#trivial
This is the issue
With you logophiles —
From your logged eye
Your pleonasm —
Your tautology —
Your tenuous lexiphanes
Are a rationalized
Superiority — sculpted
In alabaster vowels
And lacquered tone.
You genuflect towards
Your own verbosity —
Polished and pristine —
While adding precious stones
To a gilded noose
Braided in adjectives.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 11:13 PM UTC
I have seen that ME
Seeking for a trivial book
Whose sentiments mingled my soul
I have seen that ME
Wandering down the Quay Street
Where harmony was found in chaos
I have seen that ME
Falling in love with a lonely cloud
When the wind lies a paradise
I have seen that ME
Voyaging on waves of blue
Whom the young poet cried with
I have seen that ME
soaring as a kiwi bird
which died in eternity
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 2:34 AM UTC
That's a beautifully odd name
What does it mean?
It means I was born
For the simple reasons
No one understands
Feb 8, 2025
Feb 8, 2025 at 6:59 AM UTC
In a wordy battle with trivial dogmatic mentalities , I win by sandwiching my perspectives between my upper lip tubercle and lower lip tubercle.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 7:37 PM UTC
Sometimes feelings can be hard to interpret.
Its you, but you still can't tell what it means.
Maybe thats part of being human,
That we must be unknowing,
In almost all aspects of life,
Even our own.
I just wish,
That I could figure it out.
Figure out why I pushed you away,
But seem to miss you more everyday.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:09 PM UTC
A little bit of reality and a little bit of chimera,
I'm sitting at the table of silence, lonely in this era.
My eyes are fixed on the ceiling like some projectors
towards sweet memories, listening some lectures.
It's a little bit early and it's a little bit late.
About yesterday or about tomorrow should I say?
Anyway, I'm not anything I seemed to be,
I'm not a brave Cupid of hearts that sets you free.
I feel a little bit cold and I feel a little bit warm,
like after the wine that makes everything have a form
which catches fire quickly both in love and anger,
motivated by infinite agony, searching for an answer.
Is that a little bit important, or is it a little bit trivial?
As a sparkle, a living heart of a strange ritual,
in which it seems for her of love to be unworthy,
then she looked in the mirror and learned about mercy.
My words have a little bit of sun and a little bit of storm.
Even if they're telling the ugly truth that wants to inform
that I want to hear enchanted songs of the waves again
but then I think, is my soul lying to me? It's going to drain?
The soul separates all and puts everything together,
even if it's a healed heart, or light as a feather.
Makes a little bit of damage, then something useful,
if it was sad sometimes, it was always truthful.
Doesn't matter if it's on Mondays or Sundays,
we all are an amalgam of tears and smiles in this maze.
Smiles that are hiding, then show up again and again
sometimes as a rough illusion that drives you insane.
Yes, it's a little bit absurd, but it's a little bit ordinary.
Not everything in this world is a cake with a cherry.
We all have inside a little bit of love, a little bit of hate,
as tough as it is, we accept that this is our fate.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
There you are- minding your own **** business
Getting the **** done that you need to get done
And it hits you
A ******* papercut
Funny how something so seemingly harmless and innocent
Can cause so little damage
That bothers you so ******* much
A drop of blood and days of discomfort
Something so miniscule disrupting the simplest of tasks
Stinging like screams for attention
How are you supposed to move on
And make lemonade out of what life hands you
When the juice stings your fingertips
When relief is only resolved
When the issue is acknowledged.
But it’s fine you know
Everything is fine
Plenty of people use paper everyday and live to tell the tale
So really it’s not a big deal
Get enough and your fingertips will callus over
Soft things don’t go well with hard edges
Maybe by not being soft, then you can get more **** done
But by getting hard you’ll feel less
And wouldn’t it be nice to feel all things
Knowing fully well it’s worth the pain of a ******* paper cut
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
Life is like Ikea,
Feels like it will never end,
But when it does,
It is too late.
A labyrinth you enter,
Beds and pillows guide the way,
Seems so cynical and perfect,
Still the hassle lies within.
It begins as an endless curiosity,
Soon trivially you follow the lines,
The excitement slowly fades,
It just has to be done.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
Here I've grown to accept the riddles of each day, to culminate into a coalesced mesh of disarray.
Never would the seeds down under sprout to see the sun at the mere sound of thunder.
X marks the spot somewhere dissolving in my gut, wrenching at the chance to give both some and none of which we call *****
I've lost my faith in humanity,
I've lost humanity in my faith.
Yet I'd face my fate if only just to sate the state.
This flip book of stop.
Animation.
Assimilates fremescent assibilation,
And similarly tastes terrible,
Savoring like dry sponge, and tied tongues,
It's incredibly trivial, just a trivia of syllables stripped up to simple tools.
Simple tools.
Simple...
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
It all starts small
And then it accumulates
It gathers within a small compound
And the feeling explodes
With impact
And great strength
It affects
And it continues to grow
It was oh so trivial
But before you realised it
It had already happened
*And in that heat of the moment
A little thing became...
...everything*
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC
THE FEAR OF NORMALITY
THE FEAR OF APATHY
THE FEAR OF ORDINARY
THE FEAR OF BORING
THE FEAR OF REPLACEABLE
THE FEAR OF SAMENESS
THE FEAR OF CLICHE
THE FEAR OF BANALITY
THE FEAR OF COMMON
THE FEAR OF DULL
THE FEAR OF SHALLOWNESS
THE FEAR OF TRITENESS
THE FEAR OF VAPID
THE FEAR OF UNORIGINAL
THE FEAR OF INSIPID
THE FEAR OF PRETENTIOUS
THE FEAR IN UNINSPIRING
THE FEAR OF TRIVIAL
THE FEAR OF AVERAGE
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:39 PM UTC
Life has got me feeling down
a shade of sadness paints the halls
my worries got me feeling ****
I'm too young to feel this way
I gave up drugs but I want a hit
my soul turns old and silver grey
money problems at twenty years
my mother's sickness
has my family in tears
I hate this life I'll admit it
didn't want to offend
the people closest to me in my life
by saying it's so
Now I don't care to be honest
I have to be true
a life of happiness
isn't possible with my state of mind
and I've been thinking this
for a very long time
I'm miserable and sometimes
I want to die
but I'm a coward
and cowards seldom die
we run and we ***** and we moan
and we cry
sobbing at the fact it's ourselves we loathe
I want to drown myself
in a sea of liquor no less
forgetting my worries
this life and it's stress
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
The question has to be asked, “How hard can it be,
for a man to get a decent cup of tea”?
How can people get something so simple so wrong?
A question that has vexed me for ever so long.
Let me be clear, lest there be any confusion
I’m not into tea leaves or these fancy new infusions
Nor herbal or green, earl grey or the rest
A good plain cup of tea is simply the best!
I wonder why it is that people bother to ask
When they will not put any real effort into the task
Yes they are careful to ask how you take your tea
But what you get is something different, entirely
If there is one thing that really gets to me
It is being made a half cup of tea
I always opt for a mug because there’s never enough in a cup
But for some reason they seem incapable of filling it up!
After just two mouthfuls, Surprise! It is all gone!
I hate always having to ask for another one
All the effort they made has gone to waste
The whole experience leaving a very bad taste.
Making tea is a formula, very hard to get wrong
why so often served weak when I always ask for strong?
A small drop of milk please, how hard can it be?
But I often get tea in my milk, not milk in my tea
I do like my sugar and to tell the truth
I do possess an awfully sweet tooth
“three and a bit” I say when they ask
But is stirring it such an impossible task?
How easy can it be? Just move the ****** spoon
You were just standing there, what else were you doing?
And to see all that sugar sitting there at the end
Would drive the most sane person round the bend
Another thing I get really mad about
Is when people do not take the teabag out
And though the cup appears to be full to the top
You take the bag out and watch the level drop
You might think it’s funny but it’s certainly not
What to do with a teabag that is dripping hot?
A cup of tea is supposed to help you relax
Not be the cause of minor heart attacks
And the biggest evil, by far the worst
Is those who serve tea, knowing the teabag has burst
At the end you get a mouthful of leaves and grit
I do love my tea but wonder if it is worth it.
It got to the stage where I considered drinking coffee
But I was bamboozled by the variety available to me
Mocha or latte, perhaps a frappuccino,
Or maybe an espresso or a cappuccino
No, the idea of drinking coffee just left me cold
all I really wanted was a cup of tea truth be told,
Though I have been accused of taking this issue too seriously
There is nothing in the world quite like…. a decent cup of Tea!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
a courtesy conditioned,
disingenuous inquisition
societal reflexes true and
queued because they don't
******* care
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
gestures unnoticed
a crime oh so trivial
yet it hurts the most
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
One bump, two bump.
A little bitty crash.
One bent bumper, one bumper scraped.
Two heads thrown too fast.
Two necks hurt just a little bit.
No need to send an officer.
Just fill out the online form.
When did an incident at a major intersection
turn into a trivial moment?
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
Fleeting, rolling days, weeks,
years of half-memories with
no faces,
but places - parks,
playgrounds, forests, ditches -
in which youthful time was
spent without a thought for
permanence or preservation.
The "best years of your life"
twisted, tarnished, pastel-
smeared to indistinguishable
faces, places, seasons,
feelings, fears, loyalties -
scrunched up and abandoned;
left to seep inside a clockwork mind
teeming with trivial tenterhooks
and patchwork recollections.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
My morals are a patchwork
Stitched together from various other minds
A well worn quilt I wrap myself in for security
For blameless justification of a deformed belief system
Twisted and gnarled with an arthritis of the spirit
A hollow vessel made into a crock ***
Full of someone else's ********
Stirred by resentment
Stewed in fear and
Served with anger
To mask my ignorance and indifference
I have a reputation for trivialities
Snippets of soundbites
Subliminally soldered
Onto my sub-conscious
Where they acquire the character
Of authoritative wisdom
More pious than a prophet!
Holier than an ancient sage!
I am a 21st century shaman
A guru grifter
Embryonic episodes
Aborted for mass consumption
Over cocktails and hor dourves
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
I remember asking
Can I go to the restroom?
a lot
and getting the same ******* response
I don't know; Can you? as I leave the room
answering myself
with two working legs and a full bladder
returning to a scolding
and everyone watching something
How Ships Sink
I think of some poems of empty people and slouching
and I don't think that I think that
I read it and remembered having read it
somehow
some slip
or conjuring of a movie clip of ships sunk
no
sorry
Why
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Illusory as this corporeal existence
may be termed,
I am too glad sifting through
[This imagined existence of]
The interspaces of Time and Space.
Don’t need to be interceded for
To a space-less place-
The echoes of infinity
Tingle me, weaving infrasonic waves
Of life around me.
I can catch up with salvation
Some other day;
I'm here. Soaking in
The sun's tickle tingling me awake
The wind's whistle cooing on a dull day,
The patter of rains as it sings
A new rhythm into play.
A dog's wagging tail at my caress,
Smiles from faces familiar-unfamiliar,
Or a dance move I'd been tugging at to perfect.
Lapping up a home-cooked meal
After a long day, curling up in my bed.
Celebrating joys with an exultant jump
A high-five or a fist-pump,
Celebrating life more
Than fearing death.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC