"banalities" poems
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions and principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.
we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice
we are a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...
countless points of comparison,
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...
we write......
we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities
yet, we await the marvels of each morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...
years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night
while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May, 19, 2019
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC
Once when I was young, I was told you could swing so high you'd be able to just fly away.
I learned early on
That not everything we're told is true
The fantastical can sometimes amount to a pile of plastic bags scattered in the wind
The end isn't always happy and there's not always closure
Punctuations are more often question marks than definitive periods
And looking for a definite explanation took prevalence over allowing our imaginations to fill in the blanks.
Play time was replaced with study time,
And before we knew it, it was time for work
We strayed from the playgrounds of our youth,
Never returning to the top of the slide, we'd hit the ground a bit too hard to keep the enchantment of seemingly endless possibilities going
Carriages became pumpkins long before midnight,
And the school bell rang before we could finish our fun
But to tell the truth, sometimes,
When everyone else has gone inside, back to the real world, full of logic and banalities,
I sit on the old swingset kicking my feet
Hoping it will let me soar
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
( ) ) (( )(())
No cold wind blew
to abate this afternoon's heat...
no rain showers brought out
that sweet smell of very dry soil
...........touched by rainfall
tonight, my mind is occupied by
the transience of things
all thoughts are fleeting
inspirations are hard to capture...they're
soap bubbles, flying...bursting in the air
"bubbles"......made me turn to my left
where a wineglass stood, and sparkled...
my eyes stopped, stunned...a bottle of Prosecco,
was within reach......it beckoned...
ahhhhhh......sips came one after the other,
much delight in its bubbles...in its taste...
i want to be numb from nagging pain,
from the cries...the anguished sighs
that can never go, without a tear falling...
bubbles of pain...slowing down
the passing of days....but all these
will wane one day,....and be part
of the banalities of my diurnal life...
just like in the past, this, too, will pass...
this late hour, again, i raise my glass,
and drink away my days of woe...high
to the bright lights
for, a different kind of radiant yellow
drives away my trail of shadows
i will just smile
even for a while
and enjoy its bubbles
::::::::::::::
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Sally
Copyright September 15, 2017
rrab
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
Take all of my belongings; pictures of
Beloved ones and grandmother's bible.
Just leave me a piece of paper and my
Will to describe the memory of my losses.
I take the pen for granted, as one does when
Leaving a bank in deeper debt.
One man's advertisement is another poet's
Tool.
I, Poet, would arise in the morning and praise
My tiny square of window, even with its
Iron bars.
I'd find poetry in prison wall profanity.
I love losing. Crying over love, over
Tragedies the size of full history book pages,
Timeless art lost in gallery fires, bad poetry
Gone viral and unpublished classics discarded.
I, Poet, laugh out loud in disbelief at sunsets
And other banalities.
Take spring rain showers and act at times
Like a hipster on ether; a hippie kissing his
Last tab of acid with the heart of his tongue.
I care less than the unfree.
Drink water; wash my feet with wine
And walk miles and miles of fire.
I, Poet.
Ink in my veins, fountains of blood on my
Pages. I write no diary, keep myself between
The lines.
The areas of white between the words.
The opposite of
Nothing. It is where gods,
Truths, and the poet's way of loving
A dual life lie. As
Unseen as
Unhidden, in
Broad daynight.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
it’s simply awesome
how much energy
is spent to document
the newness of the news
no matter how repetitive
may be the words of the reporters
the hype needs to be built
no matter whether right or stilted
driven by fear the topic might be wilted
a minute later
and half an hour later
you hear the same with minor variations
adorned with various speculations
so that the viewers may get the illusion
it’s NEW – though it is old,
and just repetitive
an endless loop of hyped-up trivialities
of who did what and when and why
maybe with whom or not
makes you aware that even new banalities
rarely include what really matters
to the majority of people on this globe
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions. principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.
we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice
we are a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...
countless points of comparison,
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...
we write......
we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities
yet, we await the marvels of each morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...
years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night
while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May, 19, 2019
Jan 12, 2025
Jan 12, 2025 at 5:49 AM UTC
Early morning sunlight barges through the curtain holes
There is no hiding after
All the misgivings of last night and all nights before
Must disappear faster
Light is beckoning you unto itself
Tears must be swept under the rug
Light illuminates as is on rich and poor
Could it be your only wake up hug?
So grab her hand and walk into the light
Make her your own
Leave the banalities of this world behind
Don't miss, don't mourn
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
Herein lies the cycle of this existence. Replete with everyday banalities - placid and meaningless - the menials of survival give away almost suddenly, and I find myself plunged into the depths of an unperturbed silence... where a voice within resounds the Om. A rage drives me to divest all falsifications.. those sensuous pleasures and miserable burdens, insecurities and frustrations.. and all that exists/acts in a true sense of transience. I feel calm again - cleansed and breathless on the shores of this Reality. But alas!, the Silence fades.. slowly and steadily the noises of the world begin to seep in, like the first rays of sunshine after a long wintrous slumber.
Crests and troughs, this life of mine. A reckless indifference grips my heart; I exist, unbeknown of whether I am a benign Observer or the perverse Experiment, or evenly both.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Disillusioned, is the word I use
To show you what I know,
When ponderous poets empathize
With undeserved word flow.
Analysis of purpose made
Dissection of the theme,
This superficial commentary
To hints of depth... Unseen.
The need to taste a stanza's flavour
To roll it on the tongue,
Like merlot spilt on burning stone
In searing midday sun.
Tossed banalities for empty lines,
Back scratching for the crew
Who choose to curry favour
With the elevated few.
Bring forth the real word smith, I say,
Release the razor's knife,
Carve substance to selection's choice
And breathe this site some life.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 December 2009
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 3:44 PM UTC
I don't like it !
Seriously, there's nothing all that great about it
It's all been seen, heard and done before
Everybody uses elaborate words to flaunt their knowledge in a field where intelligence is merit
Everybody uses dumbed down banalities to come across as the everyman, being outrages, yet funny
A cliché of a cliché
Oh' what a great life, but not really !
The newest installment of this comes as no surprise
In todays paper of "ordinary boring", we are presented with the two new buzzwords of the day;
Positivity and Health
Have you run a marathon yet ?
Are you a negative influence on your work place ?
Guide: How to ignore the painful truth and create fake energy
Is there anything more pathetic than every person in the world lying to themselves.
If it's not the blatant ignorance of; world hunger, personal problems, true opinions, it's lying to everybody around you.
You hate that dress ! You think that he's pathetic ! You know **** well what you like, so don't refer to me as if you know what I want, think or need !
A dishonest world is the observer's nightmare
The observer's nightmare is a dishonest world
Observe Dishonest World
World Observe Dishonest
Dishonest World Observe
Which came first and how can it ever change ?
I dislike the pretty words, I dislike the sentiment of "good" and "nice", because I understand that it will not bring something new, a change or move anything or anyone. Sometimes to get better, you have to get bad, and even that is ignored, to obtain the status quo of that which will never remain.
What is the point ?
True emotion, true feelings, truth in general is good.
The naked, ugly, discarded, frantic, ****** irresponsible, amputated and lonely truth.
TRY IT !
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
Flippy Hippie, what the heck is your trip?
We get things going fine and then you flip.
Your political lips are criminally zipped.
Because you are obviously losing your grip.
Tripping hipster, what were you thinking?
The ship of state is so obviously sinking.
Are you diddling with your own erections?
And too good to vote in our elections?
Hippy dippy, Flippy Hippie, you’re mental.
Apparently your adulthood is experimental.
You’re just tourists in your own realities
Blathering a lot of brainless banalities.
You make excuses not to use your brains.
You’re making choices you can’t explain.
To you all politics is just a boring game.
When we ask, you say they’re all the same.
Flippy Hippie, you make not much sense at all.
You’ll die too when they stand us to a wall.
We know you quit thinking in elementary school
And that explains why you’re such a big fool.
We understand the reason you are so dim
You don’t see it’s us or them. You’re not them.
Later, if they get their way and the US is dead
Just remember a lot is because you stayed in bed.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC
Meaningless
pushed and pulled
through arbitrary dimensions
Emulating differences in the same,
the Fatal Contradiction
Redefining the sane!
Recombined
fused with idle spinning.
Forging the distorted lie,
these lines in between
with apparent coherency
and ingenious discrepancies
blurring the boundaries
of this new systematic hell!
Put in perspective
these inconsequential banalities
and childish banter
all but shape the future
reiterating the errors of yesterday
Skewed
Conceptualized
Vizualized
Realized
Quantized
... Denied!
how long was it before i fell?
does it even matter?
when even these parallel thoughts repel...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
Simple, smallish thoughts,
Held so high by the clueless,
. . . Now trend on HP.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
in Portugal austerity is biting...
good luck everybody.
Sat around the crowded table
Wrangling chair legs and buttering
Conversations about banalities whilst
Being bathed by full cool moonlight
Is of course a fair enough sweet delight.
Yet there is smoke in the air!
Then one by one my souls depart;
Stunning my heart yet keeping me close
Causing fears to become unshadowed.
As somehow, I must open my eyes to find
There is always a child quite near.
Oh how do I keep it fed?
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
Is change coming
Do you hear that mighty strumming
Or feel the empty silence tear
In the distance of the near future
Something is happening
Economy politics fuel food climate credit germs cult personalties
Something is about to wipe out the banalities
I know it
I smell the rain
Pregnant in the wind
Has that become a sin
If not then why do we all still sit
Today's warnings simply do not fit
Will you hear the screams of fear
Change is coming
I know it is sounding
Because now all the brain's
Are simply trying to stay sane
This by holding on to the normalcy bias
But these are the times that particular bias
Becomes illusions in the highest
* Just because lightning has never ever struck you before it does not mean you should open a metal umbrella in a thunderstorm. Even if it keeps you dry,......till it doesn't.
-Just Arun
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC
“I love you cupcake,
sugar cookie,
double chocolate coffee crumble toffee almond cake.”
“I forgot my insulin
but that’s ok,
just please give me more,
we’ll figure it out later.”
“You’re my sweet living nightmare,
my small wondrous death,
my fanciful figure of false hope.”
Come melt on my tongue.
Send me into convulsions.
Leave me here
Choking on the chalky aftertaste of candy heart sentiments,
Clumsy banalities dribbling out the corners of my mouth.
Murmuring,
“Forget the ******* insulin. Give me more. We’ll figure it out later.”
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
Today, I was scolded
Was told that I was a boor;
That I had, inadvertently
Rendered some holy cattle
Of theirs a death rattle
A battle I won, without knowing
I had even fought, thought
I was just being amusing,
Somehow confusing my path
Down through the tulips
As a meander down the apse
Of some secret church.
Unfair! I was unaware.
And even now, I fear I care
Far less than they do
About their holy cows.
I didn’t then, I don’t now.
But, I have accepted, long ago
That, with social networking
I simply has to be so
That people will be offended;
Starting open-ended rancor,
Scoring slash after ****** slash
Across my Mr. Perfection sash
Granted me by nobody but me,
And that they will put a smudge
By bearing a grudge
About what I see
As a trifling inconsequentiality.
But is their cathedral,
Their Mecca to bow to
And thus I will be the target
Of slings and arrows.
Shall I be sure to only speak
If I speak plenty of inanities
Muttering banalities about love
And the weather and books
Shall I fear the looks, the scorn
Born of misunderstandings
Taken as mishandling
The hearts of the tender
And render myself informationless,
Opinion free, without personality
Speaking when spoken to eternally
So I don’t trip over hidden wires,
Don’t **** on burning fires
Of pet peeves, rip off the sleeves
Of hair shirts, do idols dirt?
Is that the way it should go?
I don’t think so.
But, what do I know?
I am the scurrilous, stumbling fool
Who ****** in someone’s pool
And told them it was raining.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
O, cry morning, sun breaks again
In that history of banalities
Are written, I finished the cigarette
Before the coffee, twirling wind
O, sigh morning as inverted
Could carry me to the rock wall, thinning grey,
Of the house where egos, bruised, seek guidance
The black bird builds a decoy nest
O, shy morning. churlishly answering questions never
Asked before, “nah-uh, nah-uh, nah-uh,”
(A ****** is heard, of most[ly] fowl)
Spoken mostly to the fact:
It is what it is. Acceptance
O, belie morning. builds a brutalist window, round by row
The they that walks whistles low with nebulous intent
To remind itself to forget
Abysm is a stranger in your city streets.
