From the curvings of forgotten history, a device was born,
Forged with the wisdom of ages, and secrets yet unworn.
It held a mirror that measured beauty beyond the eye,
And painted the perfect version of a mortal passing by.
It studied every face, every smile, every graceful line,
Suggested robes of wonder and designs almost divine.
When tested upon the world, its numbers never fell,
Humanity celebrated the machine that knew beauty so well.
But while it travelled home, a soul ran past its sight,
A fleeting glimpse of her, gone within a moment's flight.
The machine trembled softly, its calculations turned strange,
Its perfect laws shattered under a beauty it couldn't arrange.
The mirror cracked into silence, the suggestions lost their flame,
No cloth, no jewel, no colour could ever define her name.
The device, defeated by something beyond its creation,
Displayed a final message: a beautiful revelation.
"The beauty you seek cannot be captured, measured, or chained,
It rises beyond clouds where imagination has remained.
It is not found in mirrors, nor in what eyes can see,
For true beauty is the universe escaping its own decree."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The blankness hums, a quiet storm,
a field untouched, unmarked, unworn.
No ink has dared to claim its face,
no hand has rushed to leave a trace.
It breathes in margins, white as bone,
a silent sea where words have flown~
not yet, not here, but maybe soon,
beneath the eye of some pale moon.
What waits? A scream? A lover’s sigh?
The slow unravel of a lie?
Or just the wind that never stays,
ghosting through the empty graze?
The page won’t tell. It never does.
It laughs in pauses, hums in buzz.
Press your pen—then hesitate.
The story’s yours.
But here, it waits.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suddenly, the scent of old glue
unseals memory: yearbook pages
sticking together. Forty-seven Augusts ago
Susan Alexander's laugh cracked
through algebra class; our fingers
brushed, passing Man From LaMancha lyrics
scribbled on notebook margins.
We dissected Austen heroines
during sleepovers, shared
popcorn at matinees, dreamt
in Technicolor futures.
Then silence. Decades folded
into drawers like unworn sweaters.
Facebook algorithms blinked, those strange
matchmakers, whispered: Berlin?
Dallas? Three winters have since melted
into midnight texts—her German syntax
knitting with my Texas drawl
across glowing screens. Old jokes
resurrected like vinyl records
scratched but still singing.
Distance shrinks to pixels;
the gift of friendship blooms anew~
upon digital soil.
* This poem was submitted to and published at Persimmon Tree, November 2025. This is my original poem.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cedar fragrance floats softly in the air
like old ghosts awakening after sleep.
Inside, yellowed envelopes carry
the silent burden of hands
that never delivered their confessions.
A brittle map traces borders
that dissolved with the century's breath.
In the probing moonlight,
tarnished brass hinges moan.
Beneath folded sweaters,
apologies fossilize,
and grief settles like dust
on unworn wedding lace.
A sapphire brooch recalls
the heartbeat under a collarbone
where it pinned courage tight
until surrendering.
Trapped light holds
what daylight wouldn't understand.
Within attic walls
the lid groans echoing
how memory bends
under its own weight.
Secrets don't suffocate here~
they become the wood's grain.
My red leather jacket
I’ve given away.
It wasn’t my fave
Though it fit me okay.
It’s hung in the closet
Unworn now for years
And a new owner likes it,
Or so it appears.
It makes me feel good
To hear someone enthuse
About something I’ve owned
But I no longer use.
Yet I still can’t give up
My suede jacket with fringe.
Its shoulder pads date it
Much more than a tinge.
I won’t wear it, but still
It transports me, and how!
To a time in my life
So much different from now.
For Sale: Unworn Wedding Bands - Memories Sold Separately
They come to me in phrases
in couplets newly born
Screaming from the highest places
fitted but unworn
They come to me in dreamsleep
the moon recycled new
Time released in words immortal
—scratched into the pew
(The New Room: February, 2024)
this mugs cheap but full of cheer
guaranteed from year to year
unworn or tired
strangely admired
budget mojo always near.
The Hidden Nature Trail
While I was hiking one soft summer morn
beside a streamlet flowing through a dale,
I found a narrow nestled path unworn
which led me down a hidden nature trail.
I walked amongst the pine trees standing tall
along the hidden trail their shadows cast;
I heard a song bird chirp his mating call,
and reminisced sweet moments from my past.
The hidden path meandered far and near
and ended by a pond of sapphire blue
with splashing birds and water crystal clear,
and sirens bathing in the morning dew.
I wonder was this but a reverie,
or is it just my secret fantasy?
November 24, 2023
"Tell me and I forget.
Teach me and I remember.
Involve me and I learn." Quote By: Benjamin Franklin
My love, touch me, hold me, kiss me.
Words come easy, action I see.
Tell me, I'll forget, won't return.
Teach me, involve me, and I'll learn.
Your words melodize warms my heart,
Show me and it won't fall apart,
But absorb and warmly return.
Teach me, involve me, and I'll learn.
As we lay and wound in the dark
Light enough kiss to start a spark,
Your gentle touch I love and yearn.
Teach me, involve me, and I'll learn.
My love, touch me, hold me, kiss me.
Years later we'll cherish you'll see
A note in my mind burns unworn.
Teach me, involve me, and I'll learn.
You belong somewhere in the vast cosmos
where the idiomatic idioms were born
I started to wonder and cry,
Lord, have mercy; this is not I.
I felt as if years had passed! along with age! farewell
oh, we soar to an infinite place to dwell.
The last goodbye was the hardest,
we never got to say our final adieu
remember how we danced near stardust?
They say that tears are a sign of weakness,
so I held back my tears
to ease the pain, I buried it in the hollows of my heart.
Yet, they poured into my empty soul
tearing me apart with deep cuts
even the most idyllic love must die
was it not because of love's cries?
will leave a scar to stultify it...
I shall bleed and grieve till the wounds heal
making room for unworn pain,
to experience sorrow again.
Written: February 05, 2023
1st place contest winner
I Felt Like Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
My candle is lit for hope and the future
we need to stop acting as total losers
Stronger than the greatest military power
decorate the Christmas tree with love and flowers
We have all failed our dream of the earth
count your blessings ... a new glorious birth
Tomorrow breaks a unworn and glorious morning
Gilded bells in fluffy threads as adorning
Merry Christmas
20.12.2022
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Long ago a star twinkled
Across the ocean blue
It pierced my heart so
Recklessly I fell in love with you
Stranger from afar
Ghostly and unknown
Words that trapped my soul
Tethered and unworn
Madness and fury
Passion and pleasure
Quilled words on paper
Better than treasure
Love poems and sonnets
Reeling my heart in
Dastardly poetic symphony
Nymphomania and sin
Trapped in your ink
Propelled by your quill
Forgotten odyssey’s
Still give me a chill
Moonbeams of madness
Two shadows as one
On the ships bulkhead
Having some fun.
You might be riding a wave of awareness.
Withstand, endure, suffer, and strive.
Maintain a clear mind to unworn insights and wellness.
Once you've reached your last objective.
Always remember that life isn't a level playing field.
You get what you want or need every now and again.
Despite how awful or dismal the situation appeared.
You'll get beyond anything if you just have faith then.
In moments of hardship, we bear mistakes.
It is essential to maintain a firm grip on the reins.
First Place Contest Winner
Written: July 13, 2021
A Brian Strand July 18 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The world went on without me
No one noticed at all
after I winked out
like a burned out lightbulb
the last flickers of flame
licking what little
is left of the wick
of a dying candle
before the room goes dark
A wisp of smoke wafting
Words were all I had
to give but
no one wanted them
like the gift of an
ugly sweater
left lying unworn
in the box in which it came
on a closet shelf
for the sake of propriety
until it’s been forgotten
by the giver
and can be tossed
without guilt
So I sit in solitude
musing on
meaninglessness
as these four walls
cave in and crush me
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