Quotes about unused, page 4
Fingerprint
A thousand grooves made nude
is nothing but a Lover's maze.
I ravish every turn in absolute.
Designed to never temper
and seemingly untouched -
Each time a new unknown
and every avenue unused.
Safety in the form of rims and ridges
Grown soft by our abandon.
I trace on you your every printed strand -
My love both born and buried in your hand.
poem by Kaitlyn Alizabeth Pijanowski
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Exercises
by analogy any unused muscle
finds retaliation through an ache
and so you have it massaged.
in the same manner is the word
and the letters
in the same behavior you shall
find thoughts
you know their revenge and you
must know how to handle it.
how can you un-think? try it.
how can you not write? how can you
keep mum?
unless you know how to practice
sleeping and then death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lonliness (Smells)
lonliness...
smells like,
my grandmother's kitchen,
after working outside all day.
rain, just before it falls,
a fresh plowed field.
my mother's old Bible,
a fireplace too long unused.
old nuts, your pillow,
the old pine tree that fell
and lay rotting in the yard.
a well oiled glove,
the tractor in the barn.
your hair, a rose just opened,
the box too long
in the back of the closet.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Some Purpose For Poetry
Poetry is a universal medium
That we use to express ourselves
Effectively through a chosen idiom
Some poetry can be found unused on shelves
While other poetry will be used at random.
Poetry has been put to good use
By people to improve their plight
Sometimes poetry has been used to create abuse
And it can cause people to become engaged in a fight.
I, personally, recommend writing for good use.
poem by Michael Leroy Porter
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We are the future
We are the future
with our spikes and chains,
our baggy pants,
And unused brains
We are the future
With our belly shirts,
Hooker boots,
In mini skirts
We are the future
with our torn up jeans,
our rude t-shirts,
Wearing diamond rings
We are the future
With our high dollar clothes,
our rap music,
Pink polished toes
[...] Read more
poem by Kansas Johnson
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The Majesty of the majority
The arrogance of the majority
Kills the freedom of the minority.
The authority of the majority
Checks the progress of the minority.
The humility of the majority
Tends the growth of the minority
The majesty of the majority
Grants the safety of the minority
Let the Babaar majid be rebuilt.
[The majid was an unused mosque built centuries ago in the place of a Hindu temple, and was destructed by the Hindu faith people giving a shock to the country’s secularism]
11.01.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Prize
when the thing is unused
special offers are refused
I feel like I'm ghost
who had nothing to boast
i think now I'm lost
in the battle of the hosts
in which i hated most
left alone
turned to stone
[...] Read more
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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The writers room
The writers room
~
the walls lined with books
a thousand written worlds
open pages litter the floor
ready to begin a new journey
light cascades through window
across the unused bed
a room alive does not sleep
pictures and tokens spread out
points of memory and inspiration
shelves climb to the ceiling
hoarding words and lives
a writers room, paradise
a place to sit read and write
inspiration comes from life
and life is about discovering
all that is beautiful
however ugly it appears
look through the pages
[...] Read more
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Hawks Stare
Moderation seems so out of place
As where she walks hawks stare up in surprise,
Unused to mortals soaring through their space
Drawn by Hyperion's chariot in the skies.
Expectations high hope's heart shows here
Merit earned by inner aptitude,
Acute, bright mind articulate shines clear
Uniting equity and attitude
Daring fate to reinstate points dear
Equally to heart and head, for one
May fail to function if its twin can't cheer
Alike true motives, task successful run,
Unpaired, objectives stumble, can't be gained.
DEstiny's success? Progress unchained.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Bed By The Window
I chose the bed downstairs by the sea-window for a good death-bed
When we built the house, it is ready waiting,
Unused unless by some guest in a twelvemonth, who hardly suspects
Its latter purpose. I often regard it,
With neither dislike nor desire; rather with both, so equalled
That they kill each other and a crystalline interest
Remains alone. We are safe to finish what we have to finish;
And then it will sound rather like music
When the patient daemon behind the screen of sea-rock and sky
Thumps with his staff, and calls thrice: 'Come, Jeffers.'
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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