O, blithe morning. Such cringing in place
Of those sleeping hours, parsing the drop-ceiling’s
Calligraphy: kings be draped in robes of flesh
To depose the anarchists in cerebral lands,
O, yes, my morning. a lechery for the heart,
That religion of my given path
Or its surrogate, the lawful rebels
Writing on every city row, so willing but rough,
My guest, O, my morning, such a pity!
Restless and genuflect, the they does not find itself
Swayed by the largess of absence
Craning neck eastward toward the perfect morning,
Ever on the cusp of the perfect twilight.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
How wonderful to most away
be nothing from nothing
to cry in stardust
like we did in the beginning
Do I fear my end planned
the 12 12 12 of me
the blood and destruction
of poetry I will make of he
To have love and hate
in so many bounds of reality
all the come what may's
and suffer all the banalities
Even my own
stars of my own
thought somewhat
she will not call to him
Yet pity me not
as I have pity on you
for I conjugate
with the last and few
I care to end all I am
the silly *** hole without a plan
one forgotten of broken deeds
for who would need one as weak as me
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
I wish that I was occupied by the banalities
Maybe then there would've been a you and me
Because we hide ourselves in the mundane
And ignorance is bliss, and I've spent my life seeking knowledge
But who am I to decide?
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
Any gift which is lauded may become a curse
If it denies one office, or lightens the purse.
Though I once drank deep of the sweetness of favor,
My visions bear the taint of unpleasant flavor.
I have become, it seems, an inconvenience
Not to be moved aside with relative lenience,
But to be swatted roughly like some irksome fly,
To be excised as a nagging, untimely sty
An irritant which confounds and clouds one’s vision.
I stand before you, an object of derision,
A dustbin to collect your calumny and scorn
(Paraded in the roughest cloth, hair rudely shorn)
Likened to that which falls from a donkey’s behind.
No matter, then—one finds that young thoughts in an old mind
Foment suspicion rather than learned debate,
(Though I would likely decline to participate)
The upshot being unpleasant realities.
So shake your fists, and mouth your banalities,
Yoke me with the verdict of trial by fire.
You shall, soon enough, do your dance with the pyre.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
I delight in the way you hold me
my dear
and the way you make me laugh,
better than any drug.
And the surface of your skin,
nothing has ever felt so smooth.
Banalities seem not so banal
through the kaleidoscope lens of our love.
We shop for groceries
like pirates searching for treasure.
It's our secret
and no cannon can penetrate the planks
of our ship.
But I have loved others before
and may love another again.
For even ships are subject to decay
with the changing of the tides.
And my heart has many chambers.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
The Bench
Here sits a man in a park
lost for the world,
he was trying to break down banalities.
Not knowing that 99% of our daily
conversations consist of trivialities,
Without this safety valve
people would be trying too hard to say
something sensible
and end up alone in a park
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:03 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Is it playing the race card
If the deck is stacked
And everything you state
Is an established fact
Michelle opened up
And almost got wacked
So we weren’t surprised
When she was attacked
Is it playing the race card
When you acknowledge
Certain social realities
Rarely taught in college
Or should all banalities
Suddenly be abolished
Because someone’s ego
Needs to be polished
Is it playing the race card
If you’re in a rut
And the cards you were dealt
Are all that you’ve got
Don’t preface your answer
With the usual but
Causing me to say
Tut tut tut
Is it playing the race card
Though politically incorrect
When it’s the only thing you have
What would you expect
It doesn’t require
A tremendous intellect
If you take pause
To stop and reflect
Cedric McClester © Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Trump
A week is a long time in politics it also a long time in an old man's life
who knows it can end when he sleeps; I say that and think of suicide
watching the entertainment on Portuguese TV the utter banalities makes me
shake uncontrolled fall to the floor until she switches off the telly.
Ok I admit to being over the top, she have been away for a week with
TV off most of the time except when watching the news on France 24 and
counting their lies and the omissions I take a grim pleasure watching
the new reader speaking his lines not listening to what he is saying like
a human robot and now we have got Trump he is theatrical ok mind,
he only do one-dimensional figure and is unable to be someone else
as his ego is big as Mount Everest like it or not he is the best president ever.
Democrats are stunned they are used to the hypocrisy of politicians it
has become a norm …and now this vulgarian is in power, tells his truth
as he sees it some agree, he promised the working class people
EMPLOYMENT.
For the time being, we believe, the day will come when the smug liberals
string him up below the statue of Abe Lincoln
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC