"bla" poems
As I lay here in bed my only thought is you. Hoping, just hoping that you're thinking about me too I just want to text you and tell you how I feel. But rejection is a motherfcker , a feeling too real. So I suppress my feelings and a friend ill stay because I don't want to be the one to scare you away. Deep down wishing you felt the same ,but I know you don't , probably never will ...so am I to bla...me ? For putting myself in a situation when theres nothing to gain. Wishful thinking got me here. Being optimistic got me here. Being naive got me here. The words " I want you" I've been longing to hear. Your sweetest touch I've been dying to feel. When I'm not with you I want your near, I know we can never be so why am I still here ? Maybe I might just love you ,something I fear I know nothing can never come of it, so why am I still here ?
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Emerging economies.
What they’re emerging from I don’t know.
My guess, the depths of hell.
From the frying pan, right into the fire, or worse; a well.
A deep hole stronger than gravity, the force.
To be forever under the thumb of remorse.
A modern era of endless acts, policies and bla bla bla.
Shut up with all your platitudes.
I see what’s really going on. Aha!
You speak of sustainable development.
Nice to know that you’ve led by example.
Carried the mantle for all these years.
Centuries of ruthlessness, now veiled in sheep’s clothing.
But you won’t shut up. Because you don’t speak.
You never have. You just do.
Each day that goes by, you carry on anew.
Behind all the talk of hope, equality and more progress,
it seems the wolves are lurking.
Cooking up the next tool to subdue countless.
This time, not behind closed doors. But in plain sight.
It’s scary to imagine such spite.
Each year that goes by it becomes clearer that you never cared.
You sold guns, drugs and all kinds of war.
And each time, you kept coming back for more.
You’ve built up antibodies that ensure your survival.
But sometimes I wonder if you’re alive at all.
But what do I know?
Maybe you’re more alive than ever.
Doing what you do best but always more clever.
That not even the most stable of geniuses can evade your pressure.
A strong enough foundation that each break makes you stronger,
So strong that not even the Gremlin can take you under.
Against this dreary background, foregrounded is nothing short of magical.
Beyond hope, prayers or a thoughtless radical.
Or maybe this is all just fake outrage.
An attempt to evade the boredom of this endless monotony and baggage.
Or maybe, the term is out of date.
Like every other, that makes me increasingly more irate.
In which case, this poem is at least ten years late.
Or maybe there are too many maybes’.
And I’m perfectly suited for this time of vague uneasiness and indifference.
In which case, my imagination probably needs more sociology and less a lesson in rhymes.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
I remember when MTV was in its prime,
A new voice to represent the new boom
Babies growing up since the 80s
Louder still through the troubling decades
(Maxed out credit no head room)
After —the punks in nirvana and rapping clergy
It was the only channel on
Youthful rebel yell —honest news
I remember it pretty well
Shaping us generation x y and Personal Jesus
New wave good bye to when
Childhood then without pain of malnourished
Africa or nukes threatening our
Cruel summers
Were we happier then?
So what happens to the music
Rockstars rip van wrinkle
Geriatric hall of fame
(No one lives forever
Reruns with the ****** & mr. Ed
Now that old neighbor’s dead)
Television
Nowadays
Seem more gangster
School shootings terrorists
On the train, kamikaze planes,
It’s all the same ole
Bling kablam oh bits
******* please
Redirecting our attention
To WMD
***
Where the hells are we?
I remember back then
On MTV —Nicki Minaj says
Between the hysterics of police brutality
She said Happiness is living your life
Without struggle,
That stuck with me
Because we all watch the tube
We all search for meaning
Sadly defining what happiness
May look like
Real World and paradoxical reality
TV
Para socially defunct
Clarity
Conditioned to continuously
Stay tuned
Brief message of empty
Hypnosis a pure form of business
Wall Street
Boulevard of broken dreams
I want my
Happy. What do I mean
To be?
Life ***** lately
The human condition
Talking too much
Refusing to see
No more talking heads too much
Bla bla ********
I want my
MTV . Happy .
My generation
We are the world
freedom And yes, Peace.
Man kindly as one
Symphony
And street, a melting ***
Of diversity
I remember the music
The future
I had hope to see
Behind the shades
Circa 80s 90s
(Fossils)
What time is it then?
When will we
Begin
Again
Don’t worry be happy
Run Forest run!
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:55 PM UTC
“You are the leaders of tomorrow”
They told us over and over
Right from the tender age of three
Through childhood and adolescence.
