Poetry competition CLOSED 21st May 2024 00:01am
The poem unwritten
Anonymous
The poem unwritten.
The voice unheard.
The cold unheated.
And the scream unexpected.
The day you decide to express.
The day the decide to depart.
Running away from this.
You can't say how you feel but it's seems more better in writing.
My instrument
My hands shaking.
Emotions breaking.
And feelings changing.
No way to escape.
No way to explain.
The feeling of regret.
Fighting for the approval.
Leaking the most and regretting.
Failing to understand what you even want.
The test too hard.
The pain too long.
I can't explain.
No one understand.
I guess it makes sense now.
Doesn't it...
My unwritten poem of longing..
The voice unheard.
The cold unheated.
And the scream unexpected.
The day you decide to express.
The day the decide to depart.
Running away from this.
You can't say how you feel but it's seems more better in writing.
My instrument
My hands shaking.
Emotions breaking.
And feelings changing.
No way to escape.
No way to explain.
The feeling of regret.
Fighting for the approval.
Leaking the most and regretting.
Failing to understand what you even want.
The test too hard.
The pain too long.
I can't explain.
No one understand.
I guess it makes sense now.
Doesn't it...
My unwritten poem of longing..
Anonymous
black
an unwritten poem
which was to be written in the coolness of the moon
which was about to scream with a devoted love and infinite pain.
in which a black rainbow was going to be visible on the bookmarked background
in which someone was going to sit on a bench in autumn and smile brightly
in which the royal silence rising from the east was to be whispers in one's ears
in which one had to kiss someone's lips
in which someone wanted to eat someone's tender flesh
someone was going to understand the art of someone's unexplained love
someone was roaming around with dry leaves in her black soft hair
someone was trapped between the faint light and the broken face piece
tears filled with half-truths and empty words were about to kiss the cheeks
time was about to grow and the rose in the envelope was about to fade
there were no stars shining on the dark background
the soul steamer was going to imprison someone for eternity
an unwritten poem full of mysteries was to be evoked in narrowed eyes...
which was to be written in the coolness of the moon
which was about to scream with a devoted love and infinite pain.
in which a black rainbow was going to be visible on the bookmarked background
in which someone was going to sit on a bench in autumn and smile brightly
in which the royal silence rising from the east was to be whispers in one's ears
in which one had to kiss someone's lips
in which someone wanted to eat someone's tender flesh
someone was going to understand the art of someone's unexplained love
someone was roaming around with dry leaves in her black soft hair
someone was trapped between the faint light and the broken face piece
tears filled with half-truths and empty words were about to kiss the cheeks
time was about to grow and the rose in the envelope was about to fade
there were no stars shining on the dark background
the soul steamer was going to imprison someone for eternity
an unwritten poem full of mysteries was to be evoked in narrowed eyes...
Anonymous
The In Between
The poem unwritten,
It exists in the downstrokes,
In the moments just before lighting strikes.
It exists in the inbetween,
The awkward silences,
The wordless symphony.
There’s poetry in the undefined,
In the blurry and hidden,
In the spaces between words.
There is beauty in the shadows,
In the downbeats,
In the breath before you drown.
That beauty,
The poem unwritten.
It exists in the downstrokes,
In the moments just before lighting strikes.
It exists in the inbetween,
The awkward silences,
The wordless symphony.
There’s poetry in the undefined,
In the blurry and hidden,
In the spaces between words.
There is beauty in the shadows,
In the downbeats,
In the breath before you drown.
That beauty,
The poem unwritten.
Anonymous
The Poem Unwritten
The Poem Unwritten
Is the one that starts as an idea in the mind
Taking shape so perfectly
Before the pen begins to scribe the first line
It’s like a dream weaved
Conceived with flawless rhythm, flow and pace
Sincere and yet so eloquent
Able to transcend the limits of time and space
Every poet knows it
We have felt it at the very core of our beings
It’s something to be captured
Before the words and feelings go out fleeing
We all fall in love with it
The very nature of writing has us smitten
But if the notion escapes
The verse then becomes the poem unwritten
Anonymous
Tales Of An Adlibbed Mind
the poem unwritten
kinda reads like an epitaph
graphic images of death...tomb-stoned calligraphy
lace with the toxicity of lamentations
perhaps something of contempt...regret...revenge..
despair...disgust...disdain...distrust
hoping in vain to avenge something in past tense
poetically paid forward
scribbling incoherence in invisible ink
sinking in lyrical quicksand
smudging all of my fuckin grudges...unreconciled
knowing never to be made whole
i stab and stab and stab...taking jabs at the Aether
a fusion of a hot mess of a human being
disillusioned...artistic confusion...
searching for that infernal bitch of a muse..
from write to flush left
i am bereft of conversational breaths....forever introverted
the depths of me never to be faithfully converted
just perverted by the un-poetic gallery
yeahhh...they may laugh at me with backhanded compliments
yet my ticket into the afterlife has been stamped
in bonified confidence...hidden in plain sight
as the poem unwritten
kinda reads like an epitaph
graphic images of death...tomb-stoned calligraphy
lace with the toxicity of lamentations
perhaps something of contempt...regret...revenge..
