It’s our dependency.
We do not see the child who
Needs our time alone
To comfort, guide and teach them
So their thoughts remain: unsewn.
Then there are the aged
Abandoned in their cocoons
Of experience and history
But … ‘tis we who are marooned.
We ARE our brother’s keeper
But … if we are self-obsessed,
How then can we consider:
‘Tis we, the ones are blessed?
Flickering in— out.
Wounds stitched with fidgeting,
Fisted finality.
She is.
She was.
There was a dream for which I was awake,
A glorified foolishness and tragic mistake.
Love—O love!
Like a feverish thief, she reels,
From my arms to the bed—
From my head over heels.
O, you beautiful disaster,
You fictitious lure,
You ponderous nothingness,
Imprudent and impure.
Like petals, I shed,
Nude and undone.
Sheared and severe—
A moon without sun.
Swiftly I buckled at your unfettered charm,
As your fingertips caressingly weaved down my arm.
And surrendered myself like a teetering child,
Standing aghast at the gate to the wild.
Liar.
The word yanks at the stitches that burst unsewn,
Shrieks into the deafness of happiness once known.
Now I know.
Now I do.
How I had such grandiose feelings for you—
They were as slippery as god;
They were thick and reeked of rain.
And though jarred and disenchanted,
They somehow still remain.
Even so, you are just a thing,
With one mouth and two eyes.
And kissable lips that fleetingly dripped
The most gorgeous string of lies.
its the end inside my head
i must say goodbye my dear
friend
im entering the unknown
im slowly starting to unravel
and become unsewn
you must not figure who i am
for i am no one
no one to be loved, no one
forgotten, no one to grieved
when the end is truly received
i will not be one loved, i will
not be one forgotten
for there there there is
nothing to forget
but this mere note of
uncertainty and confusion
What sort of life
Is taken away
Without a word
Without a say
From a life unknown
Unsewn to her side
Just left to slide
Into an unknown tomb
Ripped from the womb
That lies empty
Surrounded by plenty
Of long, happy lives
So we strive
To burn our hurt, our rage
Turn over another page
And move on from the grief
Spilt out from that brief
Elapse of time
But I don’t feel fine,
Or know how to remember
How to dismember
This event from my mind
And I yearn to find
A memory to create
And abate
These feelings that I’ve left you alone
On your own
With no love surrounding you
No future to renew
No reality born
Just torn
From our empty lives
I’m so sorry (I will never forget you)
I flipped a cigarette into the well,
Then an explosion came from hell.
You think I jest, how could this be?
I must be distressed, in my own company.
In my own company?
You mean I am alone?
If so who are all those around me,
Who made my tombstone?
In each life there is also death,
But in death there is also life,
For nothing is ever wasted.
The unknown is unsewn,
But is all around my headstone.
Someday I will know,
All there is to know,
But on that day,
I will be no more.
The swirling clouds in endless motion
are a sharp reminder, like an unsewn tear,
as to the reason, the wondering of
why you would not dare.
The memories flood me,
I cannot breathe;
I gasp for air; anything;
still; you are all I see.
Like a weeping willow
gently blowing in the wind,
I am still standing tall,
through tears streaming down my chin.
You are so close, yet so very far;
too scared to make a move;
you want so much to touch me;
yet you choose to remain aloof;
why would you not dare.
I have given you my heart, my trust
my innermost thoughts,
yet sadly, we continue to drift further apart;
why would you not dare.
To let go, would be to let go of us;
these words are what we solemly vowed;
with truth and with love, to always share;
why would you not dare.
How do we keep us blossoming
when we lead two seperate lives;
I will fight for us both;
please take your hand in mine.
Why would you not dare.