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Arlene Corwin Aug 2017
How Are You: The Unpredictability

They almost always start the conversation
With “How are you?”
You say “Fine”.
It is the norm.
Time-honored, automatic, form expected.
        
Yet, you reach an age
Where you no longer fit the norm accepted,
And you hesitate,
Waiting just a little bit
                            ‘fore voicing back.
Unpredictable tomorrow:
Routine ailments, triumphs, sorrow;
Unpredictable around-the-clock.

Is it wrong to linger?
Wait to answer?
I think not.
To blur convention, slur cliché,  
You spur [real] candor
For the day.

When they ask you how you are,
Think of instability
And take a second to reply.

How Are You: The Unpredictability 8.9.2017
Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
cliches & life quality
Francie Lynch May 2017
One wants six of one, or half dozen of the other
Because he'll cook a fine kettle of fish.
Fully aware he can't please everyone
For some see the grass is always greener on the other side.
So, he's busy, meets oneself coming and going,
And knows, come hell or high water,
That there's no time like the present.
Busy as a bee, one prepares the meal.
He's a book you can judge by the cover.
One quips, The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I knew he'd say that.
One's words speak louder than actions.
One's enough to ******* the Pope.
Believe me, I have an axe to grind,
And I'm at my wit's end.
Better safe than sorry,
*Avoid one like the plague.
One exists.
Laura Slaathaug Apr 2017
This is a cliché for you.
I would decorate you.  
in these rows of letters,
maybe paint it on your skin
because just saying it isn't enough.
I want to see it.
I want to hold a mirror to you and me,
and say, See baby, don't you see?

So, I write it and hold your hand and kiss your cheek,
my head on your shoulder.
If only I could give a touch
of the love
you give to me.
Day 10 of National Poetry Month.
Em Nov 2015
She has constellations on her skin
And galaxies in her eyes
She is a work of art
Worth more than all in The Louvre
Her hands touch everyone's soul
And her laugh is a breath of life
She's astounding, yet doesn't know it
Your dream used to be
To show her her worth
But now she's gone
And left you in the shadows
this is all cliches and i don't care
Skye Kennard Oct 2015
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
No, for the heat shall do no more than cause thee to stench, my love.

Shall I assure thee the world is thou oyster?
No, for oysters are no more than matte, mundane creatures, my love.

Shall I tell thee that a rose by any other name is just as sweet?
No, for roses are no more than oppresively thorny objects, my love.

Shall I lead thee to believe actions speak louder than words?
No, for actions have no volume, nor do put across what must be said adequately, my love.

Shall I assert that all is fair in love and war?
No, for conflicts have their own unwritten rules, my love.
I had some fun with poetry clichés in this one :P
Francie Lynch Sep 2015
I am a cliche poet.
I compare most of your parts
To the cosmos;
I refer to love as immortal,
The soul as ethereal,
The spirit as bird-like,
Death as a cave, surely dark and lonely,
And nature has a magnificient part
With all its pathetic fallacies,
Sunrises, sunsets, tides.
I once compared a man's legs
To an aerial roadmap,
And a ***** to a bull frog
In the Savanah.
O, the crosses I've borne to explain saying
I love you
Without sounding trite.
I may resort to prose
And dress up the poetric mantra.
Julie Grenness Aug 2015
Seduced by clichés of love,
We signed on for wedding doves,
Being at those wedding receptions,
All clichés of norms' conventions,
Having a cream puff wedding day,
An expensive way of getting laid,
All clichés for the bridal industry,
Trite cant, and hypocrisy,
BUT--the appliances outlived everyone!!
Wedding gifts when once were young,
On film noir weddings I ponder on,
As these golden years I wander from,
All that phony hypocrisy,
Cliches and norms of society,
D.I.V.O.R.C.E.
(Who didn't hate going to the in-laws for tea?)
I ponder on white weddings, norms, and cant.
Allyson Walsh Aug 2015
I am too emotionally drained
To write a poem that rhymes

I am sick of being a part of your waiting game
We are worth more than your procrastinated time

Oh, look, I rhymed without trying
I suppose I had it within me all along

Defy, and stop them from attempting to divide
Please destroy all preconceived notions and odds
For myself, this past month, my tired eyes, mind, and WY

"I just want you to stand up for me. Can you do that?"
"I don't know."

"Do you need to talk about it?"
"No. I just wrote a poem instead."
Ally May 2015
they tell me everyday
the same words of cliché
at least then i knew
no one really understood my fears
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