We have outgrown our youth
We are now mature men
We have come of age to lead
Just as promised decades ago.
At a recent gathering
Our leaders of yesterday
Stricken with age and power
And long overdue for retirement
Addressed us, saying,
“Bla bla bla, bla bla, bla bla bla…”
“You are the leaders of tomorrow”
That last statement jolted me awake
From his uninspiring, boring speech.
Then it dawned on me
We are a sleeping generation
We have long been waiting- sleeping!
When we should be leading
*Our greedy, power-drunk leaders,
Will die in active service!
They will NOT hand over to us!
Not if we sit and wait for them*.
I had a revelation that the “tomorrow”,
We were promised “yesterday”
Is fast becoming yesterday, today!
And while the Nigerian youth sleeps
His chance is being usurped by his fathers
Yesterday we heard this promise
Today we hear the same promise
But come tomorrow, we will be too old to lead
And our children’s turn, it will be.
We have been scammed of our future
By the very ones we entrusted them with
And like turns in a game of scrabble,
We have missed ours- forever!
Our leaders are old men
Who have no faith in youths
And come tomorrow, our children,
Will have graves to look up to
Because we would have no experience
From which to advise them…
And like an unwanted track on a CD
Our generation would have been skipped
By the geriatric push of a ⇒ button!
© Raphael Uzor
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Black is your coffee
Toasted and buttered your bread
Half past seven,
A quick peck on the cheek
off you go to the bank
one solid day you spend at the bank
a loyal servant of the bank of commerce
Your lover number one,
the bank..always the bank...
you'd be at the bank till all workers gone home
you'd be at your desk checking the accounts
making it balance , counting the profits
recovering the loss...
If there is an award for the banker of the year
The outstanding achievement
and the bla... bla... bla...
The winner is you, without a doubt...
While you're making your accounts pretty
Perfecting your financial reports
The dinner is getting too cold
The kids are growing up so fast
Your cat is getting too old
Your wife is sulking too long
Your house is getting too far
Your family is slowly vanishing...
not physically of course...
the souls of love and life
is disappearing little by little...
Dear banker,
If you happen to listen to this
banker's wife blues...today
Hope you'd throw the balance sheets in the basket
and sit with your wife and kids
in a garden,
drinking a cup of English tea
Eating some home made biscuits...
How much bonus is more worthwhile
than watching your kids growing up
before your eyes...
kissing your wife good night
tasting the love doses...
Tell me, after listening to all these?
Will you still worry about your imbalance bank accounts?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
Are you serious? You can’t make this up.
Like seriously. You can’t make this stuff up!
You are not even trying anymore!
So that’s the guy you have chosen for sure?
Audacious. Your pure arrogance endures!
A tyrannosaurus. You’re kidding me.
Surely you could be more subtle than that.
That guy? Couldn’t find a ******* diplomat?
Politician? Lying through his teeth for nothing?
Jeez Louise lemon squeeze. Right into my eyes.
Starting to feel the pain from all your lies.
No longer Mr. Freedom and bla blaaa.
More like Mr. **** off. And la la la.
La la la la la la la! Can’t hear you!
I’ll never trust anything you say or do.
*** I know you’re only looking out for you.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
Oh crap,
I applied for mcdonalds,
But I didn't really want the job,
Now I have an interview,
A day before my graduation ceremony,
****
I'm supposed to have another job interview,
With another burger flipping place,
****
What do I say,
What do I do,
Nervousness consumes me...
Bla...
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
My hands are shaking,
The smile is no longer faking,
Sweaty after a realization of my dark lungs,
No longer caving to drown the the butterfly chained to a ball and chain in my gut,
I put down the bottle and pick up my sneaks,
Perspiration leaks,
As I wheeze,
The butterfly is set free,
And I feel like for the first time i can taste the breeze,
Shakey knees,
And a new song to sing,
Grabbing the new beat,
So I take off my shoes,
Step inside the fresh door,
Starting again with a smirking core,
With my hands that won't stop shaking,
And a smile I'm no longer faking.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
I’m at the acorn, a coffee shop, trying to write a poem but my mind is blank. I got here early enough to get one of the comfy chairs - yeah, I’m a self-indulgent monster - and I’m not getting up until my having to *** becomes a medical emergency.
What rhymes with blank.. Spank? THAT would take this poem in a WHOLE new direction - maybe it needs a new direction. Why does coffee that comes with latte-art, which costs 20 times more than what you can have in your dorm room, taste so much better?
A “Hi,” reveals a man standing in front of me, looking down and smiling - I assume he’s smiling because we’re all masked. I look up, blinking, and give him a questioning look and a head tilt - because we are masked. People at tables and chairs near us look up from their zoo of electronic devices to give us the onceover. There’s a keenness to him that makes me want him to go away and I begin to feel a nagging trepidation.
“Apparently I didn’t make much of an impression,” he says. He’s right and frankly, I’m thinking we should keep it that way. “We met at the Pundits party a couple of weeks ago?” He says, the inflection of his whole sentence rising, like a question.
Some background…
To her friends, Lisa being gorgeous is everyday and unremarkable, but take her out somewhere and she draws all eyes, like you drove up in a growling, fluorescent red Ferrari. She’s invited everywhere (she calls them “shiny ornament” invites) and one afternoon, as we’re coming back to the dorm a girl comes up to us - to her - hands her a ½ slip of paper and strikes up a conversation.
She introduces herself and runs through the usual, “What year are you in, where ya from.. bla bla. Then she asks, “Would you ever consider attending a naked party - have you heard of them?” To my surprise, Lisa smiles, brushes the hair out of her face and says, “I’d think about it,” which makes me laugh nervously, “You would?” I interrupt. The girl says that the paper is an open invitation from “The Pundits”, and that there’s a URL on it with details. “Just bring the slip,” she says, touching the paper in Lisa’s hand.
Guess where I “met” this guy? In an instant, I’m tense, and if I were a fox, I’d gnaw-off my paw to get out of there.
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 7:52 AM UTC
The reason I don't like you,
let me put it into words.
You're a prat, a drain and a hypocrite,
a ****** characterless ****
You talk, you talk, you ******* talk
But you never say a thing.
You think that you give speeches
Like Dr. Martin Luther King.
But you don't because your boring,
You bore us all to tears.
Ruining every social event,
by banging on for years.
Bla bla ******* bla bla bla,
your monotone drones on.
You're in love with the sound of your own voice,
while we just want you gone.
So pack your **** up in your soapbox,
And turn your answer machine on.
Then **** off back to snoresville,
or wherever the **** you're from.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 12:15 AM UTC
From sweet talking for hours
Their friendship slowly turned sour
And with each passing night
Their talks gave way to fights
Her voice was once music to him
And when she spoke, he heard la, la, la
But arguments defiled her hymn
Now all he hears is bla, bla, bla...
She had nothing but good intentions
And dreamed of a life of bliss
But he dwelled on her imperfections
All because he'd lost his peace
Spontaneous, wild and free
She was everything he was not
He stood firm, rigid as a tree
And all she dreamed came to naught!
© Raphael Uzor
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Like a guilty dog looking
at a chewed discarded shoe.
You amused me,
I used you.
Did I have to tear you?
Did I really have a choice?
I knew I didn't care for you
or the bla bla of your voice.
Now I drink and start to think,
I must be more than this.
Breaking young and hopeful hearts
with just "I'll call you" and a kiss.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 7:28 AM UTC
It’s Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we’re doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer. If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
"Why do you wear these," Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hair-band on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. "If I don’t have a hair-band on my wrist I feel out of control."
There’s a new me. I’d decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
"I've got a lot to do before summer,” Peter said earlier, “so I made a spreadsheet.”
I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
“A Spreadsheet!” I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I’d made him happy. This is what adults do, I’d decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.
I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.
The last couple of weeks I’ve been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I’ll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.
My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she’ll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.
What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There’s not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, “I haven’t slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we’re still early in the process.”
She was not amused.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 2:13 PM UTC
Just yapping away;
claver, clack, waffle, chunter,
off at the mouth;
yap yap yap yap!
Bla!, bl!, bl!, Blar! B~blar!
Let's shut our mouths, and stop pretending and drown the blather with cups of tea!
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
He had a tattoo on his head, it read, failure
She had a tattoo hidden, somewhere totally forbidden
Not much hope, he would see them both
So Michael, life ***** you’re feeling out of it, can’t go on bla de bla de bla
So whats the future
Michael- Me topping myself
I can help there, the express train comes through in thirty minutes, should only take you ten minutes to get to the station.
Michael- Are you telling me to jump in front of a train
Yes Michael
Michael- Right, **** you, that’s what i’ll do then.
Helen- Well doc, love your therapy, should I just go straight to the window
Call me Drake, and no Helen, what I would like to do is make mad passionate love to you
Helen- Is that not against your hippocratic oath
Only if Michael comes back
Helen- You expecting him back then
Yes, in about thirty minutes, so we better get started
Helen- You want to have *** here and now
Yes, if you don’t like pleasuring yourself, I’ll do it for you
Helen- How do you know I don’t like pleasuring myself
Because your mother told you not too
Helen- How the hell did you know that
You just told me
Helen- You *******
Good news Helen, your mother was wrong, you should pleasure yourself as much as possible, even better with a partner
Helen- Do you get punched a lot
I’m a fast runner
Helen- Were you serious
Never know now Helen, I hear Michael coming back
Michael- Couldn’t do it, I’m a failure at that too
Have you ever done a driving test Michael
Michael- Yes passed first time
I’ll be doing my fifth test next week
Michael- So you’re a failure too
No, let me explain.
The first test I took, I went through a red light. Didn’t pass
Second test, Learned from the previous, went over roundabout instead. Didn’t pass
Third attempt, learned from previous, emergency stop. Didn’t pass
Fourth attempt, learned from previous, couldn’t reverse park. Didn’t pass
Michael- So what you’re doing is, eradicating failure, or part failure, knowing that eventually you’ll pass
When I did my medical exam, I knew I was going to struggle at one bit, but when I got the paper back, it said failed, that’s all I saw
I understand what you’re saying now, if I did that exam again I would pass.
Helen, I think you’re slightly nuts, Drake, but you do cut through the bull. Though, If Michael had jumped in front of that train.
No chance of that Helen, they’re on strike
Michael. Drake, was your dad a seafarer then
No, he just liked a particular comedian.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
*Parody of "l(a" by e. e. cummings
e( j( a(
me de pr
di ad op
af bla ert
air ck yd
ne bo am
ss) ys) age)
qua ust tten
lity ice tion
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
I keep seeing hints of you
In forced synchronicity
Where everything adds up to 5
Maybe it's a sign
Or I'm losing my ******* mind again
Did you catch the hint?
Is the madman manifesting?
Impulsive manic mood swings to paper
Filling out with the Full Moon
As the Maiden waxes away
I'm watching
Light up my sacral bond
Lightning strikes
like shotgun blows to the sky
A peephole into Heaven's locker room
Blame it on the the rain
You caught me off guard
Out of sync
Girl you know it's true
That we're stranger than fiction
My siren in the satire
Muse in the mayhem of my mind
I could be your Vonnegut
As I'm Freudian slipping
On my spilled guts in the 5th slaughterhouse
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
"You will never believe who is dating who?
Can you believe that girl is pregnant? She doesn't know who the father is.
And, that guy...whisper I think he is THAT way.
His poor wife. She is whisper black, you know?
Have you seen Joe, lately? He is really packing on the pounds.
And, Jane is not aging very gracefully at all."
BLA BLA BLA!
I have to ask the gossipers
Do you ever wonder what people are saying about you?
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
One of my year long sophomore subjects will be physics. At first, physics seems to be a menagerie of big, boring universal ideas and immutable laws rendered practically unimportant by their scale.
Peter, ok, let’s call him my boyfriend - just as a place-holder - is working on his “Doctorate in Applied Physics,” degree. “Will you help me with my physics homework?” I asked, hopefully.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” he assures me, wiggling his eyebrows suspiciously.
Peter got to visit the Hadron Collider, in Geneva, this summer. When I FaceTimed him he was as animated as a girl at drama camp. He was all, “proton collisions, Higgs bosons, top quarks and massive particles, bla, bla, bla..”
“That’s ok, I said, “If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”
Seriously though, I get it. Physics teaches critical thinking and problem solving. Fluid dynamics and pressure-volume-resistance relationships apply to the circulatory system. Pressure-volume curves can apply to lung function, heat transfer is applicable to frostbite, hypothermia and fevers - nuclear physics applies to nuclear medicine (SPECT, PET scans and radiation therapy and lasers) - yatta, yatta yatta.
But why ME, oh, lord?
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 12:41 PM UTC
This is no fiction, but reality. This was God’s miracle again for me,
few hours hereafter occurred the bombings in Paris. We ? Already at Airport Orly to Home ............................With love, Sylvia.
Paris after the 12th of November? No one to blame
the Eiffel Tower? Never more the same,
departure some hours later, no resemblance
those slight difference: terror in ignorance
forced to stay in Paris forever
could never see again your homeland, remember?
no dreams anymore, constant nightmares
but……. WHO cares?
you would never know, was it a curse or a bliss,
oddly enough, I informed you now about this.
Now Paris for you is still a greatest bliss
you’ve never been in Paris before
we did enjoy, quarrelled and enjoyed more
for you and I Paris was the walhalla
our love and happiness we never measure, and blah-blah-bla
God showed us the perfect view
from dawn till again morning dew
to treasure and honour His Mighty Impact
that life He showed you, enjoy it and show respect !
please, beware of His presence
be careful and love thy neighbours in mine absence
in all hours of this Great Silence....
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
Your 'Top TRP' news team has just learnt that
A consortium of fanatics and hypocrites now claim
That the proprietorship of 'God' is now with them
And will spew hatred on anyone disobeying them.
Our unnameable “reliable” sources tell us that
Anyone desiring to worship 'God' “more perfectly,”
Henceforth, must follow their rules quite strictly
Or floggings will be handed out quite promptly.
Our brave insider informants have divulged that
At last have awaken our pious priests and scholars
To discuss these “disturbing new developments;”
But they're upset most about lost revenue streams.
The atheists were seen rejoicing and saying that
There is no need any more, *“for us to self-promote
While our competitors repeatedly self-mutilate.”*
But have they forgotten, Stalin also preached hate?
Our unquestionably reliable survey tells us that
We are angry, sad, glad, disgusted and also clueless
In roughly equal measure. But most are just curious:
“How all this bla-bla will effect commodity prices?”
There was however, an 'odd' man who said that
God is Love and God does not hate. Will turn to rust
He who chooses hate. *“Not in someone's deep pocket
Will I find God. But God I'll find, always in my heart.”*
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
det kan mærkes i maven og hjertet
det gør ondt som bare fanden
det kommer i jag og forsvinder langsomt
denne tomme følelse af noget
der burde være der men ikke er
denne tomme følelse af savn
til noget man ikke kan sætte en finger på
savn af selskab, savn af kram,
savn af nogen der mærker på min sjæl
savner ikke den overfladiske socialisation
hvor jeg pænt sidder og lytter
for sådan er jeg opdraget
”bla bla bla, mine problemer bla bla bla,
men hvordan har du det egentlig, Maria?”
min svar er altid ”det har jeg ikke tænkt over”
for det har jeg ikke, det er ikke en løgn
har travlt med at få styr på alt det lort
som folk bliver ved med at læsse af på mig
alle deres problemer med boligselskaber,
mennesker de ikke kan lide, pengeproblemer,
drengeproblemer, arbejdsproblemer,
skoleproblemer, venneproblemer
jeg er træt
og det er først når jeg er alene
at jeg kan mærke hvordan jeg har det
mærke mig selv og mærke ensomheden
mærke min sjæl
og den skræmmer mig
jeg ved ikke hvem jeg skal sige det til
eller hvordan jeg skal forklare det
”hej, jeg har det ad helvede til,
der er en klump af kaos, ensomhed og
noget andet ubeskriveligt der trykker
inde i min mave”
for hvad ville folk ikke tænke
Maria er altid glad, *** vil altid lytte
*** smiler frejdigt og laver hendes ting
men sådan er jeg slet ikke
jeg er i stykker
(Marolle)
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
angry man wearing a denim blouse,
such a beautiful way to shut down your mouth.
nothing much to say, there's no one left to shout,
I'd like for you to stay unless you want to **** the mouse.
the bodies are kept warm sleeping in the oven,
everybody was left weeping empty pages for a question.
cats have nine lives, must be so cruel when they want erosion,
can they still sue sides if they need any emotions ?
bla bla, bla bla- don't you answer me as if you're my child,
i've learned so many things but not any worth-while.
ha-ha, ha-ha..keep bringing me more organs to pile,
it won't stop killing itself until the forest is old and wild.
stop making sense I don't love you enough to agree,
I revel in non-sense, so get far away from me as you can be.
you'll find the scars hanging by a noose in the closet,
take this axe and match it with whoever's standing the closest.
so don't ask me why I broke in today to put you in doubt,
there's sweet music in the background which keeps getting loud.
such a beautiful day to burn down the house.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
Why can’t blue be blue instead of signifying sadness, calm, the ocean, bla, bla, bla
A thorn among the roses is a thorn among the roses
Why should it be a misplaced identity or an unwelcomed companion?
And why the hell does the crow have such a bad entanglement
As a messenger of death
When a crow is a crow is a crow
But wait, you say
This is stuff of Poetry, is it not?
Ooooh Bullocks, Poetry!!
An apple is an apple and not the forbidden fruit of Eden!!
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC