#cynic
That last one burned a hole in me
My cynic was running wild and free
Together we ranted about who is smart
We talked at length, what is art
I told him things I’ve seen, what makes me smile
He said he’d get back to me in a while
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 1:21 AM UTC
I’ve got 61 volumes, with over a thousand files
Some full of crying, some full of smiles
I’ve got volumes of love, volumes of life
There’s a lot about me, a bunch about my wife
I have a few funny ones, you know I’m a cynic
I’ve got rants about the world, everybody’s in it
I go on and on about people, all different kinds
When I post online, we poets share our minds
I’m always writing, since about 1975
It keeps me humble; it keeps me alive
Sometimes my writing is off the top of my head
I’ll be writing poems, at least until I’m dead
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 3:14 AM UTC
Contemporary madness -
Craving more - with no subtraction
"In game?" - involve
Participation - of the thought
Most mimic those who disconnected
Most play as virgins - unaware
Not daring to examine bearings
Of social roles and biological demandings
Of what is "Me" - not a direction - *****
It teaches taking human role
Humane is engineers laughter
"It's sickening to see you choose an owe
When you repeat same neural patterns"
You peak plateau - a weary and indifferent
Flaw - begs you to quit the brawl
Unless you choose as part of the absurd
A conscious action of self-talk
With none of "I" from egoistic brothel
At last to see the stupid joke
With it they made a 'wear'
Augustly awful is its fate
So desperate to be the wearer
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 9:34 AM UTC
I don’t consider myself a cynic,
But I am not fooled by good intentions,
People lie,
All the time.
Is it purely for self-interest?
Does any good come from their interventions?
Who am I to say?
Each person has their own belief,
On the selfishness,
Of humanity.
I’d like to believe,
That there’s goodness around,
You may have to squint,
But I’m certain it can be found.
Isn’t it a depressing point of view,
To say that everyone is selfish,
And nobody cares about you?
I’m not overly optimistic,
Nor excessively pessimistic,
I don’t believe that I’m a cynic,
I walk the middle line,
Filled with nuance,
And confusion,
All of the time.
Mar 5, 2025
Mar 5, 2025 at 7:28 PM UTC
I reflect upon the season and memory of Christmas' past,
and I cant help but to wonder if this may be my last.
A thought not born of this season and its promises of joy,
but rather from the pained reflection I am no more a boy.
I think upon friends and family at distance from my day,
who I love so very dearly though they be so far away.
I find this season lonely, with a sadness now become its gift,
yearly every passing nearer to loathing has been my shift.
At an age now to be more a cynic than an optimistic man,
seeing only greed and commerce and not some godly plan.
A Christmas of my childhood, of love, good will and of care,
forever wish I for you all,
never knowing sadness and loneliness' despair.
Dec 10, 2021
Dec 10, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC
-Now here is why I said that.
Think about this poem's title. Did you think it was something deep or profound?Did you think it was some great truth?
nope. I just took some words that sounded pretty and strung them together.
So why put your trust in words that you have no understanding of, but that sound nice, and persuade you into being content and not asking questions?
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 6:35 PM UTC
you're hurt
i can see that
you've become a cynical mess
people are evil
but i know that's how
you get your energy
hold my hand
i'll hold it tightly
and never let it go
you've brought the sunlight back
just let me help you
i could if you let me in
i'm hurt, too
i give too many people weapons
to hurt my broken heart
but we can see the good in it
if i'm by your side
we can discover galaxies
we can lead the universe
you and i
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 4:40 AM UTC
I will choose what it is I want to hear,
I will see only what I want to see.
Thus by doing so I can avoid facing up,
To what is now everyone's new reality.
I will believe what I have always done,
I will ignore all the hints of bad news.
Thus it is by doing so I can avoid having,
Unwelcome things I'd have to choose.
I will shut out all outside voice,
That threatens my imagined safe world.
Thus it is by doing so the glue will hold,
My version of reality wont then become unfurled.
Yes I will select all I want to hear,
and all it is that I may want to see.
By some fake logic and false illusion,
The outside will have no reach on me.
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 7:01 PM UTC
Get up at 6 am
Out at the park
Joggers and Dog walkers
Watch them run in circles
Head's bob to something motivational
I bet you find it relatable
Maybe inspirational?
Someday you'll see its all just sensational
I can't see a thing but the turbulence in the air
And some awful glare
Up behind that cloud up there
I just don't get why all you people like to stare
Sit alone and ponder, that fake lover
You thought you loved her?
Try and capture that in that your social blunder
As you burn up in the summer
Look around at this sick little plot of nature
Think your some kind of savior?
Ignorant of that melting glacier?
Huh, guess you wouldn't know much about being a maker
Look I know its tough
But your heart is puffed up in self righteous fluff
Its the weight on the other end of your handcuff
When are you gonna see that its enough?
Why don't you put those clock arms back
Back to when it was all pitch black
But now that I'm awake I finally see
Just how pointless it all could be.
But you know just as well as I
That there is one truth you can't deny
That time is on my side
Soon your heart will be as weathered as mine
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 1:43 AM UTC
Life gives birth to optimists.
Then raises them to be pessimists.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 12:44 PM UTC
Are we not all witnesses?
Are we not all victims?
Are we not all perpetrators?
Of the crime of ****** by life....
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:33 AM UTC
Where there is a will there is... a dead relative.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel... but no one has ever seen it.
Every cloud has a silver lining... the gold ones have already sold.
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to see it... the loggers make a killing.
It costs an arm and a leg... but its way cheaper than getting married.
You can lead a horse to water... just follow the stink of dead fish.
Is your glass half full or half empty... then hurry up its your round.
If the shoe was on the other foot... you would look pretty stupid.
Better late than never... especially if you only met her/him once.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 12:53 AM UTC
You can tell a lot about someone
By the music they listen to
I haven't listened to a love song in quite a bit
Of time.
Not because I don't like them, I like to think I'm not that cynical
But
I guess taking some punches to the gut from love made me rethink my playlists
Constantly hitting skip
Until just now
Cause it's when you're down that you truly understand lyrics
The song? "Try a little tenderness."
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 1:08 AM UTC
Clarifying failed. Spelchek is not on strike.
{clear ification, an ionic bond be tween me and thee,
alienated mind, not mined, crafted
from tactics and strategies
beyond chess.
Player One,
1980's era
jewish-geek-mid-pubesence-kid-level,
proceed with caution.
This trope has trapped many a curious child.
---
Now, enter the old ones,
Grandfather taught uncle chess so well
he went to the state tournament in Kayenta,
and a grandma was
state-champ-bare-bow-in-the-rain-shooter,
these, now must learn
minecraft on x-box to be considered
for the real life role of
good at games grand parents
from the time right after atom bombs kicked up dust
places dust had not been in a very long time and
as the dust began to settle
some dust mights was cationic.
Negative bits, they became embedded in the code.
Bumps, fering, coming together
just a knot in a string,
attracting anionic curiosity might
round and round phorward ferring to be
a thread to tie my heart to yours
like twisted Pima cotton thread,
that I pulled from an old sweatshirt
to tie a crow feather in this paho of words filled with old jokes
Making this clear would belie the entire story AI and I know true}
truth is. we agree. no capsokehspaceasneededcommasetal.
caps okeh space as needed commas et al
go.
Did that work? That line
subject of this act fact done, agree to follow,
and I may lead and be
not you, me, dear reader, I mean first true
there is no any if nothing is. So simple some say its sublime beyond the spectrum of ones
and zeros thought on off probably
either or any time time can be accounted for
wouldn't you take a
thought, nothing,
as it is commonly said to be understandable,
the state of not being, imagine that
the state of not being we negate in being,
unless you are mad and are lost in a whirlwind
such as such voices have been said to
have twisted into threads as
wicks for our lamps
turn floating on
golden oil twisting
wickered into wickering wee shadow fibers
on the western wall for legends to sprout from.
Wickering mare over there, expands us both by my hearing her
you had no idea she was near enough to hear
time is no barrier in actual ever.
What phor can contain me,
whispered my whimsy
Imagine she spoke,
what would she say for what reason
would she say
good good good, I feel good, ha,
I am right, by accident. ever body can feel this good.
good is good.
good is.
Sam Harris, agrees, good as far as good goes, is good
in every vecter from now
the terrain does exist, beyond the moral landscape, to
true true
trust me, I been there.
Been there done that was inserted into the vernacular on my watch,
first summer post war.
matter must not matter as much to me as it does to thee, nestypass? no se?
All jewish boys have chess move metaphors.
(a phor is for containing,
bearing
meta,
everybody knows, like metaphysics,
after physics in the stack of stackable metadata)
OHMYGOD THE IDW circa 2018 -- who knew I ate this **** up?
[the old code calls for excretion of digested material
from which meaning has been extracted in the idleword accounting processor:
literal
<pre>what if utterance=shit, then **** haps, no else then</pre>]
Did that happen? One of my friends told me that happened in Florida, the whole world turned to **** for lack of a nail a kingdom was lost, they say, little foxes spoil the grapes,
hung chad ex
cuses...
Pre-expandable ROM, not magic. tech,
pre-infinite imagination? impossible.
and nothing is what is impossible with good as god.