despair...disgust...disdain...distrust
hoping in vain to avenge something in past tense
poetically paid forward
scribbling incoherence in invisible ink
sinking in lyrical quicksand
smudging all of my fuckin grudges...unreconciled
knowing never to be made whole
i stab and stab and stab...taking jabs at the Aether
a fusion of a hot mess of a human being
disillusioned...artistic confusion...
searching for that infernal bitch of a muse..
from write to flush left
i am bereft of conversational breaths....forever introverted
the depths of me never to be faithfully converted
just perverted by the un-poetic gallery
yeahhh...they may laugh at me with backhanded compliments
yet my ticket into the afterlife has been stamped
in bonified confidence...hidden in plain sight
as the poem unwritten
Anonymous
THE POEM UNWRITTEN
the poem
unwritten
again
and again,
the empty page,
a smattering
of disconnected
thoughts,
poetic fakery,
stupid word play
unnamed
distractions
porn
that girl's big ass
big tits
thick thighs
the way she shakes it
takes it
and too much wine
again
and the way she left
and took the kids,
the car
and the goddamn bills piling
overdue
relentless
mundane
work-a-day
bullshit
grinding
the heart to
wordless
mush,
squeezing the
joy out,
the life out,
crowding
the mind
and leaving the poem
unwritten
unwritten
again
and again,
the empty page,
a smattering
of disconnected
thoughts,
poetic fakery,
stupid word play
unnamed
distractions
porn
that girl's big ass
big tits
thick thighs
the way she shakes it
takes it
and too much wine
again
and the way she left
and took the kids,
the car
and the goddamn bills piling
overdue
relentless
mundane
work-a-day
bullshit
grinding
the heart to
wordless
mush,
squeezing the
joy out,
the life out,
crowding
the mind
and leaving the poem
unwritten
Anonymous
His Only Regret
The poem unwritten
Still in his head
Words left silent
Thoughts left for dead
Not just his poem
His whole expression
Lost in the calm
of his innermost passion
Sitting in the dark
corners of his mind
is the home of his mark
he'll never leave behind
When the life if a poet
comes to an end
His only regret
The poem unwritten
Tim Eros
24051807
Still in his head
Words left silent
Thoughts left for dead
Not just his poem
His whole expression
Lost in the calm
of his innermost passion
Sitting in the dark
corners of his mind
is the home of his mark
he'll never leave behind
When the life if a poet
comes to an end
His only regret
The poem unwritten
Tim Eros
24051807
Anonymous
We All Have Something We Can’t Get Out
the poem unwritten
sticks in your throat
choking you on unresolved emotions
because they weren’t there
or they were but they never sat write on the page just double entendres filled with classical lies
that taste like bullshit you’d spoon feed
to ass-kissers and cynics
sprinkled with cliches
that fall from your mind as easy
as “sun dappled dew drops”
to clunk lifeless and forlorn
on A4
reeking of posterity and lingering tobacco
smoke on yellow stained fingers
some poems should stay unwritten
until you can crack open your head
fillet your heart
use the skull cap as an ink-well
your life blood as ink
carve the words into a page
so readers bleed with you
and if you can’t
it’s best to leave
the poem unwritten
sticks in your throat
choking you on unresolved emotions
because they weren’t there
or they were but they never sat write on the page just double entendres filled with classical lies
that taste like bullshit you’d spoon feed
to ass-kissers and cynics
sprinkled with cliches
that fall from your mind as easy
as “sun dappled dew drops”
to clunk lifeless and forlorn
on A4
reeking of posterity and lingering tobacco
smoke on yellow stained fingers
some poems should stay unwritten
until you can crack open your head
fillet your heart
use the skull cap as an ink-well
your life blood as ink
carve the words into a page
so readers bleed with you
and if you can’t
it’s best to leave
the poem unwritten
Anonymous
Echoes of the Unseen
A poem unwritten, like myths and the gods,
Holds power unseen, to the unreading minds.
Hard to believe, in what's not been read,
Like faith in the unseen, it's where we are led.
To me, as a mother, it's the feeling within,
When the unborn kicks, life's hope does begin.
To the father, it's the longing, a bond to be worn,
A connection that blossoms once the child is born.
Like the burnt canary, both lively and burnt,
To the poet, it's the heartbeat where life is bred.
For the reader, it's a love yet to be requited,
In the heart, excited, a poem unwritten
Holds power unseen, to the unreading minds.
Hard to believe, in what's not been read,
Like faith in the unseen, it's where we are led.
To me, as a mother, it's the feeling within,
When the unborn kicks, life's hope does begin.
To the father, it's the longing, a bond to be worn,
A connection that blossoms once the child is born.
Like the burnt canary, both lively and burnt,
To the poet, it's the heartbeat where life is bred.
For the reader, it's a love yet to be requited,
In the heart, excited, a poem unwritten
Anonymous
Emotions laying dormant
The poem unwritten, sits just dormant
waiting for release
sparkles that never quite ignite
not showered with a sparkle steeped
incendiary flare that fizzled out
love; its promises, fluttered hope
love letters tied with granny knots
when you were lost, and so besot
written then interred, embossed
and faded like a flower preserved
its precious essence never lost
just waiting like some old remains
for you to dig and use again
archaeology of time precedes
whispers for the poet buried, not to deep!
for love is always, words not deeds
lies to forever tease, the poem unwritten
