Light evanesced upon his leaving
with the final choke of dusk--
the fragrance of orchids wisping softly
and I shiver...vapid, empty
clouds swallowing the kiln of lamppost-
and into the restless clang
from winds booming,
the dirge of hummingbirds stutters
which makes noises louder
than my groans-- the ceiling of sky
breaking like splinters of glass-
and among incandescent stars,
our distant, intermittent rendezvous
withers as my peppered tears grate
the bitter tincture of night's burial
from all his trespasses,
a body language
coiled in stale cocoon...his words
barbed as jailed verses ...
unuttered ,unsaid.
your moment of concentration
has me mesmerised
I'm no longer a poet ~
just a fool with unuttered longing
this day already drew its close
but I can steady my weary gaze
settle it upon you
all but your beauty ebbs away ~
I look on with tired eyes
"lit by a match"
I'm half dreaming ~
my favoured state
and you
within arm's reach
as I drift aloft
caught between the shadows and smoke
that swirl together
one last time
Inspired by The Sulphur Match by John Singer Sargent
There is a name the dusk will keep,
A low, unuttered thing—
It stirs beneath the olive leaves
And will not rise or sing.
Rocco, they said, as if a bell
Had tolled beneath the sea,
And something cold with jeweled eyes
Turned once, and looked at me.
No wind had moved, no branch had sighed,
Yet stillness grew so deep
I felt the world draw in its breath
As though it feared to speak.
Basalisk—O shadowed word,
With fire beneath its skin,
You walk the edges of the heart
And turn all longing thin.
For beauty held too long, they say,
Will harden into stone,
And eyes that dare to love too much
May petrify their own.
So let me pass with lowered gaze
Where quiet mercies lie,
Nor meet the gleam that stills the soul
And teaches it to die.
Yet somewhere in that silent dark
A fragile sorrow wakes—
For even stone remembers once
The shape that love could take.
Within every individual's mind resides a poem,
casting doubt on the assertion that each person is an island.
An internal dialogue permeates,
encompassing both positive and negative elements.
As I traverse the bustling street,
I observe others who may also perceive my presence.
Nevertheless, each of them harbors a poem within their innermost thoughts.
No matter where you end up on this planet,
You will never forget where you originate from
A mango tree is thriving in Brooklyn,
Though it may seem improbable.
However, it is still a mango tree.
However, where are the fruits,
Where are those concealed poems destined?
Will they return on the same route,
Will the verbs and nouns remain silent as well
While conveying unuttered expressions?
Did the Pied Piper know he would be deceived?
Was he aware a poem would emerge from his story?
Within every individual's mind resides a poem,
Eventually, someone will understand it correctly.
My ears are sealed, forever bound by quiet/
A world of stillness, no sound can riot/
Yet my mind pulses, alive and aware/
With whispers and images you unknowingly share/
Every thought, unspoken and raw/
Every dream, every flaw/
They flow to me, a bittersweet stream/
Of joys, of sorrows, of hope, of esteem/
Your words, unuttered, cut me deep/
Your judgements linger, wounds that seep/
I yearn to mend the hate that you keep/
To wake the love in hearts asleep/
I see your regrets, the burdens you bear/
I glimpse the pain beneath the glare/
Life's weight is heavy, this much is true/
But why place that pain on me too/
For though I live in silence stark/
My soul is tender, it feels each mark/
So spare your scorn, your anger untamed/
There's kindness in you, don't leave it unnamed/
Spring’s Abysmal Guile
By Sy Roth
A vapor rises, rank as the charnel pit,
a corruption of a miasma vast,
as though some sepulcher, long sealed,
split its stony jaws to breathe.
Vile exhalation of a corrupted world.
The reveler, unwitting wretch
treads the decadent fields where verdure writhes,
each blade a hostile tendril, squamous, cold,
glistening with ichor
No earthly fount its progenitor.
He deems the shade of evil vanquished,
trampled beneath his hobnailed boot.
The soil heaves with malefic will,
its roots, like veins of some primordial fiend,
pulses with a rankness older than the stars,
a stench that whispers of aeons lost.
Spring cloaks itself in verdant pall,
no bloom, but scales of a vast, unuttered thing,
its thorns a raven’s beak, evermore to rend, to sow, to bespoil.
He quaffs the tainted zephyr,
proclaiming triumph over a gloaming moon,
Swept in the season’s unseen talons,
fathomless ennui
creeps through his sinews,
entombing his soul in an abysmal cleft unshriven.
You’ve lived through loss—
you’ve battled unuttered shame—
yet you hold onto Love like it is more
than a Delusion—it is Honor—precious
and rainbow-like—shimmery and
shadowy all in one.
You speak to her with Soul,
truths that seem simple—
truths that survive in warm hands,
in melodies,
in cadences,
in overtones,
in steady Voice.
You are creased at the edges
like a letter read too many times,
but your words—
your words are both
soft lanterns and sunlight—
lit from somewhere deeper than breath.
Some people are put here
to hold others when they cry,
to remind them that they are still real—
still seen, still envisioned, still worth
writhing, weaving weights of
Dream-drunk Love.
3.3.25
Quite far we have traversed, in pursuit of goals we chose,
Through troubles and trepidations of seasons in throes;
Sometimes reveling sunshine, sometime in glum of shadows,
Always together~ on barren terrains, or verdant meadows.
In albums of yore, we ruminate now, turning pages of life,
Banishing anguish of feelings-forlorn, fuming in strife;
Reminiscing in moments passionate, of love sublime,
Treasured in memories-beloved, accumulated over time.
Harboring wisdom, inlaid in life’s waning phase, as we age,
In realms of reflections, insights-sapient, now we engage;
Learning from knowledge gained, from choices we made,
Accepting with grace, laments of secrets, as yet unsaid.
Regrets unmitigated, voice remorse of unuttered sigh,
Seeking empathy from goodwill of repentant goodbye;
As life tallies good versus bad, that introspections confide,
Eying a tranquil state of mind, devoid of hate and pride.
It’s time to reflect, it’s time to mend, it’s time to befriend,
As journey of life, beaming content, approaches its end;
Living final days in covenants revered, humbly we penned,
Elevating self, in peace of bliss, to heavens we shall ascend.
They’re not for you
Nor you for them
Unwritten words from unwritten pens
Like shades of white
Blanks on a page
Unwritten words in an unwritten age
They speak in volumes
Though tongues may fail
Unwritten words that tell no tale
The poem that’s never penned
The bell that’s never rung
The hero who’s unheralded, unsung
For words unwritten
Are without heed
That none the wiser will ever read –
Unuttered words
Are words unheard
By man or beast or woodland bird
They give no voice
To mice or man
To emulate, evolve, or take a stand
And with no voice
No song to sing
The robin sighs and folds its wings –
Unspoken words
Are words unknown
In aching solitude adrift, alone
Unexpressed
And lost in time
As beacons in the night that never shine
When the mornings come,
The antenna of my soul rises
to catch a frequency of The Divine
When the mornings come,
My soul sings melodies unheard
by mortal ears; unuttered by human lips
When the mornings come,
my soul rejoices as the real me unfolds
and soaks in the sacred moments of quietness
When the mornings come,
I long inside, wishing they might long endure,
but time disallows such lasting sacred treats,
and the mornings smile and wave as they retreat
110421PS
The words are loud in my ears
Causing a cringe in my flesh
They are a lump in my throat
And lead in my heart
They clog my nostrils
And blur my vision
The letters haunt my dreams
But unspoken they must remain
For I fear the verses
Yet if I leave them unuttered
They will feast on my lobes
If I do not string them together
The past will be lost
And we become enslaved by guilt
I dream of hard wooden surface,
lying abandoned in the evening of solace,
chair of adjustable height,
higher when elate, and lower when desolate.
I also dream of an eve,
where sun is at brim of his age,
where night is still an unborn sage,
whose light is just apt to be described,
but till then I will be enough mesmerized.
There is more unuttered part of regime,
building up a room having white painted beams,
light blue walls, and ceiling of cream,
Through curtains of netted and fibered satin,
breeze slowly swaying within.
Pens in number with different skins,
calligraphy with fuchsia pink,
writing for nature in shamrock green,
philanthropic thoughts in red,
and the special romantic verses,
curled in mauve and cupid pink.
'Going going gone
Says the ticking clock
For each breaking day draws
A man closer to his end.'
The true essence of time
...
Efosa, his mother had named him at birth.
For against all odds,
She too has become a mother.
With high hopes and expectations
She single handedly raised him up
To be a fine young educated man.
For inside Nigeria?
When graduates yapa anyhow without work.
Brother Efosa in search of a better life
And greener pastures, don enter street
Since the kpali he got from the university,
Nor gree bring work
And man must chop to survive.
There's no wealth but life!
That one na big man yarnings.
While there is life there's hope
Na poor man motivation be that.
Beneath the smile and laughter
Of Brother Efosa, lies
Unshed tears, endless wants and needs,
Unuttered ' i don tire for this life sef'
Because even inside the street eh,
Everywhere red anyhow.
So the next time you see
Brother Efosa, be more
Gentle and subtle in your dealings
With him, because life hard reach
Him corner.
*draws curtain*
Godwin Henry Osaigbovo Pa Shakespeare
Pulse...zenith...drums...a shattering shudder
Words...Zion...neat...the platter unuttered
Thoughts zealots speak that magnets can't cover
Hatred, Hatred, Hatred and then...
What one friend begins as trend then ends as...
That someone that spins untruths as hints of...
Those that one two their meaning
Like science substitutes one seeing
Like dreadlocks without gravity
And minus without anything
Plus you...
Pulse pluralized ways synthesized a brain synthetic
Words harmonized vision fantasized fame unedited
Thoughts publicized talk bloody eyed shame touched heaven
Fallen, Fallen, Fallen is taught intention
Love savored its mention until...
Love favored an ending that ends the beginning
With feelings that have a habit of blending...
What this is then this plus you
And what it means to know what you say
With a treacherous heart leading the mind by sound
Instead of the other way around...
Thoughts then words then pulse.
your face, I see
is always having intoxicants within
so, never my eyes blink
to not lose those moments
for the world, I shut my ears
to concentrate,
on your unuttered messages,
the messages for me....
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