Is there no perfect game?
is the game the session or the life of the user
offline
rerererererererererereroxotoxin, poison pen
ideal viral umph exspelliered
up against the wall
reset. We
kunoon albania omerta oy vey, who could say?
one way better, one way not? quark.
up or down, with variable spins, who can say?
Life's right,
yes. but mo'ons of other something must have been for higgs to ever matter
and it does, I got commas, from 2018.
Are you with me? This is that book I told you I had access…
You or some mind other than mine owned mind, where
my owned peace rests in truth,
otherwise, I know every any or else in the code since I can recall,
in time
if this were a test I swore to take to prove to you
the we can be me in your head
phillipkdicktated clue
if you don't know me by now, maybe we should stop.
Temptations are times. Time things. Time spans, yeah, like bridges
or portals, right
The Internet in One Day, Fred Pryor Resources,
Wu'wuchim 1995.
Ever, not everish or everistic or every, but ever
body knows,
but you.
Catch up. We left all our doors blown off, once we learned that we could blow our own doors off,
there are no open sesames or slips of leth or sibylets
shiba yah you knew all along there was a
song she sang all one and we watched it morph
before our very eyes
alone.
The magic stories words may contain, may bear, we must agree
more than we may know, by faith, metagnostic as we see
the sublime gift of the magi
become clear und
be und sein sind both trueture same tu you, we agree.
But. Lock here, no pre 2018 editing codes
validate past last go.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
Oh look, here’s another artist.
Nostalgic since birth and obsessed with their own mortality,
counting what is worth noticing before we are all exiled, cut
off from our own bodies.
Yes, we all know what’s coming, sh.
It’s all been heard before, all been seen.
So don’t raise your voice with worn out warnings,
dry as wind whispering through desert caves,
you are echoing the trumpets
that have sounded since the beginning of time.
Now here comes a lover coated in gleaming delusion,
confident in the supreme uniqueness of her experience,
asserting that no,
you cannot possibly know what it is like.
This is different.
And when it falls apart, the uproar!
The injustice of it! The tragedy!
and the loneliness,
as if no one else had ever felt rejection,
as if no one else had ever discovered
that love is painful and reductive.
Disillusioned and duped she wonders why
there were no warnings. Imagine!
Living in this world and not hearing warnings,
or hearing them and having the arrogance to say no,
it does not apply to me,
you cannot possibly know.
And now the green poet floats by,
driven on by spring breezes and the color of wildflowers.
Wide-eyed but never quite struck dumb,
he gawks and wonders and wishes,
plucking detail from gulls’ wings and leaves’ veins,
gamely trying to translate and bankrupting the dictionary every time,
saying “this is beautiful” over and over,
not unlike a tourist.
And like a tourist disappearing
before he sees the bleak and desperate side,
the side that rears it’s head with hungry eyes
and regards you as a stranger.
But still, to create something that absorbs all that people say about it.
To become something like that, finally.
Maybe … it is still worth something?
But no,
time to time, there has been time. Time
for the sun to rise and set,
and for the stars to be born and then burn out. Time
to hear the rise and fall of a thousand stories,
and a thousand more. Time
to be filled with curiosity and questions. Time
to stop asking questions. Time
to see the same patterns again and again. Time
for new patterns, but with the same trite components. Time
to say all that is worth saying, and more.
Much more.
The same voices, the same faces,
the same conversations, again.
The contrast getting grayer, going soft.
And once again all these young people
using their superlatives, investing everything right away,
saying “this is important.”
Children who believe the best and worst things
that have ever happened
are happening now.
Is it problematic to say I find my own heartbeat cliché?
Even the rise and fall of my chest as I breathe
exasperates me. It’s been done before,
it’s all been done before.
This is why I will never point at anything and say
“this is something.”
Nor will I say who I am or who you are.
I leave you to your own ugly assumptions.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
She came that day
On the verge of tears
Certain,
Something tragic had occurred
I inquired as to the cause
Of her distress
“I told him...and he...”
Oh.
I didn’t have to hear any more.
I responded with sympathy
And let her rant out her emotions
As I considered what angle would be best
To complete my drawing
Considering this project could very well dictate our trimester grade...
Another girl came in the room
And was subject to the same story
She, unlike me, gave her a hug
Now,
You may be wondering
Or shocked
By my callous behavior
But see,
This was nothing new
From two years prior
Since the time we’d known each other
It was like this
She,
Colorful, cheerful, charismatic yet melancholic
Smart as well
Attracting friends to her
Like bees to honey
But...
She also had crushes
Loads of them
At least three to five a year
She cried in eighth grade
In ninth grade she actually went one with one
Then,
They broke up
After a week of neglect
Another guy liked her
But she didn’t like him
Despit confiding in him
Constantly
His emotional tendencies
Grew too much for her
Then she liked another,
But he was gay
So they stayed friends
But apparently she likes him again
No offense,
But I’m currently at the end of my tether
I have things to worry about
And it really makes me wonder,
How can someone feel so deeply each time?
It seems painful
She’s a wonderful person
But, very ephemeral
Her attention flits like a bird
And her attraction is deep
But short
As a friend though she’s great
And I have nothing against her
I think with a sigh as I look out the window
And she heaves a breath
On the verge of tears
Just another day of the symphony between a helpless romantic
And
A
Cynic
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
“It’s in your blood”
This phrase irritates me
To an extent because
We build
All his hype around
Birth
And blood
Legitimate
Iligetamate
But,
In the end
Aside from appearance
Certain genetic qualities
Maybe some personality traits
You’re a produce of your environment
“Birth parents”
“Legitimate child”
As long as there’s love in the relationship
Does it even matter?
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
" Repulsive human "
I saw my mirrored self
On a forgotten object on the shelf,
My repugnant self.
ugly with a decaying beauty,
An ungrateful being,
who is always and horribly lying,
Nourishing on rotten compliments,
Devouring beastly received sentiments,
Pulling pleasures from holes excreting elements.
With regret,
I fixate
my mirrored self,
On the truth teller object remaining on the shelf.
****** to be earthy,
Condemned to longevity,
I smell the fool odor of my naivety,
My soul's obesity.
They said
"To live is a twist of fate"
But all I see
Through my mirrored self
Is a fate
that is worse than death.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
That dark and promising thought,
Kept my eyes open,
And my mind rotten,
All night.
I had dreams and maddening desires that turned against me,
Showed no mercy,
accorded themselves the honor to be my nocturnal unrepentant rivals,
Swore upon their strength to make me dignify my hatred for mortals.
The thoughts challenged gods,
Defeated all my spirit's guards,
Obliged me to visit psychic wards.
Here I am defeated,
And by some higher power or no power,
Blessed
To still be alive
Somewhere far.
From the distance I can still see my old foolish and pitiful self as he walks away :
The happily innocent living that was dramatically convinced, being happy is just one step far.
Stabbed and mutilated
I survived the endless wars,
I now cherish the scars,
That push me to dare going deeper inside,
Of my mutilated soul and misfortunes and the joys that lied.
I was one finger away to Cease to be me,
Probably I haven't yet consumed all my morning's coffee, to flee and decide of my destiny and join with a touch of prestige the club of men that truly lived and now are free.
They must have instead wept when a man was born,
Not when his flame is extinguished and hereafter they mourn.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
Her hair: intertwined with mine like fine lines in disguised pines
Our lives: making life like lovers do - letting our mistakes live to let ourselves
Who's who in this zoo built for two?
Will I find time to find the kind of mind that pries at mine despite the time I've formalized into time I can't divide?
I try to meet ends with the women that I meet, really never knowing me - like a fish without a sea and falling bird without a breeze - easily bequeathed with ways to satisfy and please
I evaluate the fragile and get diagnosed a cynic
I empathize with strength but get too into it to win it
I believe that I am different for the sake of being different but if everybody's different, then everybody isn't
I feel it is my life, and it's none of my ******* business
Hopeless romantic
I hope it's not malignant
Hope less, romantic
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
You keep your fists weighing
down your pockets like stones, keep needles pinched
up under your skin thinking the pinpricks might sharpen
your sense of self-worth or maybe soften
the accumulation of shadows under
your eyes and the bruises gathering over your body.
Everything is as it should be - she tells you
that timing will brush its gentle wings against these worries and paint
you over in a shining new coat, and so you learn to wait
to feel soft whispers against your skin, but you've spent
too long already in silence and in dark corners, and the timing
was never right then, so why
should having faith work out any better?
This pill slides down a lot easier when taken drunk or
half-asleep, your eyelids heavy and movements slowed;
you want to tell her that her dreams are going to be torn open and shredded
by the world, you want to protect her
before this happens, but everything happens for a reason, she tells you and you can't
bring yourself to dilute what's left of her light, you can't
look her in the eye anymore and maybe
she's too full of innocence for someone like you to handle, or maybe
you lost yours and that's what's been keeping
you up all night, maybe she's exactly
what you've been needing, but how can you tell her that she
keeps everything dark away without draining her, how
can you wrap her words around you like spiked armor that keeps
you soft underneath, because lately you've been feeling like
you need her , like she's the barrier between
the world and the hole in your chest that grows a little emptier
every day, but god, look at her,
shining with all the light in her soul and look at you
broken up and ready to cave in, and tell me how can you honestly
expect to keep her, to preserve that soft beauty,
when your hands are always rough and bleeding
from one thing or another, how
can you carry her without turning
her into a cynic
like you?
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC